Page 6 of Love and Forgiveness
I shake my head, knowing this conversation needs redirection before it takes an irreversible turn. After all, he’sright. I loved the way he used to talk to me. One naughty three-word sentence in his rumbly voice could set my heart on fire and drench my panties instantly. A shiver of desire runs from my shoulders to my lower belly. “Honestly, I can’t recall anything I like about you right now.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “You’re a bad liar, Hops.” I haven’t heard that nickname on his lips in years. He started calling me that in Afghanistan, even before we got together, because of my love of IPAs and my tendency to hop and clap my hands together when really excited about something. It’s been ages since I felt that way, let alone in front of him.
My face must betray the shock of hearing the nickname because recognition flashes in his eyes. “You know I’m not interested in Selma or Laurie, although I find your jealousy …refreshing. The only way you could be jealous of those two is if you knew in your heart of hearts there was plenty—let me correct myself—thereisplenty you still like about me. And maybe some stuff you still want, too.”
Wolfe pronounces the last sentence emphatically, his eyes never leaving my face. He scrutinizes me, trying to read my reaction. So, of course, my body betrays me, turning my cheeks into what I can only imagine is some ungodly color of pink. The way his lips turn up slightly at the corners lets me know he’s satisfied with what he sees.
The cocky smile enrages me because he’s right. I still like plenty about him and want more from him than I care to admit—even to myself. That’s why I’ve worked so hard over the past three months since his return to keep my distance. It’s also why I made sure to move out of our cabin on the ranch and rent a new place in Hollister four months ago. I knew face-to-face I’d never have the willpower to leave him.
Of course, I can’t admit any of this to him. Not now that I’m so close to finally starting my life over. No matter how my body double-crosses me, I can’t go back to a toxic marriagewhere dashed hopes outweigh genuine joys, and loneliness replaces intimacy. I can’t sacrifice every part of my life and my career for our children while he gallivants around the globe, living a life I’ll never know about, let alone understand.
Yes, I know he claims he’s changed. And the security company should be a solid sign of this. But three months is hardly enough time to tell. And, honestly, I’m tired of waiting for something that may never come. After so many years of hurt and pain, I can’t risk falling for him or getting hurt by him again. This time, the devastation would be complete because I’d be the one who allowed it to happen—against my better judgment.
Ironically, though, I need his help now more than ever. I wonder how he’ll react when I finally explain everything to him. I hope my brother Kurt’s right about all of this.
Chapter Four
IZZIE
“As fun as this conversation’s been, I’m done.” I mean to deliver the line in a steely, sarcastic tone. But it comes out sounding more like a frustrated scream. My response is in total disproportion to the last statement and the general flow of the conversation. This realization makes me even angrier because it points to his innate ability to still get under my skin. I look back up the alleyway, sure someone is still eavesdropping on us.
Wariness shrouds Wolfe’s gaze, and his eyes follow mine. They narrow, and puzzlement crosses his face. I’m certain he’s about to ask me who I’m looking at. But he stops short.
Instead, he whispers, “You know, at some point, we need to talk about all of this?—”
“We’ve talked this subject to death!”
“I don’t mean in the therapist’s office or before a court mediator or a judge. I mean you and me airing it out together ... along with our feelings.” He swallows hard, his face looking exhausted.
More dangerous territory. I can’t go there with him. Instead, my voice rises as I exclaim, “No, everything I neededto say has already been said. And I’ve heard more than enough from you. Wolfe, I can’t even talk to you for five minutes without feeling like my head will explode. I don’t want to do this with you anymore. Day in and day out. That’s the whole point of getting divorced. So we don’t have to see or fight each other anymore.”
Hurt flashes in his eyes, and I instantly regret my words.
He steps forward until we’re inches apart. My breath catches in my throat as his musky smell and faint tones of aftershave envelope me—such a familiar and beloved smell. The spicy, woodsy cologne that always had me burying my nose in his clothes when he was away. Even though that comforting odor could undo all the hard work I’ve put into building walls between us, I refuse to step back. I can’t let him think he can physically intimidate me.
He points towards his chest. “Just hit me. Use me as a punching bag. Get out all of your anger. You know I can take it.”
I laugh exasperated, looking away to the side of the alley leading to the Saloon’s front facade. “You’ve got to be out of your mind,” I say, shaking my head.
“No, I’m serious, Izzie. Hit me. Get it all out. Fucking use me as your punching bag. It might make you feel better, and it would hurt a whole helluva lot less than some of the things that come out of your mouth.” The last statement makes my heart ache.
“Hit me,” he says again, smacking his chest. “I’m serious. You’d be doing us both a favor.”
I take domestic violence seriously, and I’m not about to turn over a new leaf as an abuser. But it’s not like he and I are technically a domestic unit anymore. And the offer’s too tempting to refuse. Especially when I think back to Wolfe’s last overseas contract in the UAE and his buddy Rutger’s Facebook page.
I’ll never forget the clubbing pictures Rutger posted, including some of my drunken husband with two overly affectionate blondes. The thought of those pictures still makes me nauseous. But I did the right thing. I didn’t jump to conclusions. Instead, I asked him about the photos and the girls over Zoom while he was still working in the UAE.
Instead of explaining, he went wordlessly morose, ending the call. His response confirmed my worst suspicions and one of my dealbreakers: infidelity. After that, Wolfe acted hardened and aloof anytime we spoke and started throwing around the word “divorce.”
It gutted me, triggering some of the most painful memories of my childhood. My parents put us kids through an excruciating, prolonged divorce that ensured we grew up in family court. “Divorce” was the one word I made Wolfe promise never to say to me before we got married. Yet, he didn’t even hesitate when push came to shove. Seeing red, I channel the thoughts into physicality, smacking his chest with my hand.
“Come on, is that all you’ve got? I think you can do better than that.”
He doesn’t have to ask twice. I hit him again, much harder this time. “Ouch!” I cry, shaking my hand. His chest is so hard it’s like hitting a wall or a boulder. I should know better. I used to sleep on those hard, angular planes.
“Hops,” he scolds. “The point isn’t to hurt yourself. I meant, throw a punch at me, like I taught you.”
I shake my head, nursing my hand with the other one.
