Page 33 of Whiskey Chase
“Either get in or get out of my face,” I suggested, breathing fire.
I had a temper. I was aware of that fact. I came by it honestly. My daddy had once thrown a claw hammer through a screen he’d just hung on someone’s porch because he couldn’t find his tape measure.
Devlin got in, a further testament to his lack of sanity.
“Want to talk?” he asked pleasantly. He clicked his seatbelt into place.
“No, I donotwant to talk,” I insisted. “Why would I want to talk about my brothers and my neighbor running off to domydirty work? Embarrassing me in front of the whole town. I can’t believe they still feel like they have to protect me and clean up my messes. And I can’t believe you went along with them. What is it about me that screams ‘incapable of taking care of myself’? Because I’ll have you know I’ve been taking care of myself for a good, long time. Thank you very much.”
He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but I just plowed right on.
“So what if I slept with the big, dumb loser? So what if he wouldn’t give me my stuff back? I would have fixed it. I can handle myself, and I don’t appreciate being treated like someone’s baby sister all the damn time. I’m twenty-six. I run a damn business. I own property. I haven’t starved myself to death or set myself on fire. And yet.And yet, you all act like I’m one second from fallin’ down a mine shaft.”
This time Devlin didn’t open his mouth.
He let me rant and rave all the way home. I pulled into my driveway because there was no way I was driving a man home who decided to pay my ex—whatever the hell Wade was—a visit and humiliate me.
I dumped the truck into neutral and yanked on the parking brake.
“So what you’re saying is you’re angry,” Devlin summarized.
I launched at him and nearly gave myself whiplash from the seatbelt that was still securely fastened. I wrestled with it, gnashing my teeth with frustration, until Devlin reached over and calmly released me.
I sat back against the seat and huffed out a breath.
“Maybe you don’t like your family getting involved with your mistakes,” Devlin began again. “And maybe I know how that feels.”
I shot him a glowering look out of the corner of my eye and crossed my arms over my chest. “What would you know about it?”
“I married Johanna, a woman my parents had practically picked out for me. She was ‘the right kind of partner,’” he said, adding air quotes. “And when our marriage fell apart—”
“Why are you so polite about it?” I demanded. “This Johanna—what the hell kind of name is that anyway—didn’t just let your marriage fall apart. She willfully destroyed it. She’s an asshole.”
Devlin gave me that ghost of a smile that got that warm feeling lodging in my belly.
“Fine,” he conceded. “I married an asshole who publicly destroyed our marriage. My family tried to arrange counseling for us. Too embarrassing, a divorce this early in the relationship.”
My jaw dropped. “They tried to force you into counseling?”
Devlin nodded. “My parents and my in-laws decided it was better for everyone if Johanna and I stayed married and worked through our problems. Despite the fact that it’s the last thing in the world I’d ever consent to. I may not have been the most attentive husband, but I didn’t force her into anyone else’s bed. Or our bed as it turns out. But she found a more suitable partner. Someone whose career was progressing a bit faster than mine.”
I swore quietly. I hoped that one day I’d get to meet this Johanna and tell her what a steaming piece of shit she was. “I’m willing to admit that you mightpossiblyhave some small sliver of an idea of the rage that I’m feeling,” I said. “So, what happened?”
“I got pissed off and punched her lover in the face at the end of our last day in session—I may have also kicked him while he was on the floor—and refused to go anywhere near a counselor.”
“Why do you sound embarrassed by that?” I asked. He’d just described the appropriate reaction to a cheating asshole.
“That’s not how McCallisters handle things,” he said dryly.
“How do McCallisters handle things? Bend over and take it?” I challenged.
“We handle things privately. Never with violence. Occasionally with attorneys present.”
“They really expected you to suck it up and stay with an unfaithful dickhead?” My family might be a lot of things, but what mattered the most to them—what they were annoyingly vocal about—was what was best for me.
“It’s what would adhere to our agenda. A divorce only three years into the marriage suggests instability. In future elections, a divorced candidate would be seen as less secure, less likable, than a married one.”
“Bull. Shit. So you’re supposed to stay married to a piranha for the sake of your family’s agenda? That’s horrible.”
