by Shey Stahl
Henry’s next to him, holding a clipboard, and Ridge’s gaze never drifts to mine. I think back to yesterday in the classroom and the way his attention never left mine. Now he hasn’t looked my way yet.
“Henry said he met with his mom this morning,” Tori says conversationally, like this isn’t alarming news to me. It is.
My eyes widen. “Really? Did he say what happened?”
“Just that she wants the track, but he told her it wasn’t for sale. Can you believe that bitch hadn’t talked to him since he left?”
“I’m not surprised.” Drawing in a deep breath, nerves settle in my belly. I can’t imagine what Ridge’s dealing with, and how shitty that she’s only in contact with him because of the property.
The game starts after the boys run through the banner the little cheerleaders made for them. Cutest thing ever. Even when they trip over one another. Have you ever watched eight-year-olds play football? While there’s some structure to the game and plays, the boys still seem somewhat clueless when it comes to sticking with a play.
Henry’s on edge, having been the star quarterback all through high school and college, he expects the kids to be pro by ten, I’m sure of it.
Ridge, he’s the jokester and constantly rousing Henry with shoves and provoking the kids with distractions. He’s trying to lighten the mood as the boys are down by two touchdowns going into the third quarter.
During the fourth quarter, Ridge’s behavior changes when he glances over his shoulder at me for the first time. His eyes, so dark, so perfect, mark me, claim me in ways and control me and my thoughts. The rain lets up and he shed’s his jacket, to my delight. His black and green T-shirt clings to his tight, muscular frame.
His stance, with his hands loosely on his hips, nodding to something Henry’s telling him, so confident and mysterious makes my stomach dip like I’d just gotten on a roller coaster.
He looks distracted, and if I had the courage to believe, I’d want to believe he’s thinking about me.
Other women—even the married ones—they take notice of him, but not once does he look any direction in the stands but my way. I smile to myself, like I own him in some way. Ridiculous concept. Like this rebel, who’s now yelling to Brennan from the sideline, looking animated, looking perfect, is thinking of me and only me.
It’s not so farfetched to think, right?
Tori nudges me, setting her empty coffee on the metal bleacher in front of us. “You’ve got some drool there.”
I snap my eyes from the field. “Shut up.”
She laughs, our attention shifting back to the field when there’s a whistle called. The Colts scored another touchdown on the Cubs, to which the boys hang their heads, trudging back to the sidelines with hunched shoulders.
“This is awful,” Tori groans, sighing as she attempts to stand Ada up. She’s soaked from head to toe in water, having decided she was a mop for the bleachers at some point today.
She’s got a sucker in her hand, hopefully one her mother gave her, and she’s running it along the bleachers as if she’s painting the metal in cherry flavored juice. Red streaks mix with the water, and it begins to look like someone has bled over the slate-colored metal. I don’t know whether to be grossed out or not. At least she’s building her immune system.
The final horn blares, the play clock down to zero. The Cubs lose 32-0.
Guess what else happened?
Austin didn’t show.
Standing, I make my way down from the still slippery bleachers with Tori and Ada to the sidelines where Cash has knocked over the table filled with Gatorade. I want to slap the little shit for throwing a tantrum over the loss, but I know it’s not because they lost.
Grady is beside him, frowning, understanding exactly why his brother is acting out. “He was busy. Maybe next time he’ll come?”
“He’s never coming!” Cash screams in Grady’s face. “He has a new family!”
My face falls. I don’t mean for it to, but it does, along with my heart. I want to rush to him and hold him, tell him everything will be fine, but I don’t know if there’s any truth to it.
My heart pounds in my ears, searching for something to say to him and wanting to murder Austin for not coming. I swallow over the dryness in my throat that feels like I have sawdust in my mouth. I stand there, shaking, and then I get pissed, my face heating, anger hitting me that he didn’t have the decency to reply or show up for his kids.
Ridge is standing near Cash and motions to the table. “Pick that up.” And he does, without having to be asked twice. I ask him at least ten times a day to not put his mouth guard on the kitchen counter, and he ignores me every time. Yet here Ridge just simply says three words and Cash magically listens?
Ridge glances at Cash and knocks him on the side of the head, lightly, playfully. “Boy, you throw another fit like that and you won’t play in the next game.”
“I didn’t do it because we lost,” Cash defends, setting the bottles of Gatorade and water back on the table, one by one.
Ridge kneels to his level, dipping his head until my defiant boy meets his stare. “I know that, but what kind of example are you showing your teammates when you act this way?”
My stomach drops when I see Cash’s tears rolling down his pink cheeks. My heart hurts for Cash, but it’s also tugging at the way Ridge is talking to him, quietly, attentively, unlike the way Austin would have dealt with this situation. Sure, he would have demanded he pick the spilled drinks up, but then he would have walked away without explanation.
Ridge takes the time to get down to his level, physically and emotionally. The thing with Ridge is, like he said, he’s been where Cash is. He knows what it’s like to half split custody and wonder what, if anything, could have changed the outcome of his parents’ divorce.
“You know what’s sexier than a bad boy?” Tori asks, holding Ada on her hip. She doesn’t realize the sucker Ada had earlier is now stuck in her hair.
I stare at Tori’s overly large sunglasses she’s now wearing since the sun came out and wish she’d take them off. They make her face look like a fly, and she’s far too cute to be a fly. “What’s that?”
“A bad boy who steps up for the shitty dad.”
Ridge stands, his brow drawn together, and I think about us in his mom’s car. I know it’s not the right moment to flash back to something like that, but I can’t help it. The intensity of his stare is a reminder of everything Ridge is. It’s all there. His aggression. Resentment.
Tori’s right. A man who steps up is far sexier than a shitty fucking dad who can’t show up for his kids.
So Austin didn’t show. Didn’t even call.
Are you surprised?
Didn’t think so.
Guess who’s standing behind me at my van as I get the sweaty rain-soaked kids inside?
Ridge.
I didn’t stay around the field long after the game knowing anytime spent around Ridge wouldn’t be good. He’s a temptation I don’t need or want today. Between us, there’s history there and a level of comfort to which I find myself drawn to him.
Ridge, he had other plans.
He waits until the parking lot clears out before he approaches me.
He stops when he gets about a foot in front of me, his lips curving into a half grin when he notices that my eyes unintentionally betray me and travel down his body.
Fuck, why does he have to look so damn good? Flushed cheeks, water bottle in hand, rain-soaked hair and a crazy grin that has panties melting whenever it’s flashed your way.
Jesus. Stop staring at him.
How does he have this effect on me?
In my heart, I know this reaction can’t happen—shouldn’t happen—wouldn’t happen without consequences. Yet here I stand, hypnotized by his good looks.
Just like every other time he’s near me, my heart responds, beats faster, gives a reaction. “I’d ask what’s wrong, but I think I know.”
Tossing gear bags in the back, I twist to f
ace him, breathing heavily, nearing a complete breakdown. I’m not talking about a few tears. I’m close to collapsing and breaking down into a full-on kicking and screaming breakdown. I envy Ada right about now because she can get away with it, yet I’d be placed in a mental hospital and have my sanity questioned.
“Why can’t he just fucking show up? Why does he have to break their hearts?”
Ridge’s jaw clenches, tightens, his body tensing in the process. Dark eyes and a brooding stare shift from mine to the boys in the van, then back to me.
We stare at each other, breathing in quick breaths, the tears burning my eyes. I don’t want to cry and have the boys see me, though they’ve seen plenty of breakdowns over the last six months.
Ridge’s eyes are on mine as he takes a drink of his water. “Want me to kick his ass?”
“Not a bad idea at this point,” I whisper, my shoulders shaking in a disgusted laugh at the vision in my head. Austin, though much larger than Ridge, wouldn’t stand a fucking chance against him. I’d actually love to see Ridge kick his ass at this point.
Ridge gives a nod—and despite the years of separation—I know this nod pretty well. If there is anyone I can read, it’s Ridge Lucas. In fact, he still knows me probably better than Austin ever did. Sad to say, but true.
He moves closer to me. Keeping my eyes on his, I watch his every move intently, like I’m watching a dangerous animal approach me. My eyes drift to his lips, and I remember how he kissed—just like his personality—on the edge and out of control.
I know having Ridge around isn’t a good idea. Not with how I’m feeling, on the edge myself, lost, confused and looking for comfort. I could easily make a decision that could be bad for the boys just based on my emotional stability, or lack thereof.
I don’t say anything, can’t say anything when he leans in closer. “What would he do if he knew I wanted to kiss you in front of everyone here, including your kids?” His voice is strained, as if it took a lot to ask the question and not actually kiss me.
“Knowing your past with him, I’m sure he’d have something to say about it.”
There’s something in the way Ridge is staring at me that unnerves me, makes my skin tingle and my breath hitch. He nods and twists away, picking up the last bag and tossing it in my van for me, his arm brushing against me in the process.
And then he stands there, still staring, as though he’s waiting for something. I hear him suck in a deep breath and then slowly lets it out. Do you notice the way I breathe in right then?
My body is betraying me.
“Mommy! We’re hungry!” Grady yells from inside the van, and I snap out of my Ridge mind fucking.
Ridge chuckles and then turns to walk away. He stops when he gets to the bumper of the truck parked next to me and looks over his shoulder at me. “Maybe I wouldn’t care what he’d say about it.” The words hit my chest like a hammer, stealing my breath. “He’s not here and I am. You keep looking at me like you have been today. . . I might not be able to ignore you again for the sake of your kids.” He turns and struts away like he’s just pissed on my leg and marked his territory.
Had I been that obvious during the game?
Of course I had been!
There’s a level of dread that settles in my chest. At least he’s thinking of my kids, but damn, why couldn’t he have kissed me?
Aly, you know why!
His remarks are exactly what I expected from him. I thought maybe he would have said more, or even actually kissed me. Ridge is arrogant like that. But thank God, he didn’t. How would I have explained that to the boys? “Oh, boys, Mommy’s just whoring around with your teacher. Turn your sweet little heads the other way.”
That’d surely get me the mother of the year award!
Is it wrong that I hate having him in the house?
Austin that is, not the boys.
He’s standing in the kitchen, looking at my five cats outside the door begging for food. Thankfully, Cooter decided to leave or else I probably wouldn’t have let the boys outside with him. He seemed. . . unstable? And really hungry, and just the sight of Austin, in my house, deflates any mood I had while being around Ridge earlier.
“What is it about her that keeps you from your kids?” I want to know, so I ask, and never indicate who I’m referring to because he knows.
Austin lets out a bitter laugh and sets his phone on the kitchen counter. In the distance, I can see the boys in the backyard, tossing the football back and forth between the two of them. “I’m not answering that question. You’re just trying to pick a fight.”
I’m picking a fight? Me? Maybe a little.
As you know, Austin missed the game, and now he shows up three hours later like it’ll make a difference to them.
Guess who doesn’t acknowledge their father at all, just kept playing in the backyard?
The boys.
Can’t say I blame them. I’d love to ignore him too.
Drawing in a heavy breath, I return the same bitter laugh and pull out a bag of carrots from the fridge and the bottle of ranch. “I’m not trying to pick a fight.”
His brow raises, and he pulls in his bottom lip, his focus shifting to his phone again when it chirps with a text message.
I bet that text message is from her.
Austin’s attention shifts to me—he squints—as if trying to make out the scene in front of him. “Yeah, sure you’re not.”
After the last six fucking months of having to make excuses for him while he goes through his I’m-nearing-thirty breakdown, I’m done with his lack of effort in their lives.
He throws his hand up in the air, and it smacks the wall in the process. I know it’s wrong, but I secretly wish he’ll break his hand and can’t work and he’d understand an ounce of what I’m going through trying to raise our kids and let them have activities too. “What do you want me to say, Alyson? Do you want me to tell you I’m sorry? That’s it’s all my fault? Our marriage failing had nothing to do with you?” He raises an eyebrow. “Can you even remember the last time we’d had sex? I can’t.”
I slam my hand on the counter, leaning into him so my face is about a foot from his. His eyes move over my face, then land on my eyes, finally. “I may have been distant and stressed out, but did you ever stop to consider why? Sure, I got to stay home with the kids. Easy life, right? The way you see it, I don’t do anything but play with the kids all day long?” He gives me that look, the one that screams, that’s exactly what you did during the day, isn’t it?
And I have to physically reach out and grab a cup off the counter and begin drying it with the hand towel beside me. It’s not even wet, but I have to do this just so my hands stay busy. If I don’t, I’ll throat punch the two-timing twat.
“Sure, I took care of our boys, but between getting up every morning, getting them ready for school, making breakfast and lunch—and yours—taking the boys to school, picking the boys up, taking them to football, swim lessons, basketball, and baseball or whatever else they were doing. . . I made dinner, cleaned the house, dealt with the bank. I paid bills, planned meals. . . replaced light bulbs, so you didn’t have to do any of it.”
Take note Austin’s eyes are starting to gloss over. He’s not paying attention any longer.
But I keep going because I have a point to make.
“After all that, there was no time for anything else. Hell, I barely had time to shower some days let alone make time for sucking your dick too. But you, Mr. Attorney. . . you got to go to work, come home to a clean house, play with the kids and then go work out and do your own thing. On the weekends, you got to sleep in and wake up to breakfast made for you and a Saturday filled with fishing or whatever else you wanted. You didn’t have to shuttle the boys to sports events and birthday parties and then try to teach them responsibility by working at the track. Not once did you have to consider their schedule before planning anything, or mine. You got to come and go as you pleased while I took care of everything else.” I’m spit
ting the words by now and gripping the cup in my hand so hard I can feel the plastic beginning to weaken. I slam it down in front of him. “That’s what fucking ruined this, Austin. That’s what made me bitter. That and you fucking someone else.” Leave it to me to throw that in there where I can. “So sure, I was that wife. The one always angry, but you made me that way.”
Austin’s jaw tenses. He’s never liked being yelled at, or accused of anything. God forbid he take the blame. His dick just happened to fall into my best friend’s vagina. Maybe it was something similar to the Virgin Mary. I don’t know, and at this point, I don’t think I care anymore.
His eyes harden and narrow into slits. It makes him look old, and I’m glad the last few years have aged him. His early onset of wrinkles kinda sorta makes up for the stretch marks on my hips from birthing his kids. “So I’m to blame for all of it?”
“Yep. You and your straying dick are to blame for us not working out.”
“You could have gone back to work. You chose to stay home with the boys.”
Do you like how he leaves out his infidelity in every conversation?
“I don’t regret staying home with them for one second. I got to watch them grow up, but I shouldn’t have been the only one taking care of them while their father got to come and go as he pleased, and inside my best friend.”
My vision threatens to blur with tears, but I won’t let it, blinking rapidly on the onset of the sting. I won’t give in this time. “Tell me the truth, Austin. Were you actually in a meeting or was she with you and didn’t want you to come? I hope her pussy’s worth it?”
Too far?
Maybe
He throws his hands up and stands in front of me slapping them down on the counter beside me. His head dips, capturing my eyes. “When are you going to stop making me out to be the bad guy here?”
