The Divorce Diet

by K. S. Adkins

  Falling to my side, I pull her to me and promise her, “You’re mine, superstar.”

  I had no idea that by not saying the words I was slowly breaking away little pieces of her.

  I made sure she knew in all the ways that mattered.

  Or so I thought.

  For the last year, I fought myself from going to her, apologizing, and begging her to take me back.

  It’s all I could think about. Her. Us. Starting over.

  But the timing hadn’t been right.

  Now it was, and as it turned out one does not simply get his wife back.

  Especially when he couldn’t locate her to make her aware of what was about to go down.

  She wasn’t at any of her normal stops, and she left the stadium hours ago.

  It was way too fucking late at night for her to be out and about.

  I was about to put an all-points bulletin out on her ass when Aaron ordered me to his place, which is where I’d been staying since before the divorce. Not that I wanted to, but I couldn’t handle seeing the heartbreak in her eyes day after day. Fuck, sleeping apart had been one of the hardest things I had ever done. Packing up and leaving without a word was a fucking shit thing to do, but I couldn’t bear to see or cause her pain one more second.

  Pausing my mission, but only briefly, I headed back his way to see what he needs.

  Living with my best friend was a pain in my ass. Even though he did me a favor by letting me stay, he was Team Pharis. Everyone was.

  When I got to the house and saw Butch on the porch with him, I knew something was wrong.

  Foregoing the niceties, I asked, “Who died?”

  “Safe to say you’re about to,” Butch said, grinding his jaw.

  “What?”

  “You watch the news yet?” Aaron asked, handing me a beer.

  “No, I’ve been out looking for Pharis.”

  “Check the news, man,” Butch advised.

  “What the fuck for? I only watch it to see...” Pharis working, Pharis talking, Pharis smiling. Just a glance at her took my breath away and since the shit storm I created started, watching her on television was the only way to get close enough to see her. And believe me, the screen I owned was so goddamn large, I had to put it in Aaron’s garage because his living room was too small.

  I even bought a laptop so I could listen to her podcast when the team travelled.

  Yes, I had a subscription.

  Running into the house, I tuned in, expecting to see she had been hurt or fuck, on another date. But this hurt just as bad, maybe worse.

  Falling to my ass I couldn’t fucking believe it.

  According to the press conference, Pharis had accepted an analyst position in Miami tonight.

  Mi-fucking-ami.

  Which, for a Detroiter, was another goddamn country.

  The confidence I had moments earlier sat like lead in my stomach.

  I waited too long.

  But fuck that, I at least had to try.

  She hadn’t left yet.

  She also hadn’t bothered to tell me while she was locked up or in the elevator, which stung.

  Pharis used to tell me everything.

  Though, now that I think about it, she had hinted at it.

  Time’s up, Eddie...

  I’d claimed her once with just three words, and given the chance, I know could do it again.

  Your future husband...

  Maybe this time I could snag her with, marry me again...

  Two weeks after meeting each other at a frat party, we pooled together every last dollar we had and flew to Vegas.

  In front of a bloated Elvis we said our I do’s and couldn’t get to the hotel fast enough.

  Wearing only a white teddy, Eddie in his boxers, we drank cheap wine, danced to horrible music, and caused a scene on our wedding night. Our room was old and smoky, the drapery threadbare, homicides probably happened right where we stood, but neither of us cared.

  In his arms, safe, laughing, and twirling was where I always wanted to be.

  Being tackled to the bed with his breath on my neck, cock straining to get to me, that’s what mattered.

  Just us, attached.

  Married. Forever.

  “Gonna give you the world, superstar.”

  “You already have, Eddie.”

  “When I get my badge, I’m buying you a house and a real ring. I want everyone to know you’re mine.”

  “Okay,” I moaned pulling him closer. “Then I want my name tattooed on your chest. Large font, bold print.”

  My name was inked on his skin the very next day.

  As for me, I took him up on the house, but kept the ring.

  I loved the simple silver band. As long as I had him, I didn’t need much else.

  While I knew I was respected in the business, tonight served to prove this was the right choice.

  Taking my career to the next level was exciting and nerve racking, but mostly exciting.

  It took me forever to leave the stadium because once the piece aired, my social media accounts went crazy, and I found myself reading it in the lot. Many words of praise and congratulations with just as many complaints that I was leaving my home city high and dry. That I was a sellout.

  Taking it with a grain of salt, I tuck my phone in my bag and head home. I wanted a glass of wine with a Xanax chaser because this was officially the longest day of my life.

  I never had so many highs and lows in less than twelve hours, and I still wasn’t sure how to feel about it. So for tonight I decided I wouldn’t waste energy trying.

  Parking in my garage, I locked my car and was heading to the back door when I saw it was wide open.

  With my heart racing, I snagged my phone out and hovered over Eddie’s name longer than I should have. I suppose deep down he would always be my first call, even though legally he no longer was.

  Terrified and shaking for various reasons, I scrolled up, dialing Butch instead.

  Answering on the first ring he said, “Congrats, superstar.” At my silence he continued, “Pharis?”

  “I need help.” Which was my way of saying, I think I shit my Spanx.

  “Where are you?”

  “Home, standing out back,” I stuttered, knowing Butch knew where I lived. “I think someone broke in.”

  “We’ll be there in five. Stay outside.”

  I didn’t have time to ask who we was because seconds later, I heard Eddie’s roar over the line. Not even a solid minute later, I heard sirens.

  Apparently having been married to a cop still held some benefits.

  Though it felt like I had been standing there for an eternity, logically I knew it was only a matter of minutes because Butch’s truck tore up the drive at the same time the boys in blue showed up. But all I could focus on was Eddie running straight for me.

  The savage look on his face said he’d kill to protect me as his long legs eating up the distance effortlessly. Like he couldn’t get to me fast enough.

  Frozen in place, I held my breath until he wrapped himself around me.

  And it wasn’t until he said my name that I stopped shaking.

  Six months into my mission to get my wife to leave me, I was on the couch jerking off to the interview she had given earlier in the night when she walked in and caught me.

  Fuck, I hadn’t been inside of her in forever, and my dick couldn’t differentiate from TV footage versus the real thing. But my heart knew, just as my gut knew, I had to handle this.

  Ignoring the punch of lust her gasp gave, me I grated out, “The fuck, Pharis?”

  “I...” she stumbled. “You’re...”

  “Yeah,” I yelled. “I am, and if I wanted you to watch I would have asked.”

  “You're watching my segment but I'm standing right here. Eddie, what’s happening to you? ”

  “I was about to come a quart until you fucking ruined it!”

  Dropping her head, she said one word, “Oh,” and walked away.

  Some mot
herfucker had, in fact, broken into her home and Pharis wasn't acting like herself at all.

  She wasn't as shook up as she should be. She flat out refused to stay with me or get a hotel room. The woman had put her foot down and that was that. She may be able to play the role of unaffected but, I knew better. I knew her. Which meant, it was up to me to take care of her. While Pharis was safe inside with our guys, Butch, Aaron, and I were in her garage trying to make sense of what the fuck we had just walked in on. Whoever broke into her place took the time to graffiti her walls with the words, whore and adulterer.

  She obviously was neither of those things, especially the latter.

  I may not have been a good husband, but neither of us ever strayed.

  That was a goddamn fact.

  Not too many men or women can say that their spouse was their first.

  We were each other’s firsts in every possible way.

  And I was still stewing on my wife calling Butch and not me when Aaron declares, “He feels betrayed.”

  “What?”

  “Who?” Butch asked.

  “Whoever the sick fuck was who broke in,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You said she’s been dating. My money’s on the guy you called out for wanting to fuck your wife.”

  “Hang on.” I scowled at the reminder. “I waited for the punk after she left, and he said she told him she was divorced.”

  “And?”

  “And he said some shit like call me when you’re ready for your next husband.”

  “He said that?” Butch choked out in laughter. “To your face?”

  “Fuck you,” I seethed in anger and frustration. Because I still wanted to gut the prick for turning my wife on. “It was awkward, happy?”

  “We find out his name, all their names and we look into it,” Aaron advised.

  “Then you need to get Connie’s phone,” I said. “She’s the one who’s been setting up the dates for Pharis.”

  “I didn’t know that,” he grumbled.

  “Why would you?”

  “Considering I’ve been sleeping in her bed for the last eight months I figured she’d let me in on it.”

  “You—Connie—the fuck?”

  “Not that you pay attention to anything that doesn’t directly affect you or your ex-wife, but yes, I’m with Connie. While you seem hell bent on fucking up your love life, I decided to lock mine down. Now that we’ve cleared that up, let’s focus on Pharis,” he advised. “What’s your plan?”

  “Easy.”

  “Yeah?” Butch asked. “Tell us.”

  “I’m moving in.”

  They exchanged looks, then glanced at me with pity.

  Like I had already lost.

  Except that I know what fucking up felt like, and I wouldn’t be doing it twice.

  I was getting my wife back.

  And if her career took her to Timbuktu, I’d be going with her.

  But first I had to figure out who had been in her home and why.

  And immediately my mind went to dark places I had hoped to never visit again.

  I had just finished my last interview when I was cornered by two new, young, large, Atlanta players.

  Being flirted with was nothing new for me, but it did get old.

  Which is why I never flirted back, innocently or otherwise.

  Giving these kids my best smile, I said, “I’m married, kids, to a hunky cop. Wanna meet him?”

  With blushing cheeks, both boys passed, and when I turned around it was to find my husband standing there wearing lust like his badge.

  “You done?” he asked, pinning me to the concrete wall.

  “I was just coming to find you.” I moaned into his neck.

  “Didn’t like them so close to my wife.”

  Looping my arms around his neck, I whispered, “I know.”

  “Gonna have to punish you, remind you whose you are, superstar.”

  “Okay, Eddie.”

  Thanking the guys, most I knew and a couple I didn’t, I locked up after them and had no idea what to do with the man who stayed behind. Standing in my kitchen seemed like the most logical choice since that’s where the liquor was.

  But my ex-husband...

  He had other ideas.

  Like standing too close and breathing down my neck for example.

  “Hey,” he said, nudging me and the familiar tingles his touch leaves behind didn’t go unnoticed.

  “Hey.”

  “Why’d you call Butch?”

  “Eddie, fuck. Seriously?”

  “Answer me.”

  “To avoid this,” I snapped at him.

  “I would do anything for you, you know that.” Sure, except love me. “Anything, Pharis.”

  “Anything?”

  Crowding me even more, he leaned in close. “Anything.”

  “Leave.”

  “Anything,” he full body grunted, “but that.”

  And then his mouth was on mine. I wasn’t sure where I was because all I could focus on was his body pressed into mine. His tongue dominating my mouth, his hands sinking into my hips.

  His minty taste, the faint scent of his cologne.

  I was dizzy with it.

  This was raw passion.

  This was Eddie kissing me like he used to.

  Used to.

  Before he cut me loose.

  Pin meet balloon.

  Pop.

  “I can’t,” I said and stepped back.

  “You can,” he said, breathing just as hard. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

  “Can you please go?”

  “Go?” he said, pinning me in place once more. “I’m not going anywhere, superstar.”

  “Eddie...”

  “I’m staying,” he decreed. “In this house, in your bed with my wife.”

  Unable to stop it, a tear fell, and for the first time ever Eddie didn’t demand to know how he could fix it. Maybe because he knew the cause of it or perhaps because it was no longer his duty.

  Instead of saying a word, he brushed it away with the pad of his thumb which was a punch to my heart.

  Two years ago, he stopped caring.

  So this? This was too much for me.

  Breaking out of his hold, I ran to my bathroom needing a moment to myself.

  Not having it, he jimmied the lock open seconds later and stormed in.

  Huh. This was some old school Eddie behavior. I hadn’t seen this side of him in years.

  And I didn’t want to deal with it right now.

  “Don’t hide from me.”

  “Eat a dick booger, Eddie.” Christ, I hated that when I was emotional I couldn’t put together a decent swear combo. Of course, I blame him.

  “Speaking of nourishment, let’s feed you.”

  Blinking rapidly, I watch him turn away from me. I hear him begin pulling food out to cook.

  Um, okay what just happened? Why was I on my feet ready to follow?

  And why couldn’t I stay mad at him?

  “So, she’s dropped some weight,” Butch said while chewing his buffalo wing. “Still looks hot in my opinion.”

  He didn’t understand. Pharis had the perfect body. She ate, she drank, enjoying both, but she worked out, busted her ass to maintain it. Seeing her so thin scared the shit out of me.

  Her collarbones were visible on TV, so I could only imagine how they looked in person.

  It wasn’t enough that I missed her, fucking craved her, now I worried about her health too.

  Cooking for her, feeding her, brought me more joy than she could ever know, and likely didn’t know since I never told her. Every time I checked on her she was thinner than the time before.

  I hated it. I hated being without her. What I hated most of all was being responsible for all of it.

  Throwing whatever I could find in her refrigerator and pantry into her wok, I conjured up a decent stir-fry and was pleased with the result so far. But Pharis watching in silence me was putting me on edge.

  From
day one, I loved cooking for her, feeding her, providing for her. Fucking missed grocery shopping and surprising her with unique meals I found on Pinterest.

  Fucking Pinterest.

  And yes, I even had my own account.

  My screen name was Edible Eddie.

  And now I was in her kitchen. She didn’t own the space, we didn’t own the space.

  It was rented, borrowed, temporary.

  A reminder that she was leaving.

  I had so much to say with no clue on how to say it, where to start, or even if I should.

  How do you tell the woman you need more than life itself that you still needed her even though you gave her no choice but to divorce you? That you had your reasons and that every one of them were for her. How do I even start that conversation? Fuck. How will she handle hearing it?

  Filling our bowls, we both sit at her table with me adding rice to her dish and Pharis allowing it.

  Waiting on her to take the initial bite, something I always did because my woman ate first. When she stared at her bowl with a little frown, I asked, “Something wrong with dinner?”

  “I don’t have much of an appetite.”

  “You’re too thin,” I said gently. “You need to eat, superstar. Take better care of yourself.”

  “I’m not hungry,” she actually growled. “And stop fucking calling me that.”

  “Why aren’t you hungry?”

  “Divorce diet.” She shrugged, and just like that I lost my own appetite.

  “Divorce diet?”

  “Yeah, where women drop weight without trying, and men,” She waves me her hands at me. “Double their body mass at the gym.”

  Pleased she’s noticed my body, I continued, “You didn’t have weight to lose. And I loved your body the way—”

  Slamming her fist down, she said, “You liked my body the way it was.”

  “Loved,” I clarified.

  “Good for you, but maybe I didn’t.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “And as for whether or not you approve of it now, I don’t much give a fuck.”

  “Christ, I just meant...”

  But she wasn’t having it.