Page 44

Tyson’s voice startled me. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, tool belt slung low on his hips, studying me with those too-observant eyes.

“Just thinking about arson. Light arson. Maybe some medium arson.”

“Your ex?” He guessed.

“His lawyers. They’re claiming I caused irreparable harm to our marriage. You know, by exposing the affair he’d been having.”

His expression darkened. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish. Apparently playing the recording was defamation. And illegal. And emotionally distressing to the poor, poor man.”

“Fuck.” He moved closer, and I caught the scent of sawdust and whatever soap he used. Clean. Male. Distracting. “What is the lawyer going to do?”

“Fight. My sister also texted. Want to guess what she said?”

“I’m sorry for being a terrible human being?” He looked hopeful.

“Ha. No. She threatened to sue if I put the recording online. Because she didn’t consent to being recorded.”

He stared at me. “While cheating with your husband.”

“Thank you.” I slapped my hands against the counter. “See, you get it.”

“The actual fuck is wrong with these people?”

“Million dollar question.” I slumped against the wall, suddenly exhausted and it wasn’t even eight AM. “I just… I’m so tired of this. I moved miles to get away from them, and they’re still making my life hell.”

“Hey.” His hand landed on my shoulder, warm and steady. “You’re not dealing with this alone. Whatever you need.”

“Careful. I might take you up on that.”

“I hope you do.”

We stood there, his hand on my shoulder, my defenses crumbling under the weight of simple kindness. I could have stepped into him. Let those solid arms wrap around me. Pretended for just a minute that I was safe.

Instead, I straightened. Squared my shoulders. “Don’t you have a bathroom to demolish?”

“Technically, we’re renovating. Demolition was yesterday.”

“Then go renovate. I need to forward my sister’s narcissistic manifesto to my lawyer.”

He squeezed my shoulder once before letting go. “Hank is handling the heavy lifting today. I could stick around if you need…”

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

“Go renovate, Calloway.”

He went, but not without one last look that said he saw right through my bravado. The man was too perceptive for my own good.

I spent the next hour sending everything to Rachel, including the voicemails I finally forced myself to listen to, which ranged from tearful apologies to rage-filled threats to promises that made my skin crawl.

“Baby, please. We can work through this. What we have is special.”

“You vindictive bitch. Do you know what you’ve cost me?”

“I dream about you every night. About holding you. We belong together.”