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“You’re stirring shit up just like you always do. You’re never happy, always wanting more, draining the life out of everyone around you.”
“Once upon a time, your words would have broken my heart. Now it doesn’t even skip a beat.”
He sucks in a sharp breath. I hit a nerve. Back when we were just kids falling in love, I told him that whenever he was next to me, my heart felt like it skipped a beat. He got all cocky and smug about it, and in the early years, it was something I told him often. Until later down the line, we stopped talking at all.
“What happened to us, Emma?” he whispers, sounding tortured. But I’m immune to it all now.
“Not all once-upon-a-times end in happily ever after, Dan.”
“You always did want a fairytale.”
I sigh. I didn’t give a shit about fairytales. I just wanted to be loved. In the end, that need was what kept me there far longer than it should have.
“I don’t talk to the kids about us, Dan. Sophie asked me a question, and I answered her without embellishment. I had no idea you’d lied to them about the divorce settlement.”
“I didn’t lie to spite them. I just knew they wouldn’t understand.”
And perhaps there was a reason for that. I don’t say anything. If he can’t see the fucking double standard for what it is, then I can’t explain it to him.
I look towards the kitchen, needing another drink, but it’s so far away. Maybe I need to invest in one of those little drink fridges beside the sofa, so I don’t have to move that far.
“Emma, are you listening to me?”
“No. Another perk of divorce. Let me give you some advice, Dan. If you don’t want your kids to think you’re a dirty liar, then don’t fucking lie to them.”
“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”
“What? When I’m telling the truth? You always did like to live in the land of denial, and you know what? I’m happy for you if that’s what you want, but please keep me out of it. I can’t think of a single reason we need to talk unless it’s about the kids. And this doesn’t count.”
“How the fuck does this not count?”
“Because you made it about you. You lied about something, and now you’re pissed the kids know the truth, and you have one less way to manipulate them. That’s not on me, Dan. You were the one holding the rope. You were the one who made a noose with it. Do not come crying to me when you find yourself hanging from it.”
“Fuck you, Emma.”
“Not even if I borrowed your girlfriend’s vagina.”
“Yeah, I heard you like dirty biker dick now. I guess you can pull the whore from the gutter, but that doesn’t make her any less of a slut.”
He manages to hurt me with that one, though I try to keep the pain out of my voice. It’s funny, I got labelled a slut a lot, thanks to my getting pregnant at fifteen. I was called a whore, spat at, and every boy thought it gave them the right to try it with me. They believed I was easy and that touching me and brushing up against me would make me melt into some hussy putty. Well, the joke was on all of them. Until Lick, Dan was the only person I slept with. I gave him my virginity, and I married the man. I spent years of my life with him, while the ones who labelled me as trash went through partners like cheap shots on a Saturday night.
He knew. He knew the truth and told me to ignore them all. He got in more than a few fights defending my honour. But just when I think he can’t reach a new low, Dan manages to find the fucking basement.
I take a deep steadying breath before I respond, my grip on the phone so tight my knuckles turn white. “I slept with one man for most of my life—years and years of the same predictable paint-by-numbers moves. I knew what you were going to do before you did it. It was a fifty-fifty shot whether I would come or not, and if I didn’t get there before you did, that shot went down to zero. It took one night with a biker to show me what I’d been missing. I didn’t know I could come so hard I’d see stars or that they made dicks so big I had to ice my—”
He hangs up, making me grin. “Play stupid games, Dan, win stupid prizes.”
I toss the phone on the sofa beside me and wince at the sudden pain just under my ribs. Moving to stand, I have to grab the end of the sofa when the room spins wildly around me.
“Oh god, not again.”
My mouth waters. I have a few seconds before I start puking. I grab for my phone and manage to dial 999 before I black out.
36
Lick
Imake it to the end of the mat without grabbing the bars, grinning like a lunatic at John. He whoops and hollers as he jogs around the room, thrusting his fist into the air like he’s Rocky.
