The Boss

Chapter 8

Chaz

Ilied about that client but had more than enough responsibilities at the shop to warrant the early return. Having taken most of Friday and all of Saturday off, I’d gotten behind. Could barely afford the loan and utilities on both properties never mind pay someone else’s salary. Yeah, hiring a helper probably meant we could finish up more jobs in a month, but I’d never been good with numbers. Didn’t have the brains to figure out a budget that would keep us afloat long enough to get ahead.

So I continued plugging along.

Working my ass to the bone.

Hearing shit when I got home late at night.

Out of guilt over almost crossing a line that would break my vows, I asked my wife to go on a date the following weekend. She’d blinked, taking a few seconds to process my words before hesitantly agreeing. I insisted on going to Dig-In where she used to wait tables—because they didn’t serve alcohol.

Tense silence settled between us as we sat at the table glancing over menus we’d both long-since memorized.

I went with my usual burger with Swiss and mushrooms, and she ordered the Cobb salad with extra ranch on the side.

“Miss this place?”

I asked, hoping that topic of conversation wouldn’t lead to a fight.

She shrugged, glancing around the retro diner that looked like it’d been zapped straight from the fifties to now. At least Old Man Ron had replaced the red vinyl bench seats like his daughter Addy had pushed for. Back in high school whenever we’d worn shorts, our bare legs had gotten scratched by the rips and fraying duct tape her dad had attempted to fix the seats with.

“I needed a change from the same old, same old.”

I nodded, having heard the reason for her applying for a new job at the bakery/cafe downtown. Scone Haven had less on their menu and tables, but Shelly for some reason had thought the tips would be the same.

She hadn’t listened to my input—what did I know of numbers anyway—and had made the switch because she’d been bored. Now, the struggle to pay bills had gotten worse.

“Those cranberry-orange scones you brought home yesterday were one of the best Kel has come up with,”

I said, trying again to engage my wife.

Kelly Powell was an out-of-towner who’d bought the bakery a few years earlier and had turned it into a better-than-Dunks stop for every single person in a twenty-something radius of Pippen Creek.

Shelly nodded her agreement and sipped her water, still looking around the diner rather than giving me her attention.

Uneasy silence snuck in, leaving me shifting on the bench.

Why did shit have to be so weird between us? What had happened to that close friendship we’d once shared? The ability to bullshit and laugh about anything and everything?

I played with the straw in my Coke, swirling the ice around my cup while we sat, both of us quiet and obviously uncomfortable with each other’s company.

That whole “growing apart”

thing people used to justify divorce hadn’t ever made sense to me. I got it now though. Too bad splitting up wouldn’t work for us. We were both financially stuck with no other options on the table.

Addy approached with our meals, and I sat back as she placed my burger and fries in front of me. “Enjoy. Let me know if you need something else.”

I nodded, eyeing my food while reaching for the ketchup.

“She didn’t even say hi to me,”

Shelly muttered while drizzling her salad with dressing.

Rather than reminding her she’d left without giving a two-week’s notice and probably burned the bridge between her and Old Man Ron’s family, I bit into my burger.

“Could she be any more of a bitch?”

I glanced around, hoping no one heard my wife. “Shell, lower your voice,”

I muttered once I swallowed.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

A muscle ticked in my cheek, and I focused on my dinner, regretting having pushed to eat out with her. Stomach continuing to knot, I had to force myself to finish my food.

The door opened behind me for the fifth or sixth time since we’d sat down.

“Hey, Jamie! Chief Sutton!”

Shelly called all happy-like, and my breath kicked from my lungs like I’d been punched in the sternum.

Fuck. I do not need this right now.

Wiping my lips with a napkin, I straightened and turned to find both men readying to sit in the booth behind us where Addy had led them.

“Chaz,”

Sutton greeted with a nod. “Shelly.”

“Chief.”

I glanced at Jamie. “How’s it going?”

I could read the hesitation and wariness in Jamie’s glance before he gave Shelly his attention. “It’s going. Looking good, Shelly,”

he said, his smile forced.

“Just got my hair done,”

Shelly said.

I could imagine her flouncing the red curls over her shoulders but couldn’t be bothered to face my wife. Jamie held me rapt with his backwards cap, the energy of his presence and the red-checkered shirt stretched over his pecs and muscular shoulders rousing my dick to life.

Fucking hell, this man.

Turning back around, I focused on my plate, annoyed I’d forgotten it sat emptied. I glanced at Shelly’s oversized bowl to find she’d wiped out her salad. “You about ready to go?”

I asked quietly, needing to get the hell out of there.

“You two care to join us?”

Shelly asked rather than answering me.

No—please God, say no.

“Thanks, but we wouldn’t want to intrude,”

Chief said, and I exhaled a lungful of pent-up anxiety.

“Oh, no biggie!”

Shelly insisted, all sunshine and smiles. “I didn’t feel like cooking, so we just dropped in real quick for a bite to eat. It’s no hot date or anything.”

Yeah, okay.

She stabbed me in what was left of my heart with that lie. I’d practically had to beg for her to agree when she bitched daily about us never getting out of the house together anymore.

“Maybe some other time,”

Jamie said, and Shelly ran with it, making plans he wouldn’t say no to even if he’d wanted to.

In two weeks, he’d be coming over for dinner. She would create a delicious dish—he could bring the wine.

A few minutes later, I exited Dig-In behind my wife, hands shoved into my pockets because I couldn’t stand the thought of touching her lower back or threading my fingers through hers in sight of Jamie. Not that she’d want me to do that anyway. She’d shied away the last couple of times I’d attempted some sort of affection…back in June, maybe?

But she could hang on me to put on a show whenever she talked me into going to Frenchie’s and drank until she couldn’t walk straight.

I dragged ass to my truck and hopped in. She shut her door loudly behind her, huffed, and crossed her arms.

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

she asked, her tone bitchy as usual. “You practically cringed when I invited them to sit with us.”

“Not in the mood to socialize,”

I said as an excuse.

“Yeah, you made that pretty clear by completely ignoring me over dinner.”

“You weren’t exactly chatty yourself, Shell.”

My clipped words revealed annoyance that would, without a doubt, start a fight.

Sure enough, Shelly ranted throughout our short three minute drive. We both slammed truck doors before stomping into the house. She went for the liquor cabinet. I headed to the guest room/office across the hall from ours.

“Straight to work!”

she hollered, sarcasm heavy in her voice.

“I have bills to pay!”

I yelled back, lying my ass off since I’d taken care of the house shit last week. Others statements piled up at the shop, but she didn’t need to know the truth of my hiding away in the office. She could guess though. If I wasn’t escaping to the shower, this room, with its small desk shoved in the corner with my computer and papers, became my hideaway whenever she went on a rampage.

The only problem?

There was no lock on the door.

Sure enough, Shelly came barging in a half hour of grumbling later, already well on her way to drunk.

I was selfish.

Didn’t care I’d let her down and made her unhappy.

Wasn’t bothered by the fact we hadn’t gotten it on since April.

But I didn’t bother reminding her she hadn’t initiated sex or affection in that time either. Didn’t mention my own depression and disappointment over our marriage and lack of closeness. Just kept my mouth shut in the hopes she’d run her mouth tired and leave me the fuck alone.

Took almost another hour before she passed out on our bed, her snores filling the entire single-story house that no longer felt like a home.

I grabbed a beer, stepped outside onto the stoop, and breathed fresh air into my lungs before drinking the cold brew almost in one go. I swigged the rest, emptying the bottle before descending the three cement stairs and heading into the backyard.

We had a small fire pit out we hadn’t lounged beside since…who the fuck knew when. Rather than sit in one of the creaky, old Adirondack chairs set snuggly together, I plopped onto the grass, sprawling on my back.

Stars twinkled down at me, but they brought no joy.

Only memories of past camping trips and a more recent one that made my throat ache and eyes sting.