Troubled Waters (Tides of Change #2)

Prologue

Three years ago

Well, I guess I’m not getting laid tonight.

The indignant glare my wife levels me with as soon as she opens the front door tells me the chances of me getting told, "I have a headache" again for the umpteenth time are at an all time high. Sarah doesn’t say a damn word as she stalks into the house. She doesn’t even raise her voice in greeting as she slams both her work and baby bags down on the side table in our entryway, shouldering past me on her way into the kitchen.

At least one of my girls seems happy to see me, though. Terra, having grasped the concept of zooming around on her chubby toddler legs more confidently than her identical twin, Tati, comes tearing in the open door next. “Daddy!” she squeals, running at me with her arms in the air.

“You give ‘em hell at daycare today?” I ask her the same question I do every weekday, scooping her up and plastering her face with sloppy kisses.

She nods, her wild black locks—identical to my own, because there’s no doubt they are my little spawns—flopping against her face. She growls like a menacing bobcat kitten before telling me, “I bited Liam today.”

My lips tip up and I chuckle. “That’s—”

“Do not finish that with ‘my girl,’ Gannett,” Sarah hisses, slamming the pantry door. “We’re not supposed to be encouraging this behavior. Remember?”

I frown. “That’s no bueno, my chunka-munk,” I quickly correct, tickling her belly.

“But him bited me too!” she chirps after giggling.

“Who bit who first?” I ask, scrunching my brows.

“Gannett, does it matter?! She should not be biting anyone,” Sarah huffs, dropping the pot of water on the stove with so much force, I grow concerned she may crunch it like a beer can.

“Damnit, why do I have to do everything around here? Why am I always the bad guy?” she mutters to herself, making sure she’s loud enough so I can hear.

She storms around the kitchen island, pulling Terra from my arms and sitting her down on one of the booster seats at the table.

She crouches down in front of Terra, narrowing her eyes at our feistier daughter.

“It does not matter who bit who first. Two wrongs don’t make a right. We don’t hurt our friends.”

“Liam’s not my fwiend. Him fwiends with Tati. Him say me a meanie,” Terra snaps back, scowling.

The hair might be mine, but that scowl—that’s all Sarah, right there. Jee-zus.

Sarah rolls her eyes, clearly over it. “Well, gnawing on him is probably why he thinks that…” She rises to her full height again, going back to the stove to add the pasta to the now boiling water.

“Here, let me,” I tell her, pulling the spoon from her hand so I can take over stirring.

“Ohh-ho-ho—” She huffs out a humorless laugh. “Now you help. Look at you, Gannett!” She gestures at me, waving a hand up and down. “Couldn’t you have started supper before I got home? Not all of us drink our supper here, you know! And did we wake you from your customary nap?!”

I scoff. “Oh! Pardon me for unwinding! So sorry, I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to be tired after a long day at work!”

“And what? I just effed off all day?! Is that what you think I do? Just because I have an office job and I don’t spend all day hauling lobster traps, that means I don’t work?!”

“Never said that,” I mutter, absently swirling the spoon around in the frothy water.

“You didn’t have to. That’s the thing with you, Gannett,” she hisses my name out with venom in her voice.

“You don’t even acknowledge that I work all day too, and then you expect me to do it all at home as well!

I drop the girls off at daycare. I go to work, then I pick them up from daycare because you’re already half in the bag.

I—” She sucks in a breath, her eyes going wide.

“Tatiana!” she shouts, scurrying towards the still open front door.

I drop the spoon, rushing after her to find Tati sniffling on the porch, rubbing at her soaked eyes. Sarah scooches and scoops Tati up, holding her close to her chest. “Oh, Mommy’s so sorry, baby,” she coos softly, all while glaring at me.

A thud in the kitchen calls my attention backwards, just in time to catch Terra calling out, “me otay!” while rubbing at her forehead—evidence that she just managed to dismount from her booster seat with all her characteristic un-gracefulness.

At the same time, hissing from the direction of the stove tells me the water is boiling over.

Shit, I still can’t get over how everything manageable can all go to hell so quickly.

I quickly turn down the stove and then snag Terra before she can run away. “Let me take a look at your noggin, monkey,” I tell her. “Yeesh,” I say, grimacing at the egg starting to form. “You sure that doesn’t hurt?”

She shakes her head vehemently. “Me stwong.”

I snort. “Thick-headed, like me, is more like it…”

I ruffle her hair and then send her into the living room to play.

Terra, also our more independent twin, keeps herself pretty well entertained.

As predicted, the sound of her bin of toys being upended—likely scattering her crayons everywhere, again—echoes out into the kitchen.

The sound doesn’t grate on me nearly as much as it does Sarah.

I can’t say that I really understand why either.

It’s just a way for our girls to exercise their independence, and I see no issue with that.

If I had to make a guess, it probably has something to do with Sarah’s absurd desire to keep our house looking like a home organizer’s wet dream. I mean, what did she expect when we had kids? There are going to be Crayola marks on the wall. It’s just a thing kids do, isn’t it?

Well, Terra does anyway. Tati? Not so much. She’s our demure, quiet queen.

It’s when we hear Terra giggle and squeal, "gwitter!" that I see Sarah’s eye twitch. My wife of eight years then makes a growling noise low in her throat that I’ve heard plenty of times, though usually it's directed at me. “Enough,” she chokes out. “I’ve had enough.”

Setting Tati back down inside the house, Sarah storms over to the stove, clicking it off entirely, and shoving her fingers through the long, blond hair at her scalp. She puffs out a breath before leveling me with the gloweriest of all glowers.

I wince. Think, Gannett. Think. What the fuck can I say to her right now to make it all better? This has to be my fault somehow; I’m sure of it. “I’m… sorry?”

The look on her face right now tells me all I need to know: I truly—royally—fucked all the way up. I’m sitting atop Mount Shitstorm right now. Planted my "I’m King Dumbass" flag in the ground and everything.

Oh, I am so not getting laid tonight. Our marital bed will have a divide of Arctic tundra right down the middle—a chasm which will surely let Blackbeard know his presence is unwanted.

Yeah, I named my dick after the notorious swashbuckler. I know, I’m thirty, and it’s probably considered immature, but quite frankly, I haven’t a single fuck to give. He’s my matey; he gets a name.

She spins on her heels and storms off down to our hall-closet, all without a word.

If I listen real closely, however, I’m sure there’s probably a slight whistle from the steam roiling out from her ears.

Shit, is she about to go all dragon on me and snuff me out with a snort from her flared nostrils?

If she opens her mouth in my direction, I’m so grabbing a fire extinguisher.

Don’t say it, Gan. Do not say— “Sarah, would you just calm down, please?”

Oh… shit. You fucking said it.

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I cower, bracing for impact.

When she whips around to face me, what can only be described as fury is blazing in her eyes.

One of her painted-red, razor-sharp talons pokes me in my sternum.

The rage of a thousand pissed off hornets doesn’t even hold a candle to what she’s practically vibrating with right now.

We don’t even own a dog, but if we did, I’m almost positive I’d be bunking with it tonight.

“I am taking the weekend to go to my parents,” she seethes, brushing past me and into our bedroom, suitcase in hand. “When I get back, I want you out of this house. We’ll settle everything with our divorce when I’m more level-headed. Am I clear?”

Wait…what?!

“Sarah, you can’t just suddenly decide we’re getting a divorce!” I cry out, stepping in and reaching for her.

She presses her palm to my chest, keeping me at arm’s length.

She shakes her head, her glower morphing into something that looks more like pity.

“You don’t get it, do you?” she asks in a voice that’s darker than shadows at midnight.

“There’s nothing sudden about this. If you’re blindsided by it, that sounds like a you problem… ”

I stagger back, appalled. I shake my head. “No. Come on, Sarah. Please, don’t do this.”

“It’s already done, Gannett. I’ve had the paperwork on my desk for a while now. It’s time. We’re not the same people we were in our twenties. I’ve grown up,” she remarks, gesticulating at me again. “You’ve…”

“What?” I scoff. “I’ve what? You might as well just say it.”

Spinning around, she sighs, hefting the suitcase up and thumping it open on our bed.

“This is it for you,” she replies. “And the fuck of it all is, you don’t even see a problem with it!

We’re married, but there is no partnership, for crying out loud!

You spend more time with the guys at the bar than you do at home helping me raise our girls!

I’ve been single without actually being single for a long goddamn time, and yet… you don’t ever see that.”

“I can work on it!” I balk, throwing my hands up. “Sarah, I can do better!”