33. Kaitlyn
THIRTY-THREE
Kaitlyn
I CAN’T STOP LOOKING AT THE PICTURE OF THE DRAWING Went sent me. When I texted him yesterday morning and tried to give him an out about keeping the date we made to have dinner tomorrow night. I told him it wasn’t necessary. That I knew he only made the offer because Ryan and more than likely Conner were watching and he wanted to make the truce we’d agree on believable.
His response was to send me a dirty drawing of the two of us together. Below it was a text.
Went: See you Monday, Sunshine.
Like all of his work, the drawing is beautiful. He told me once that under normal circumstances, a single drawing could take him months to finish, the length of time depending on how obsessed he is with his subject.
I suspect that I could finish a drawing of you in less than a week.
He must’ve stayed up all night working on it because the picture of the drawing he sent me is new and it’s of us, fucking in his shop. In it, he has me bent over his tattoo table, the clothes I wore last night in a heap at our feet, the tattoo he gave me, clearly visible on my shoulder. Went is behind me, bare chested, pants jerked down around his hips like he couldn’t wait to get inside me. Cock buried deep. Rough, tattooed hand fisted in my hair, lifting my head so I can watch while he fucks me from behind, one of his thick, blunt-tipped fingers pressed between my ass cheeks.
I know what my greedy little cock slut wife wants… you want me here.
Still staring at the picture on my phone, I feel my face go up in flames when an incoming text flashes across the screen. Fumbling with my phone like I got caught with my pants down, I back out of my text thread with Went and open it.
Henley: Family dinner is canceled tonight. Instead we’re taking a day trip to the Cape house for a wedding rehearsal.
Wedding rehearsal.
That means Went is going to be there.
Before I can text back with a I can’t leave Mook alone for that long, Henley beats me to it.
Henley: Dec says you can bring Mook. Someone will be there to pick you up in an hour.
Shit.
Looking at Mookie, sitting next to me on the couch, I sigh. “Well, I guess we’re going to Cape Cod.” Tossing my phone onto the coffee table before I stand, I reach down to give him an ear scratch. “Molly will be there.”
When I say her name, Mook jumps off the couch to sit next to the front door.
“Good idea,” I tell him with a laugh while I move toward my bedroom. “You wait there while I get ready.”
An hour later, I’m in the hallway, locking up to go downstairs to wait for my ride when Ryan and Grace’s door opens and lets out a flood of noise and commotion.
“Race you to the elevator,” Molly shouts, streaking down the hall with Henry following along behind, running just fast enough to make it look like he’s trying to win. When he sees her, Mook lets out a happy bark. “Hi, Mook,” she calls out as she runs past him while Ryan and Grace bring up the rear, baby Allison on her hip.
“I wish we had room in my little yellow roller skate,” Grace says while we all pile into the elevator. “You and Mook could just ride with us.”
“It’s alright,” I tell her with a shrug. “Someone’s coming for me.” I’m assuming it’ll be Henley and Conner since she’s the one who texted me but that becomes, very quickly and clearly, the wrong assumption when we step outside to find a dark blue G-Wagon waiting in the parking lot.
Went.
Henley sent Went to come get me.
Apparently, Tess has recruited a cohort in her matchmaking scheme.
“You want to ride with Grace,” Ryan offers with a frown while herding his kids to the car. “I can ride with Ritchie Rich.”
Remembering what he told me yesterday morning—that Went confessed to him that he was married—I shake my head because allowing him to ride in a car with someone he thinks is trying to rope me into an extramarital affair is not only stupid, it’s dangerous. “No.” I shake my head and smile. “It’s okay. I got this.”
Shooting a quick, hard look at the G-Wagon and the man waiting for me inside of it, Ryan sighs. “Alright. We’ll be right behind you.”
Leaving him to wrangle kids into car seats, I take Mook and lead him to the waiting car. Approaching the passenger side, I find Went watching me through the open window. “If it’s not okay?—”
“I’m here,” he tells me, his tone slightly exasperated. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”
Holding up Mookie’s leash, I shake it at him while the dog on the other end sits at my feet. “I don’t want him to scratch your leather seats.”
“Maybe you forgot but I’ve always wanted a dog,” he reminds me, his expression unreadable. “Get in—both of you.”
Opening the back door, I motion Mookie to get in. Shutting it behind him, I climb into my own seat in front. “Thank you,” I say without looking at him while I put on my seatbelt and hope for a quiet ride where neither of us address the herd of elephants in the car with us. “For the ride. I appreciate it.”
Making a faint, noncommittal sound in the back of his throat, Went barely looks at me before turning out of the parking lot, onto a nearly deserted road. It’s early morning on a Sunday. Most of the neighborhood is either at church or sleeping in. Settling in for a long, awkwardly silent trip, I turn my face toward the window. We’re out of the city before one of us decides to speak.
“So, how long have you had him?”
Turning away from the window, I study Went’s profile. “Had who?”
“The hundred pound meathead, scratching up my leather seats,” he says, tossing me a quick, wry smile.
“Oh.” Embarrassed for some reason, I turn in my seat to look at Mook. He’s sitting up in his seat, nose pressed to the window. “I found him in a feedstore parking lot, a few months after I got to Wyoming, so…” Turning around in my seat again, I look at Went. “Five, almost six years now.”
When I say it, Went’s jaw goes tight, the hard angle of it telling me that my answer pisses him off for some reason. I don’t have to wonder why for long because he tells me. “So, right after you left me.”
So much for ignoring the elephants.
Before I can answer him, Went shakes his head on a sigh. “Sorry. Don’t answer that.”
Looking out the window again, I try like hell to find something to say that might put us back on even ground. “I got your text,” I say and instantly regret it because if I was looking for even ground between us, talking about the dirty picture he drew of us is not it.
“Oh, yeah…” Went says on a low chuckle that stains my cheeks. “Which one?”
“Both.” Flicking him a quick look. “But I’m specifically referring to your text about dinner tomorrow night. I was thinking maybe we shouldn’t?—”
“Sorry, Sunshine—” Shaking his head on another chuckle, Went tightens his hands around the steering wheel, the sight of them reminding me what it feels like to have them gripped around my hips. Fisted in my hair. Wrapped around my throat. “I’ve already made reservations.”
“Reservations?” Looking up from his hands, I find him looking at me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking about. Embarrassed over being caught, I look away. “Can’t we just go to Benny’s?”
The corner of Went’s mouth twitches at my obvious discomfort. “We’re not going to Benny’s.”
Trying to reason with him, I shake my head. “I don’t have anything nice enough to wear to a restaurant that takes reservations, besides, if we’re trying to put on a show for the Gilroys, wouldn’t it be better if we went to a place where they might actually?—”
“I don’t want to put on a show . That’s not why I asked you out.” Frowning at the road, Went shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure it’s not going to matter anyway. Conner knows everything so that means Henley does too. It’s only a matter of time before?—”
“Conner knows everything.” I repeat it back to him like I don’t understand the words. “What do you mean, Conner knows everything ?”
Eyes focused on the road, Went frowns at my tone. “I mean he knows. About us—that we met while I was tangled up in that Lexi Chase mess and that we got married.”
There’s more. He’s not telling me something but instead of pressing him about it, I ask him the more important question. “Why would you do that? Why would you just tell him without talking to me about it first?”
“First off, I didn’t just tell him .” Aiming a quick look in my direction, Went shakes his head. “Did you know that weird motherfucker can read lips?” When my face folds into a confused, what are you talking about frown, he lets out a loud bark of laughter. “Yeah, me either—but he can. So even though there was no audio with the security camera feed in the elevator, Friday night, he had absolutely no problem with understanding what we said to each other.”
You seem to have forgotten what happens to me when you’re within fucking distance…
“Yeah…” The look on my face must tell him what I’m remembering because he laughs. “ That. And before you ask me why I didn’t try to feed him some bullshit story—I don’t know about you but the Conner I know doesn’t swallow bullshit very well. Lying to him would’ve been a stupid thing to do.”
Because I don’t have a winning argument for that one, I feel my shoulders slump. “You told Ryan that you’re married.”
Went’s face crumples into a frown when I say it. “What?”
“At Conner’s bachelor party—you were tattooing him and you told him that the woman in the pictures you have hanging up in your shop are of your wife—not ex-wife. Wife .” When he doesn’t say anything, I keep pressing. “He warned me that getting involved with you would be a bad idea.”
He makes a hard, flat noise in the back of his throat and hearing it pisses me off for some reason.
“Why would you do that?” I ask, turning in my seat to study his profile. “Why would you?—”
He nails me to my seat with a quick, hard look before refocusing on the road. “Why did you leave?” Ignoring my question, Went asks one of his own. A question he’s asked me more than once and it’s one I haven’t answered.
But I should.
“Because—” Shaking my head, I look away from him, hoping it’ll make it easier to say. “the only reason you married me was to save me from Brock and my father. Because it was the right thing to do. I was saved. There was no reason to stay.”
He makes that sound again but it’s uglier this time. Angrier. “You really think that?” he asks me with a disgusted head shake. “You really think I married you to?—”
“You’re a rescue ranger , remember?” I bite back, forcing myself to look at him. “You blew up your entire fucking life because your ex-girlfriend called you, crying for help. You can’t help yourself, Went. It’s what you do.” Sighing, I turn away from him to aim my gaze out the window. “We were never going to work,” I say quietly. “I just figured it out before you did.”
Neither one of us says another word for the rest of the trip.