Chapter 1
EARLY JUNE…
RACHEL
“Don’t forget to grab your cleats, Em. And Mase, Grandpa wanted you to help him with the garden this weekend. Take some old clothes so you don’t get your good stuff dirty.”
“Got ’em, Mom!” Emma calls from the pile of softball equipment she dumped at the front door last night after practice.
“Grandpa always makes me work,” Mason grumbles as he slides off a kitchen chair like a limp noodle. “Why can’t I just hang out with Dad?”
Because your dad’s priorities are all kinds of messed up these days, kiddo.
“I’m sorry, baby. I know this is hard.” I ruffle his dark hair as he slinks by.
He pulls away with a grimace. “Why won’t he just come home?” My son’s dark eyes are filled with a mix of sadness and frustration. At just shy of eleven years old, he understands far more than I wish he did, including the reason his father and I are in the middle of a divorce.
I’ve asked myself that same question a hundred times since Craig moved out. But four months into our separation, I’ve officially given up. More than that, I no longer want him to come home.
I just haven’t figured out how to tell my kids that.
“That’s a question only your dad can answer, Mase.” I give him a sad smile. Smiles don’t mend broken hearts, but it’s all I’ve got.
“Can you pick us up early on Sunday?” he asks over his shoulder, a swoop of shaggy hair falling over hopeful eyes.
“That’s up to your dad,” I remind him. “But we can ask.”
“Okay.”
As he shuffles to his room, I let out the breath I’ve been holding and shakily pull in another. Eventually, this will get easier. It has to. One of these days, I’ll be able to talk to my kids about their dad and not feel like I’m walking on eggshells. Right?
“Dad’s here!” Emma announces, her nose pressed against the window beside the front door. “You’re gonna be at my game tomorrow, right, Mom?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Emmy Lou.” I step up behind her and ruffle her hair—hair the same dark brown as her brother’s and her father’s—as my soon-to-be ex-husband hops out of his truck.
Fifteen years ago, the sight of his tall, bulky frame hurrying toward my front door gave seventeen-year-old me butterflies.
Now, it gives me anxiety.
“Hey, Dad!” Our eight-year-old daughter steps out onto the porch and launches herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. Having come straight from work, his T-shirt is streaked with dirt and his jeans are even dirtier.
“You remember I have a game tomorrow, right?”
“Hey, ladybug.” He tugs her ponytail as he props his sunglasses on top of his Enders Excavating ball cap. “Of course I remembered.”
Mm-hmm. The crease in his brow says otherwise, but I won’t call him out when Emma’s within earshot.
Once she trots off, hauling her softball gear to the back of the truck, I tip my head toward the house. “Mason’s grabbing his bag.” Then I take a deep breath and spit it out. “He’s really hoping to spend some time with you this weekend.”
The line in Craig’s brow deepens, and his lips turn down. “Isn’t that why I’m here?”
It should be that simple, but it hasn’t been. Either he doesn’t realize it, or he does, and he’s chosen to pretend otherwise.
“He wants one-on-one time, Craig. And he’s old enough to know that you’re not spending the night at your parents’ house along with them like you say you are.”
His scowl turns into a defensive laugh. He plants his hands on his hips and lifts one brow, hitting me with the condescending look he’s so good at. “Oh, really?”
I rub my hands along my upper arms and swallow. I don’t want to argue with him, especially not about her, but I’m sick of the way he’s upsetting my kids. It was bad enough he hurt me.
“He wants to know he’s your priority. And when you leave at night”—I wave an awkward hand—“to do what you do, you’re telling him something else is more important than he is.”
He narrows his eyes. “You sure this isn’t you talking?”
Am I still hurt that he ended our marriage one month and started seeing someone else the next? Yes. Does it hurt even more that the woman in question is Cady Reynolds, his first love? Of course it does. But this isn’t high school. One of us, at least, should remember that.
“I’m not going to have this conversation with you right now.” I tilt my head, surveying Emma, who’s come back to say goodbye.
“Right.” Craig knuckles his nose and eyes the Pruitts’ car, where it’s backing out of the garage across the street.
I fake a smile and politely wave to them. It’s bad enough the entire town knows my marriage failed and that my husband is back to fucking his old high school fling. I don’t need them talking about how we’re still fighting about it.
Mason skulks through the door with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, Mase. How was school?”
“Crappy. Five days until summer vacation.” Without another word, he stalks to Craig’s truck.
“Don’t think you’re leaving without a hug,” I call after him.
His shoulders slump even more, but he turns around without argument.
“Love you, Mom.” Emma gives me another quick squeeze before she returns to the truck and climbs into the back seat.
“The game is at noon at the field by the festival grounds,” I mutter to Craig. If I don’t tell him now, he’ll text me for the details later.
“Thanks.” He steps aside as Mason returns for that hug. “I’ll have them back by four on Sunday.”
Mason flicks a glance my way, silently pleading for me to ask about that earlier drop off, but I shake my head. He needs time with his dad, even if it comes in bits and pieces.
“I’ll see you at the game tomorrow, okay?” I press a kiss to the top of his head and breathe him in, willing him to go without arguing.
“Fine.” Once again, he shuffles away, and this time, Craig goes, too.
The moment the truck disappears down the street, I step back inside, close the door, and fall apart.
All in all, I’ve been okay since Craig moved out four months ago. My marriage wasn’t perfect by a long shot, and this divorce is for the best. But watching him take my babies away? It’s like there’s a vise around my heart, squeezing a little tighter every time I’m reminded that this will be our reality for the next decade.
I hate it. And I hate even more that my babies are stuck in the middle of this mess. Craig and I were supposed to raise them together. Under this roof. But he called it quits on our family.
More specifically, he called it quits on me.
“I look at you, and all I see is their mother,” he said when he told me he wanted a divorce. “I respect you as the woman who’s raising my kids, but I don’t see you like a man should see his wife. The spark is gone, Ray, and I don’t think there’s anything more we can do to bring it back.”
A dagger to my heart would have been less painful. Hell, even a cleaver chopping it into hundreds of little pieces would have been preferable.
All I ever wanted was to be a good wife and a good mother, like my mom was for my dad and to me.
But I wasn’t.
And I don’t know what to do with that.
“Dang, girl! You’re on fire!”My best friend Crystal whoops. “You were imagining Cady’s face up there, weren’t you?”
I tip my head back and laugh. I sank two darts into the bullseye and hit twenty on the third, but the thought of her hasn’t even crossed my mind. “No, but I bet I’d have nailed all three if I had.”
Giggling, she takes her position at the line. “You can do that next time, and I won’t even be mad when you beat me.” With one eye closed, she takes her first shot. It bounces off the board and hits the hardwood floor. “Well, damn. Maybe I should imagine her face up there.”
“Do what you gotta do, babe.” Grinning, I return to our high-top table at the back of The Creek, Cole Creek’s bar and grill.
Our PTA meeting ended an hour ago, but Crys and I stuck around for a drink and a couple of games. She needs a little time to herself to get through the rest of the school year, and I’m here hoping to forget my exchange with Craig. I’m not a big drinker, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
“Ugh, that was awful.” Crystal collects her darts with a sigh and skulks back to the table, head bowed in shame. “I need practice. We should do this more often.”
“True that.” I tip my old-fashioned her way, then tip it back and finish it off with a little slurp. “But it’s probably best if we don’t. I like these too much.”
She’s grinning in response when the bells on the bar’s front door jingle and a group of young guys strolls in. They’re dressed in T-shirts and swimming trunks, so they’re probably cabin-goers looking for a little fun this weekend. Cole Creek comes alive this time of year. When the weather gets warm, we’re inundated with city folk who love to leave behind the hustle and bustle in exchange for our quiet little town and its hospitality.
“Damn,” Crystal mutters. “Look at all that fresh meat.”
“Mm-hmm. They’ve got that look in their eyes, too.” The kind that promises they’re up to no good and not the least bit ashamed.
“Oh, the things I could do with a group like that.”
I choke out a laugh, thankful I’ve finished my drink. Otherwise she’d be wearing it. “The whole group? What would Tony think about that?” I don’t even bother to point out that they’re probably twenty-one, twenty-two tops.
“He’d encourage me to fantasize all I want.” She waggles her brows. “You know, like a good husband would.”
I blink at her for a solid five seconds, equal parts shocked and jealous. Craig would have never been okay with me thinking about other men, let alone encourage me to do it.
“It keeps things interesting.” She stirs her drink with her straw and lets out a dreamy sigh. “And my man never complains.”
Ugh. My man—or rather, my ex-man—never complained, either. At least not until he told me he wanted a divorce because I was boring.
My stomach sours at the thought. Had he been fantasizing about someone else? Had he been fantasizing about Cady?
“I need a refill.” I hop down from my seat and tug on the waistband of my jeans. I really don’t need another drink, especially when I haven’t eaten since lunch, but I’m desperate to wash away that last thought.
“You just want to get closer to all that man meat.” Crystal smirks, a challenging glint in her eye that almost makes me think she’s serious.
I hold up one hand and scoff. “Believe me, I don’t.” I have enough drama in my life. I don’t need more from the kind of guy who’s only interested in getting laid.
But on the other hand…
Maybe that’s exactly what I need.
Not the sex, because I would probably break a hip. I’m only thirty-two, but it’s been so long that I’m not sure my legs even move that way anymore.
But I could use a little fun. And the ego boost.
So if these boys are interested in making an almost-divorced mother of two feel desirable again…
Why not let them?