Silver cups my cheek, turning my face up to his. “I’m so proud of you, you know that? How strong and brave and amazing you are.”
The words wrap around me like a warm blanket. I lean up and kiss him in answer. My version of a thank you for the way he’s always praising me and making me feel so good about myself.
When we finally break apart, he reaches for the remote and turns on the TV. Some thriller neither of us has seen before plays. I settle against his side, his arm wrapped securely around me, and let the sounds wash over me without really listening.
I’m too happy to focus on anything but this moment.
Silver’s heartbeat thudding against my ear. His warmth surrounding me. The future stretching out ahead of us, so full of possibility.
I sigh contentedly, snuggling closer.
Things are finally looking up.
40
SILVER
Knock,knock.
I look up from the club finances spread across the desk and at the door. It’s a Friday afternoon, and as far as I know, nobody was supposed to be coming by.
Ozzie props the door open half a second later, sticking his tattooed head in, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Ex-wifey’s here to see you, Prez.”
I set down my pen and lean back in the chair. “Let her in.”
Ozzie falls back to make way for Rachel to step through.
Over twenty years of knowing her, the basics about Rachel will always be the same—long, straight ginger hair and freckles dappled across her nose and cheeks. A woolly cardigan draped over her shoulders like armor, swallowing up her waifish frame.
These days, as a teacher, she carries around a large sack of a purse that contains anything she’d ever need.
Her apple-green eyes scan the office with open distaste, like she’s worried she might catch something just from standing here.
Some things never change.
I stand up from the desk, immediately on alert. “Is everything alright with the kids? Tabby texted me earlier—said she got another A on her latest English assignment. Some essay onThe Grapes of Wrath.”
Rachel waves a dismissive hand. “It’s not about the kids.”
My brow creases. “Alright. Then what’s it about?”
“I wanted to talk about what we’re doing.”
I slant my head, genuinely confused. “What we’re doing what?”
She’s staring at me with an expression I can’t read. It’s as if she’s searching for something. Waiting for some specific reaction out of me.
When it doesn’t come, she heaves a sigh, almost rolling her eyes. “We’ve been dancing around things for months now, Jack. Going from huge arguments to being fake cordial. It’s exhausting.”
“Speak English, Rachel. Be specific,” I say, rubbing at my temple. Suddenly, a headache is starting to form. “What’s this really about? What do you want?”
“Fine,” she huffs, rolling her eyes for real this time. “I’ve realized why you started dating that girl. And how I feel about it... is probably how you felt about Fred.”
I go still, somehow more confused than before she answered my question.
“I’m sorry, okay?” she continues. “For how it happened. How you caught us together. That I hadn’t told you I wanted a divorce before I slept with him. That wasn’t fair to you. Even if you were so absent in our marriage. I owed you honesty instead of seeing another man. I guess… I guess a part of me wanted to see you hurt. I wanted anger or jealousy out of you—some kind of reaction to know you still were in love with me.”
