“He wants to talk to you, baby.”
I winced at the endearment. “I don’t want to talk to him.”
“Morgan?” I heard King’s voice on the speaker, but I didn’t turn around. “Sweetheart, I didn’t know. Not until a few weeks ago. I would have called you, but with everything going on, it wasn’t the right time.”
He was right. He’d been up to his neck in biker shit.
“And after?” I asked. “It’s been weeks, King.”
King let out a heavy sigh. “I was giving him the chance to do the right thing,” he answered earnestly. “If he’d gone home without telling you, I would have called.”
I didn’t respond. There was nothing to say. I could feel Jude’s eyes on me, burning a hole in my back. Silently begging me to turn around, but I couldn’t.
“Jude?”
“Yeah, brother?” Jude sighed.
“Make it right.”
The call disconnected before he could say anything else. I wasn’t sure he could make it right.
“Who else knows?” I asked, standing at the sink, my hands clenched on the edge. My knuckles turned white from the force of my grip.
I heard him moving, trying to stand again. Then he answered, “Everyone.” He was right behind me. His handscovered mine, caging me in. He pried my fingers from the sink and turned me around.
“Baby, I’m sorry. Will you let me explain?”
I looked up into his blue eyes. Eyes that haunted me every time I closed mine. Eyes I’d prayed our son would have.
“No. You need to leave.” I didn’t have the courage to hear it tonight. I didn’t have the strength to hold out. To lock my heart down. I would forgive him… eventually.
But not yet.
Not tonight.
Tonight, I wanted to let the hurt consume me. Tonight, I wanted to be angry. I wanted to fight, but I didn’t have the energy.
“Morgan, please.”
My hands pushed against his chest. I felt the puckered skin beneath his shirt, and my heart broke for what he must have gone through. He took a step back, and I slipped past him down the hall.
I closed my bedroom door and locked it before crawling into my bed and crying myself to sleep.
The knock on my door woke me from my sleep. I opened my eyes and quickly realized I’d never closed the curtains. It was definitely morning.
The knock sounded again, and my mother called out softly, “Morgan? Honey, are you okay?”
It was Saturday. My mother came over on Saturday mornings, and we made breakfast together like we did when I was a kid. I rolled out of bed, still in the clothes I wore last night.I twisted the lock and opened the door to my mother’s worried face.
“Morgan,” she whispered. “There is a man sleeping on your couch.”
“Of course there is.” I groaned out my frustration and walked into the bathroom. Grabbing the glass I used to rinse my mouth after brushing my teeth, I filled it with water.
I walked to the living room, my mother trailing behind me quietly. I paused for a second to mourn the stain this would likely leave on the couch, then I poured the cold water on my husband’s head.
Jude jumped and rolled off the couch, sputtering as he hit the floor.
“What the fuck, babe?!”
