That small damn nod is my only answer, and watching my woman fold in on herself guts me deep. I drop a kiss on the top of her head and rush for the front door, ghost of my past racing in the shadows after me.
TO CASTRATE OR NOT TO CASTRATE, THY IS THE AGE OLD QUESTION
JOSEPHINE
The suitcasein my trembling grip feels like it’s full of garden bricks instead of the couple of days’ worth of clothes I packed for Haley and me.
Drawing in a steadying breath, my knuckles rap against the door. I know I shouldn’t be here, dragging others into our mess, but I couldn’t sit and wait for Vik to come home.
I need space, and there’s no way I’ll get that with him there. He’ll smother me until I relent, tearing away my fragile excuses. Logic doesn’t always see reason when emotions are involved, and right now, my emotions are the only thing steering the fucking ship.
There’s a shuffle on the other side of the door, before the lock clicks out of place, and Harlow comes into view. The surprise that it’s her and not Lexi disappears the moment she takes me in, cataloging the scene in one fell swoop.
“Well, there you are. Haley, my girl, Sienna’s in her room. Why don’t you go find her?”
My daughter, ever the excitable bundle of joy, runs off without a look back, and I’m grateful because the moment she steps out of view, my face crumples.
“Oh, babe.” Harlow’s on me in an instant, taking the bag from my hand and drawing me into her steady embrace. “Let’s take this into the living room. Lexi’s probably wondering what the hell’s going on.”
I sniffle and dry my eyes, but it doesn’t cork the tears from continuing to fall silently.
Harlow ditches my bag at the hall entrance, and we shuffle into the living room.
“Another solar salesman?” Lexi asks, eyes flicking from the TV to us, before her eyes widen, taking me in. She shoves at the couch, trying to pry her very pregnant self free.
Hurrying across the room, I urge her to stay put and slide in next to her. She tucks the soft throw blanket over my lap and immediately grips my fingers.
“What the hell’s going on?”
My throat swells, clogging with confusion and hurt. I know I need to explain why I just showed up with my daughter and luggage after being MIA for three days without calling, but I can’t seem to catch my breath.
“Okay, I’m getting wine. Lexi, you want a ginger ale?” Harlow asks, disappearing into the kitchen.
“Please.” She perks up, running her thumb over my finger.
When Harlow returns with the glasses and an extra bottle, I’ve finally composed myself enough to break the news.
“Vik has another kid,” I spit out. Ripping off the band-aid.
Harlow shoots to her feet. “I’ll fucking castrate him. How dare he think he could step out on you, step out on your family? Does that man have a death wish?” she whisper shouts, which I appreciate.
Haley thinks we’re here to help Lexi with Sienna because the baby’s coming. That’s all the excuse she needed to be excited about a sleepover with her best friend. She doesn’tneed to know that I can’t stand to be around her father right now. Because every time I look at him, all I can see is Miranda hanging all over him in that picture, or them in bed together, or her showing up telling him she’s pregnant. It’s a terrible loop I can’t turn off.
“It’s not exactly like that.”
“Then, what’s it like, because from where we’re sitting, Vik just became enemy number one on Harlow’s list.” Lex tries to joke, but it falls flat.
“The boy. His son, Trenton.” I choke. “He’s fourteen. I guess that’s the silver lining. My husband didn’t cheat on me, but he sure as hell didn’t fucking tell me that he might have a kid out there either. I know I shouldn’t be this mad?—”
“Wait a second.” Harlow cuts me off. “Who said you’re not allowed to be mad about this. I’d be losing my fucking mind if some random club bunny popped up at our door with a mini Si.”
“So, he knew about the kid and kept it from you all these years. That’s crazy.”
“Uhh, not quite. He didn’tknow, know.” I draw in a deep breath and recount mine and Vik’s entire conversation. Maybe it’s an overshare, but how else am I supposed to process all this? It’s not like I have a therapist on speed dial. These two are my therapists, because we don’t live a normal life. If we talked about half the shit we see or get caught up in, we’d end up in prison just like our husbands. Then who’d take care of all these damn kids?
The last drop of my second glass of wine goes down right as I finish my story. Neither of them says a word. Their matching shocked expressions reflect everything I’ve felt over the last few days.
The soft sounds of laughter filter through from the back ofthe house. At least the girls are having a good time, completely clueless.
