“I can understand that, but you need to do some damage control.”
“And how do you propose I go about doing that?”
“Well, being angry around her isn’t one of them.”
“Easier said than done,” I say softly. “And I realize that she doesn’t need my anger. I truly get that. She needs the man who can calmly talk to her and be her voice of reason like I have been in the past. But, Nola . . . I’m hurting here, and I’m having a really hard time controlling it.”
“Perhaps taking a different approach might help.”
“I’m listening.”
“You need to talk this out, so go down to her room, knock on her door, and ask her if you can just have a simple conversation. See where her head’s at. Tell her no pressure, but that you just want to know where you went wrong.”
I scrape my fingers over my jaw. “That seems like it could work. Tell her I don’t expect anything from her. I just want to know how I could be better.”
“Exactly. See, aren’t you glad I called you?”
“I’ll be glad if it works.”
“It will. Just watch. And try not to get angry, okay? I know you’re sifting through a lot of emotions at the moment, but consider where Myla comes from. Remember her background. Anger is not going to help. Text me after your heart-to-heart, and we’ll go from there.”
“Okay, sure. Thanks, Nola.”
“Any time.”
We both hang up, and I set my phone down. A simple conversation, that’s all I need to have. It shouldn’t be too hard. If I approach her without wanting to fix things between us, but to fix myself so I can be a better man, then she will be receptive. She’s never had any problem harping on me about my faults. From the very beginning, she’s always told me like it is, so this conversation should be very pleasing to her.
When I see her, I just need to remember not to let my emotions get the better of me.
I get up from my bed and head downstairs just as I hear voices in the kitchen. Two voices.
I pause on the stairs and listen closely.
I know that voice.
I’ve heard that voice many, many times.
“Okay, I say we start at the bar, grab some drinks and apps, and then see where the night takes us. Possibly the dance floor.”
Yup. I know exactly who that is.
Fucking Nichole.
I have a serious love-hate relationship with the woman. I love that she’s taken care of Myla over the years when I wasn’t there for her. And I love that she had some one-night stands with my brother so I got to meet Myla, but I fucking hate the way she treats my relationship with Myla as if it’s expendable.
There’s no doubt that those divorce papers on my nightstand are a product of a conversation with Nichole.
So if she thinks for one goddamn second they’re going out to the bars—where I know they will undoubtedly hit on men—then she is sadly mistaken. No way in fuck will I let my wife go out with Nichole.
No fucking way.
Anger surges.
My pulse screams through my veins.
And everything Nola told me is tossed right out the window as I descend the rest of the stairs and head straight to the kitchen, where I will be shutting down whatever plans they have for tonight.
MYLA
I picked up Nichole an hour ago. While we drove home, Nichole listed off all the bars and clubs she wants to take me to. I just sat there quietly, nodding my head even though the last thing I really want to do is go out.
But that’s why Nichole is here, to get me out of my funk.
Once we got back to the house, she picked out a dress for me to put on—a red number that I haven’t worn in years—pulled my hair up into a tight bun, and did my makeup for me. Ryot has always made me feel sexy, but this outfit, this makeup, makes me feel sexy on my own. Like I don’t need a man to boost my confidence, and that’s sort of nice.
The only problem is, Nichole has it set in her mind that we’re going to have “fun” and fun to me right now is eating ice cream in bed while bingeing Netflix. But I understand what she’s trying to do. She’s trying to shake me alive again, so I’m wearing this dress and listening to her plans for the evening.
“I think we start at Four, and then we move on from there. I heard they have great appetizers. Soft pretzels with beer dip? Yes, please.”
“Sure, yeah, I went there—”
“Myla, a word,” Ryot says from behind me, startling me. I didn’t even hear him creep down the stairs.
“Oh, why hello there,” Nichole says, waving her fingers at Ryot. “How’s it going, Bisley?”
I catch Ryot flash his icy glare at Nichole before turning back toward me. “Myla, I would like to speak to you in private.”
“Not even a hello?” Nichole asks.
“Cut the shit, Nichole. You know the last thing I want to do is say hi to you.”
“What a greeting. And here I thought we were friends.”
“We were until you convinced Myla to break up with me after her father passed. Since then, you’ve been someone I’ve tolerated because I love my wife.”
Nichole’s face falls, and she’s about to open her mouth to reply, but I move Ryot out of the kitchen and toward the guest bedroom, out of earshot. The last thing I need is a fight between them.
When the door is closed, I turn toward him and say, “Don’t be rude to her. That was a while ago, and we’ve moved on.”
“She might have, but I never did. What is she doing here anyway?”
“She thought I needed support.”
“You, support?” he asks, his eyes blazing with fury. “How the fuck are you the one who needs support? I’m the one whose heart is being ripped out of his goddamn chest. I’m the one who was blindsided. I’m the one who thought everything was fine with this marriage.” And therein lies the problem. Ryot simply has no idea how desperately invisible I’ve felt for months. He’s lost sight of me in his world. In us. It’s why my heart feels so utterly crushed. Why I’ve felt so alone.
“That’s the problem, Ryot. It wasn’t fine. Nothing was fine about this marriage.”
“So you’re just giving up and tossing in the towel? Are you going out with Nichole so she can attempt to hook you up with some random guy?”
No, not even close. I don’t want to hook up with anyone, but I don’t like his tone or assumption, so for some stupid reason, I don’t deny it.
“I can do whatever the hell I want, Ryot.” I try to move past him, but he stops me with his hand on my hip. His domineering body towers over me as he moves me against the wall where his other hand falls to the white surface, right next to my face.
“You’re still my goddamn wife, Myla. That means you’re mine.” The hand gripping my hip tightens. “This body, it’s mine. That sassy mind of yours is mine. And those rose-colored lips that have explored every inch of my body? They still belong to me.” I stare up at him, ready to throw up my defenses, ready to tell him otherwise, but my body betrays me as my lungs pant for air, and my tongue wets my lips.
Ryot has always had control over my body. Not because he’s stolen it or taken what was not given to him, but because I offered every part of myself to this man, and he’s coddled it. He’s held it close to his heart. Like I said, sex has never been an issue. Ever. And right now, I can feel that urge, that need, that want to be with him. To have him pin me to the bed on my stomach, lift my ass in the air, and drive into me with that delicious cock of his.