Page 28 of Unhinged

“Kids someday,” I finish his sentence. “That’s rich coming from you, Mr. Bachelor for Life.”

He waves his left hand in the air, showing me his wedding ring. “I proved everyone wrong.” I’ll agree with him there.

Finn heads out of the kitchen, and I say, “While she’s humping your pickle, remember how you treated me!”

“Yeah, I won’t be thinking of you at all.” Finn bounds up the stairs, and before I hear their bedroom door close, Finn groans, “Becks, baby.”

I need to get out of here.

But I lean against the kitchen counter, unfortunately hearing more noises from their room, but nothing I haven’t heard before from them. Sadness grips me, and it reminds me I’m more alone now than I’ve ever wanted to be.

Alone with the hum of the refrigerator, I close my eyes. How could Greg hurt Birdy and Hadley like this? There’s no excuse for his leaving without mentioning it. He shouldn’t have even left Richmond, no matter what I knew. What a spineless fucker.

With gloom and sorrow filling my mind and body, I grit my teeth. This is not me. I don’t care about Greg Rodwell. I only care about those he hurt.

Desperate for answers and relief from this melancholy, I grab my purse and pull out my phone. There has to be someone who can help me either way. Starting a text, I abandon it for a call. When he answers, I sigh. “It’s Simone. Hi.”

I hear his smile. “Hey there. I was just thinking of you.”

Skipping further pleasantries, I say, “Amos, why’d he leave?” Saying that aloud hits me hard, and I fight tears. I won’t cry for that douche more than I have already.

“Who?” Fuck me.

Instead of a smartass response, I clear my throat but not trusting my voice, I whisper, “Greg.”

Amos sighs, but it’s not of resignation or impatience. “I don’t know, Simone. I wasn’t privy to his leaving. He didn’t say a word to you beforehand?”

“No.”

“This confounds me. I thought he would’ve at least told you since you were helping him take care of Birdy.”

I answer way faster than I should. “No, I stopped because…” He didn’t need or want me anymore. “It doesn’t matter.” I glare at a potato chip when the realization hits me. “What about Birdy? He just left her?”

“I’m afraid so. Shasta didn’t know he departed Richmond. No one knows where he is. I hope he keeps in contact with his daughter. This is so unlike Rod.”

“Maybe you don’t know the real Greg Rodwell.” He’s the one I miss.

“Why do you think that? Did he disclose something to you? Despite the arguing, I assume you and Rod became friends.”

“We did no such thing.” My defensive frown overwhelms me somewhat, and I clear my throat. “We barely tolerated each other,” I mumble, barely convincing myself or Amos.

“But you did for Birdy.”

“She’s the only reason I stuck around. Funny how he didn’t.” Tears invade my eyes, and I grit my teeth. Greg Rodwell dented my self-esteem, but he will not screw up my mascara. I sniff and wish I hadn’t. “What about Hadley? She’s not dealing with this well.” Finding a tissue in my purse, I dab my nose. I’m doing just fine.

Amos is quiet for a moment, and it weirds me out. He then says, “Yes. I heard she’s upset about his leaving.”

I nod again, on a roll. “How could he do this to her too? How dare he! What the hell is his problem? It’s not fair. That poor little girl. She has a shitty mother, but at least she didn’t leave.”

“Rod will do the right thing. Whatever happened with him, he probably needs time to process. It sounds like his leaving upset you too.” No way in hell.

Lost for words, I stammer, “No. He did me a favor. I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life. His parental skills are nonexistent. Not to mention he’s as funny as a terminal disease. He was a lousy pitcher. He laughs like a rabid hyena stuck in a trap. He wore so much Chrome he should change his name to Google. His love for Milli Vanilli should be classified as a mental disorder. He runs his mouth more than an auctioneer on cheap crack. His ugly shoes cost more than all of my purses. Amos, the man looks like a castoff from Glee.” I catch my breath, my impassioned reasoning surprising me.

Amos’s gasp shocks me further. “Well, now. That’s certainly a laundry list of specific complaints about someone who means nothing to you.”

“I have more use for a public urinal,” I argue, maybe a little too emphatically. Pulling out my compact from my purse, I check my mascara to busy myself from blabbing more shit. No one will know what Greg and I almost did. I want to forget it.

“You gonna yell my name? Scream for me when my dick smashes your pussy?”

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