Page 61 of Unleashed

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AFTER GREG ANNIHILATED me at practice, I drove around Richmond for an hour, not having anywhere to go. The last place I wanted to go was home.

Greg’s refusal to help me rings in my ears. His bitter tone and harsh glare remind me of how mean he was to me when I first started at the bar and then again during our fight, when I told him I had been pregnant but miscarried. Greg called me a whore and accused me of pulling a Shasta on him. I’m trying to be frosty and distant now to discourage myself from falling for him again. But I’m failing so fucking hard. I’m a petty bitch, but not cut out to be one in this capacity. All I want to do is tell him I’m sorry for being a child in handling my grief, anger, and sadness. He has to start over, but deep down. I don’t want him to without me.

But he must. I shouldn’t have gotten pregnant, even by accident. I had no right to use that part of him the way I did. I mean, who does shit like that?

I sit at the final red light before arriving home, my eyes filling with tears that I refuse to cry. Greg is right. I got myself into every situation I’m in now. I can’t rely on anyone, especially myself.

I can do this. Marriages end all the time. I’ll tell my dad the truth. I just hope nobody blabs that I changed my last name to Simpson. That’s the one itsy-bitsy snag.

Arriving home, I pull up next to my dad’s blue Cadillac rental. Moping, I reach for the doorknob but hear a loud hum and see my dad vacuuming through the living room window. What in the fresh hell?

I burst through the door. “Dad!” At the same time, he shuts off the vacuum, so I sound like a screaming banshee.

Hurling daggers at me, he shakes his head. “Simone Amanda Garrison. There’s no need for that.” He then puts a finger to his bottom lip and contemplates, which is never good.

Somewhat worried he’ll come across something he won’t like, I say, “You don’t need to clean up.”

“What is your last name now? Rodgers? Rodman? Rodney?” Simpson. Garrison took a hike.

I toss my purse onto the couch and unplug the vacuum. I then head for the kitchen. “What would you like for dinner? I’m not much of a cook, but I make a mean PB&J.” Greg’s favorite. Now mine too.

Failing extra hard.

Dad follows me into the kitchen, straightening things on the way. He acts like I live in a dive bar or a sinking houseboat. “Why didn’t you answer my question?”

“Um, I thought I did? How about spaghetti?” I can manage that.

“How about you tell me the truth?”

I grab the edge of the sink and concentrate on the shined aluminum. I point to it and look up. “How much cleaning did you do today?”

“Here and there. I’d like to earn my keep. You were out of laundry detergent, so I went to the grocery store. You’re out of everything.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy with school, work, and softball.”

He crosses his arms, and his eyes fly to every kitchen corner. “Are you even living with your husband, Simone? I’ve not seen a stitch of men’s clothing here other than my own.”

I bite my lip and wonder how much it would cost to hire a hitman. “We...”

My father nods with a condescending smile, waiting for me to admit I fucked up. “I had a feeling I wasn’t interrupting newlyweds.” He can hug a landmine, as Greg would say. Ugh. Failing sideways now.

“That’s not how it is.” I shake my head with a gasp and fight a fucking breakdown. “Can you give me a few minutes? I promise to talk about it. I just need...”

His ever-present frown doesn’t waver, but he says, “Of course.” Such a gracious dick.

I run upstairs and shut my bedroom door. Looking around, I notice he folded a basketful of week-old clean laundry and vacuumed. I wonder if he found my vibrators. Serves him right if he did. Christ Almighty, I could use an orgasm or five.

Checking things, I go to my jewelry box and pull out the top drawer, where my wedding ring gleams in the light. I had put it through some twisted shit. I can’t stop the tears as they splash on the metal, and I cover my mouth. The pain turns my stomach and clutches my lungs. I was married to the love of my life, but he ripped out my heart.

Since there’s an entrance in my room to the bathroom in the hall, I lock the door and cry on the toilet for ten minutes. I need a shower, but I must tell my dad the truth and get it over with. I remove the ridiculous pigtails and gather my hair into a ponytail. I try to reapply my makeup but throw eyeliner and blush onto the floor before scrubbing my face clean. Who the fuck do I need to look good for now? I can barely stand my reflection.

Fuck it. I change my dusty shirt and dump my bra. I change into a dark blue T-shirt. Blue is my new favorite color.

Sighing, I take my time going downstairs but still can’t develop a method to this madness. Smart.

Dad looks up from his phone as I approach the couch. Before I sit in the chair next to him, a knock at the door interrupts. I’ve never been so grateful in my whole damn life.

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