Page 6 of Blue Line Love

Normally, his joie de vivre drives me batshit. Right now, though, I’m kinda glad he is the way he is. It eases my concerns about Holly.

That being said, it does nothing to calm the frustrations about Olivia.

“None of this solves the problem that my girlfriend thinks I’m a cheating, lying scumbag.”

“Give her some time, Reese. You two have been through a lot in a short while. This is just another curveball, but I’m sure you can handle it. If anyone can, it’s you.”

4

REESE

I don’t feel much better after I hang up the phone. Give her some time? How much fucking time do I need to give when she should know that I would never lead her on like that? I may have been a notorious player in my fuckboy heyday, but cheating is a line I’d never cross. I sure as shit never got married and hid it on purpose while I was with someone else.

Still, I give her some space the first day. I know Olivia. She’s hot-headed, stubborn as hell, and won’t budge if she’s set her mind to something. It’s maddening, knowing that she’s in my house, behind the door of that room, and I can’t touch her. She won’t let me hold her; she won’t let me explain things.

She won’t let me make it right.

So it’s just me and Violet, who seems confused about the fact that Olivia isn’t around. She cranes her head every which way when I hold her, looking in the direction of Olivia’s room.

“I know. I know. I miss her, too.”

The complexities of midnight Vegas marriages and double-crossing fidelities are lost on my baby girl. But the allure of Barney & Friends is not, and it’s what I have going to distract Violet on the second day after Holly came into our lives like a wrecking ball.

I leave Violet in the living room in her little bouncing baby holder, content with a snack tray piled high with Cheerios, then turn my attention upstairs.

I’ve got my chest out, shoulders back. I’m going to get my woman back. No matter what she says, that’s what she is. No matter if she likes it or not, that’s what she is.

Mine.

I march up and knock on Olivia’s door. “Liv. Open up.”

The soft squeak of a muffled gasp comes through the door. I’ve caught her off-guard. “Go away, Reese.”

“No. We’re going to talk.”

The patter of feet gets louder and louder until Olivia wretches the door open. Her face is a beautiful, furious rage. She glares up at me, her hair a messy halo around her face. I don’t miss how her eyes are puffy and red or how her lips are chapped and bleeding from where she’s been gnawing at them.

“You have no right to tell me what we’re going to do, Reese. Not anymore. You can’t just order me around.”

“I’m not trying to order you anywhere. I’m trying to have a conversation with you. That’s what couples do.”

“Have a conversation with your wife then!” she snaps. “Since you want to ‘couple converse’ so damn bad.”

Irritation flares up in my chest. “I told you: she’s not my fucking wife. She’s just some random puck bunny with an ax to?—”

“Tell me something, Reese,” she interrupts. “In all the time that you’ve had your scandals, your random flings, all that tabloid B.S. you seem to relish so much, has there ever been a woman who’s pretended to be your wife for clout? Is this a regular occurrence in your life?”

I frown. “No, but I don’t see why that matters?—”

“It matters because you can’t sit here and act like this is just some random thing your fans do! They don’t!” She shakes, her whole body trying to contain the anger I can see boiling in her eyes. “You’re acting like this just comes with the territory when this is really just a consequence of your actions!”

“I’m acting like the woman who claims she loves me should believe me when I tell her that I’m not married,” I snarl.

“You’re telling me to believe you and not the legal papers she shoved in my face? To believe you and not the pictures she had locked and loaded? It’s obvious you don’t think much of me, Reese, but I can’t believe you think I’m really that stupid.”

“Maybe she tricked me,” I reason. “Maybe I really did just get super smashed?—”

“All the more reason for me to put the brakes on this. I can understand a bender; I can understand having problems, Reese, I really can. But you got married to a woman and got her pregnant. I can’t—I can’t…”

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