Page 37 of Married With Lies

“I think I made that clear when I married her.”

He studies me for a long moment. “Does she know what you are, Cale? What you really are?”

I hold his eye. “What am I, Baylor?”

“You’re…” he says but then loses his nerve and stares down at his hands. “You’re not a good guy.”

“Says the pathetic weakling who can’t bear to leave the warmth of Daddy’s pocket.”

His nostrils flare. Must’ve struck a nerve. Then his eyes narrow. “What’s your plan here, Connelly? Are you going to install my sister in one of your mafia castles?”

“What’s the mafia? Sounds pretty cool if they have castles.”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“Actually, I have no clue. That Ivy League education of yours didn’t teach you how to articulate very well.”

He shakes his head with disgust. “You want to hear the truth?”

“Probably not.”

“My father always saw right through you.”

“That’s too bad. I work so hard not to be transparent.”

“Eventually I realized that he was right. From the beginning you were so fucking jealous.”

“Of what? Your prematurely receding hairline or the fact that you run like a duck?”

His face grows redder by the second. “My family’s name means something! Our legacy matters. You’re used to spending all your time in the gutter and you don’t understand what honor means.”

This is just getting boring now. He’s on the verge of a complete meltdown. I wouldn’t be surprised if he threw his stapler across the room next. I might as well pierce him where it hurts and move on.

“Well, if honor means abandoning your marriage vows to get your dick sucked by your accountant then I’ll bow out.”

“SHE’S NOT MY ACCOUNTANT!” He smacks his hand on his desk. Then he winces at the pain.

“Now who’s shouting?” I stretch and rise to my feet. “This has been enlightening but I’ve got things to do. Castles to build and stuff.”

“Cale.” Baylor’s throat bobs as he struggles to put a cap on his temper. “Hold on, there’s no reason why things need to get out of hand. It’s in everyone’s best interests to remain civil.”

“You know what?” I open the door and face my former friend. “You’re a whole lot less pitiful when you’re dropping Fuck You’s everywhere and yelling into my voicemail that I’m a disgusting bastard. I’ll see you around, Bay. And I’ll let my wife know you said hello.”

If he replies then I don’t hear the words. I’m confident he won’t chase after me. There are people around. He’s too worried about his image to throw a public fit.

Out in the arena, the players are in the middle of practice. For a moment I pause and watch the action on the ice. A twinge of nostalgia strikes as I recall the feeling of gliding across the ice. It’s highly doubtful that I would have ever played pro. Only a select few ever make it that far.

But I miss the uncomplicated nature of playing a game with a clear set of rules. The team that wins is the one that gets the puck into the net the most. Simple. The games I play now aren’t nearly as straightforward. There are no rules. And maybe no winners.

With that uneasy thought, I turn away from the ice and back outside into the arctic city streets, immediately heading to the parking garage on the next block. I wait until I’m back in my car with the heat blasting before finally checking my phone in case I’ve missed any earthshattering news.

Yet the new messages get bypassed and I scroll through Sadie’s texts instead, which always include updates on the ranch. Her love for her work always shines through. I rarely respond at all and yet she keeps faithfully sending this information. Even when covered in winter frost and with the trees bare, the place looks like a postcard or the scene of a Christmas movie.

I stop scrolling when I find a short video of a bunch of dogs joyfully running around in the snow. It was sent last week but I never watched it.

In the video, Sadie is filming and narrating, pointing to a long building and describing the improvements she’s planning in order to house more rescued dogs. Her voice is full of breathless excitement. In the last few seconds she breaks into infectious laughter when a wild brown mutt gallops over and jumps on her with wet paws. She’s still laughing when the footage ends.

Weird, but I find myself wishing she’d kept filming for a lot longer.

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