Page 91 of Training the Heart

“Wade, I’m almost two thousand short.”

I can see the panic on her face. She reaches a hand out and tries to touch my chest. I instantly shrink away from it and grab it just as it brushes against me, placing it back down at her side. Only one set of hands touches my body, and they sure as fuck aren’t Janelle’s.

I set my jaw and settle in my stance.

“I guess you’ll have to take some more shifts at Snippets,” I say firmly, mentioning the hair salon she works at. “Or sell some of your expensive shit—your shoes, your purses. But you have to be the one to figure it out this time. I’m not putting one more penny into that house, it isn’t mine anymore.”

“Wade, you can’t mean that,” she scrambles, and I see the anger welling up in her eyes. “I can always count on you. It’s your home too. In fact, I’ve been thinking about you, a-about us, all the things I did when we were together. I was wrong treating you like that.” She shrugs pathetically, and one giant tear threatens to spill over her cheek.

How did I never see how manipulative this woman was before? Janelle moves closer to me, trying to entice me. It doesthe exact opposite. It does nothing but fucking turn me completely off.

“I was hoping we could maybe give things another shot? I-I think I’m ready to settle down, maybe have a family, and there’s no other man for me, Wade. I’m still an Ashby. I haven’t changed my name back because, truthfully, I was hoping there would still be another chance for us. I guess I just couldn’t let you go. I still think about—”

I can’t help myself, I start to laugh—out loud and hard.

Janelle blinks, and for a moment I feel like she might actually take my hint and stop talking.

I’m wrong.

“This isn’t funny. I’m pouring my heart out here, Wade. You gonna tell me you don’t think about giving things another try?”

I blink for a moment, actually asking myself if she’s serious.

Holy fuck, she is.

“Janelle. That’s never going to fucking happen. We’re divorced for a reason.” I look her in the eye so she knows I’m serious. “I don’t love you anymore, and Christ, you were a fucking terrible wife to me in the end.”

“You don’t mean that, Wade—” She pauses as the light bulb goes off in her head “Wait, is there someone else?”

I grin at her, because there most certainly fucking is, but mine and Ivy’s business isn’t hers.

This feeling is so goddamn freeing.

I really and truly don’t give one single fuck about her problems anymore.

“To put this as simply as I can, your problems aren’t mine anymore. Can’t pay the roofer? Maybe take out a loan.” I pat her on the shoulder like I would a buddy, then turn to leave, but glance back at her before I do.

“And by the way, you most definitely are not a fucking Ashby. Get on changing that, yeah?” I leave her standing in thehall alone, and for thirty full seconds she doesn’t move or say anything, then she storms by me, grabbing her girl crew, and barks out something about me not deserving her as she blasts through the front door.

Nash watches Janelle go, then looks back at me as I return to the boys and take a swig of my beer.

He chuckles and says, “Closed that door—fucking slammed it, actually.” And then he offers me the biggest grin I’ve ever seen him wear.

I grin back.

Yeah, I did, and fuck does it ever feel good.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Ivy

The Ashby big house has turned into an after-party of sorts. All the boys have moved the fifty rental chairs out and returned them to the party supply store, and loaded the mountain of gifts into their pickup trucks, getting ready to deliver them to Nash and CeCe’s house. Us girls are cleaning, eating candy leftovers, and singing along to Jo’s country playlist as we finish our chores together.

You’d never know there were seventy people here this afternoon. Papa Dean wanders in from sweeping off the front porch for Jo and takes a deep breath, tossing his hat on the row of hooks on the wall at the front door.

“Well, Jo? Pizza for dinner from Muldoon’s?” he asks, mentioning the town pizza joint, as we all begin to drop down on the sofas, taking a moment before we head out.

“Hells yes, this mama isn’t lifting one more finger for the rest of the day, who’s coming for dinner?” she asks as she sinks down onto the couch beside me and smiles at me while tightening her high ponytail.

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