Page 52 of Just My Ex

“I don’t want them getting attached to you again. It was smart of Quinn to divorce you when she did and now, all the sudden, you’re involved again.”

Henry lets out a long, slow breath. “Thanks for the support. Also, you bring up a good point. It was Quinn who filed, not me. I didn’t want our marriage to end. I never wanted that.”

“And now you’re here, trying to win her back. I just don’t want anyone to get hurt again.”

My throat is sore in an instant and a dull throb starts in the back of my head.

“What makes you think you know how this looks or what’s going to happen? I didn’t find another job or get into therapy when she asked me to, and I have regrets. And right now, I’m here because she needs me and I’m trying to be a better man than I was before.”

“For what? What’s your endgame?”

I can picture Henry’s scowl, and the way he might be biting down on his jaw. This is probably going to cause one of those killer headaches he gets.

“That’s it,” Henry says, quieter now. “To help them. To spend as much time with Navie as I possibly can. No expectations. Do you think I’d be able to do my security job over in Europe or Asia or Africa all the while knowing my own wife and daughter are here needing my help?”

“So it’s out of guilt then,” Sebastian counters.

“No, it’s out of love.”

He spits the word out like it’s hot to the touch.

Love.

I force myself to breathe because there’s a very visceral reaction to Henry’s words going on inside of me. Words I wasn’t supposed to hear, but now that I have, it changes things.

He’s here out of love?

There’s another long pause. Then Sebastian speaks up. “By the way, do you realize you called Quinn your wife?”

Henry clears his throat and his chair scrapes along the floor. Except I can’t picture what he’s doing or what he looks like.

To reiterate, the word “love” was thrown in there. And I, like Sebastian, caught that he called me his wife.

But by love, does he only mean love for our daughter? Or maybe there’s some far-off affection for me, as the mother of his child or as someone from his past?

Or maybe it’s different from that? More than that?

“Have you said your piece?” Henry spits out. “Do you want to talk about the wedding at all or …?”

I hear some more scuffling and it sounds like they’re standing from their chairs. And my face is beet red, I can feel it, which means I need to get up and out of here. If they see me, they’ll know I could hear them.

Not that I meant to, okay?

Like a chicken, I scuttle to the bathroom, where I probably should have gone right when I realized I could hear them. I can admit it.

I lock the bathroom door and stare at myself in the mirror, only catching the timbre of two deep voices, not their actual words. My face stings. Man, did I turn red, that was some hardcore reaction there.

I do that thing I’ve always seen in the movies, where they splash water on their face.

The fresh, Colorado mountain water is refreshing.

I might have to do this more often.

But it’s done little to curb the redness, so when I leave the bathroom, Henry asks me if I’m okay.

Oh, you know. I just heard some stuff. Some big, hairy stuff that I don’t know what to do with.

“I’m great. Uh, I should probably start getting ready for bed.”

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