Page 42 of Choices

"If I find out you've been making a fool out of me behind my back I will end you. I will take you to court, divorce you, kick you out, and keep the kids. Don't fucking try me, Hannah." He shouts, spittle flying from his mouth.

Just as quickly as he stormed in, he spins on his heel and storms back out again.

Alan slams the front door so hard it doesn't catch and simply bounces back open. I sigh, the adrenaline still thrumming through my veins. I get up, close the door, lock it, and lean my back against it. I take a few deep, calming breaths before I go upstairs. Aiden, Viv, and Jack are all in Aiden's room, as his bed is the biggest, cuddled together watching Moana. I know Aiden's too old for this movie, buthe put it on for Viv and Jack. Hot tears prick my eye lids. He's had to grow up too fast to protect his siblings. I hate that for him. I've stolen his childhood by my poor choices.

Viv and Aid look at me, worry on their faces, while Jack watches happily along, oblivious to the tension and mood in the room.

I blink away the tears. And lay in bed with my babies. "Are you guys still hungry? I could order a pizza?" Aiden and Viv share a look.

"We're not hungry."

Of course the fuck they're not. They're stressed. I frown.

"Alright then, it's time for baths and books before bed. I'm going to go clean up the kitchen and I'll be back up to help." They know the routine. And maybe that's just what they need - routine, a sense of normal - while I need a minute or two to myself.

I go back downstairs and busy myself with dishes and wiping down counters. I can't wait for the income from the club to leave him. But Alan won't react well when I serve him papers. He won't grant me the divorce. He'll make me fight him every step of the way. Matty and I will have to figure something out. Maybe something he wants more than to stay married. Maybe there's something we can bribe him with? Something that makes him look like the good guy out of all of this? Or at least make it look like he's won.

The skies open and rain begins to pour. I'm grateful for it. The dull background noise feels like an insulating presence. Everyone in this house is safe, warm, and fed, if not a little stressed. I'm grateful for that. Tomorrow, we'll have to figure out everything else, but for tonight we're safe.

Lightening flashesthrough the sky, illuminating the backyard, where a man stands on the far side of the pool. My eyes widen in fear, and the hair on my arms stands on end. Terrified, I run to the back slider and lock it, staring at the dark, unmoving form. It's dark in the backyard, and with the rain, I can only barely make out the outline of a man. The lights are on inside, so I'm sure he can see me clearly.

I hide my body behind the wall but peer back through the sliding door to see if he's still out there. My heart is racing and my skin prickles like I'm in a horror movie.

I locked the rest of the doors, right? RIGHT?!

I sprint to the front door. Locked. I sprint to the garage door. Locked.

Breathing a little easier, I return to my hiding spot by the back sliding doors when another lightning bolt lights the night sky.

Wait a minute. I know that figure.

I know that haircut.

I know that suit.

I laugh out an exasperated chuckle.

Throwing caution to the wind, I unlock the back sliding door and walk back out to the back porch.

"Well come in then, creeper. You can look at me a whole lot closer from inside the house."

I can't see his face, but somehow I know he smiles. He follows me into the kitchen before I close the slider behind me.

Matty's devastatingly handsome face smiles back at me sheepishly. He's been caught.

But he's soaking wet and dripping onto the tiles. I can't believe he got his Armani suitsoaked.

"You're wet. Let's get you out of this and dry. I think I have some of Alan's clothes that might fit you?"

Matty and Alan are both white-collar boys, but Matty is much broader across the shoulders and full of muscles. Muscles I'm not ashamed to have ogled.

Without thinking, I push Matty's suit coat off of his shoulders and drape it over the dining room chair. I start undoing the buttons on his undershirt. The undershirt that is clinging shamelessly over his pectorals and abs.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I wanted to see you. I didn't mean to scare you."

His boyish confession makes me smile.

"You could have called, or texted. Or, oh I don't know, maybe come through the front door?"

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