Page 8 of Second Chance Husband

“I guess you’re coming home with me,” I grumbled, and pulled out of the parking lot.

Paisley slept the entire way, snoring loudly—something she only did when she was sick or stuffy headed. The only times I had seen her drunk in the past, I had been equally as such so I hadn’t noticed before.

Hell, something was wrong. I probably should call Addison or Devney, my sisters-in-law. They might know. They could probably handle this for me. If I had been a smart man, I would’ve just dropped her off at one of my brothers’ houses and washed my hands of it. But no, they were probably doing the things that new dads did, and spending time with their families. They had lives, lives that didn’t need to involve me, or me literally foisting my problems onto them.

With a sigh, I made my way to my house, took the Herculean effort of getting Paisley out of the SUV, still woozy, and got her inside. When she made a hiccupping sound, I cursed and picked her up, cradling her to my chest, before dashing to the nearest bathroom.

I set her down in front of the toilet as she emptied her stomach.

Cursing, I pulled her hair back from her face, not liking how clammy she felt.

She heaved mostly liquid into the basin, and I let go of her only for enough time for me to get a washcloth and soak it with cold water. When I pressed it to her forehead, then the back of her neck, she let out a groan that was a little too familiar.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome,” I grumbled.

This wasn’t exactly how I thought I’d be spending my date night—helping my sick ex-wife empty the contents of her stomach. Contents that seemed to be just alcohol.

“Did you not eat?” I snapped.

“I meant to. I just wanted to forget.”

Forget what?

But I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know.

I didn’t want to know anything else about Paisley. Because if I did, every single regret would come back, and I didn’t have it in me to breathe through those anymore.

When she got sick again, I took care of her, and when it seemed like she was finally done, I used another washcloth to wash her face, and then I carried her to the guest room.

With a sigh, I stripped her out of her clothes, not because of anything nefarious, but because I knew she wouldn’t want to sleep in them, no matter how tight those jeans were. And she probably felt as disgusting as I felt just then.

She helped me pull on one of my old shirts over her head, and a pair of old shorts that barely stayed tight around her waist. She drunkenly stumbled into bed, and I tucked her in, pushing her hair back from her face again.

“I’m going to get you some water, and some ibuprofen. Okay?”

“I’m sorry.”

I frowned, pulling back. “What for?”

She licked her dry lips, her eyes filling with tears before she did the most Paisley thing ever and blinked away any sense of sadness. “I’m sorry for ruining your night.”

I shook my head, annoyed with myself. “It seems like you wanted to do that on your own first. At least to yourself.”

She pressed her lips together, and I was afraid I had been too mean just then, but I didn’t know what else to say. Instead she blinked again and swallowed hard. “I just wanted to be somebody else. Just this once.”

That didn’t make any sense to me. Paisley was remarkable. Despite the fact that we fought all the time, she was a powerhouse. And I loved watching her soar. She was brilliant, amazing, and married.

“Why, Paise?”

She was silent for so long I thought she had fallen asleep, but then she opened her eyes, and I sighed. “Why do you want to be someone else?”

“Because nobody wants to stay when I’m me. Maybe they’ll stay if I’m someone else.”

And then she closed her eyes, and promptly fell asleep, her words daggers right in my fucking heart.

Chapter Three

---