Page 101 of Curveball

I don’t know what comes over me, but her talking like that to Ripley makes me snap. I immediately jump out of my seat and get in the bitch’s face. “If you ever talk to her like that again, it will be the last words you utter.”

I hear gasps coming from our table.

I turn to the owner who has clearly noticed something going on at our table. He loves our crew and would do anything for us. He knows more than half of his patrons come here hoping to catch a glimpse of us.

I motion for him to kick this whore out, which he immediately does.

Ezra grabs my shirt. “Have a seat, Q. Relax, big bear.” His worried eyes encourage me to sit down.

I can’t focus on anything or anyone but Ripley. I see her lip quiver ever so slightly.

I sit down next to her. “Are you okay?”

She attempts to mask the hurt I know she’s feeling. “I’m fine. It doesn’t bother me. I’ve had comments like that my whole life. I’m used to it.”

I can’t help but rub her soft face with the backs of my fingers. “It’s not fine. No one should talk to you like that. You’re beautiful. You’re perfect.”

She sucks in a breath. Shamefully, I’ve never shown her any affection in public, and it’s clearly taken her off guard.

Her face softens for a moment before it steels. With tears pooling in her eyes, she leans over and whispers, “Don’t touch me. We’re over.”

On some level, I’ve always known this day was coming. The day she realized how much better she could do.

My face falls as I attempt to whisper back, “I need to talk to you. Now!”

I grab her hand and pull her around the corner. I’m sure everyone at our table is gossiping about our uncharacteristic interaction, but I’m beyond caring anymore. I grit out, “What are you talking about?”

She shoves me away. “Quincy, this hot and cold, back and forth thing we do is over. I’m done with it.”

I know she’s right, but I don’t want to let her go. I want to tell her that I love her. Maybe I could one day be enough for her.

I shake my head vehemently. “You can’t just decide we’re over. You’re my wife.”

Her eyes now fully fill with tears. She looks miserable. “I’m not your wife.”

“The hell you’re not. Check our marriage certificate, Shortcake, you’re mine. My. Wife.”

“On paper. Not in any of the ways that truly matter. I want a divorce. It’s long overdue.”

I’m realizing that I don’t want to lose her. I’m not ready for it. Am I selfish like June said? Maybe. I’ll give her space, but not a divorce. It’s the only hold I have over her. “No. I won’t give it to you.”

Her face and shoulders fall. She’s exhausted by us. By me. “Quincy, it’s time for us both to move on. We’re not really married. We don’t live as husband and wife. We both see other people and lead separate lives. No one else except a random justice of the peace even knows we’re married. Not our families. Not our friends. No one. It’s time.”

It’s not like I don’t know she has the paperwork. I saw it…and destroyed it. But I haven’t been served so all hope isn’t lost. “Nope. Not happening.”

Her face looks pained. “When you hear what I have to say, I promise that you’ll want the divorce too.”

“Over my dead body will I give you that divorce. Until death do us part.”

Her tears get heavier before she says something thatpractically makes my head explode. Words I never thought I’d hear a woman utter to me.

“I’m pregnant.”

Shock isn’t a big enough word to describe what I’m feeling right now. I don’t want kids. I can’t bring a child into the world. I’m not meant to be a father. It’s not my destiny.

I open and close my mouth a few times, but words never find their way out. Suddenly, the whole bar starts spinning. I think I might pass out. Air. I need air.

Like a fucking coward, I turn and make a beeline for the door. Once the cool, fall Philly air hits me, I take long, deep breaths. Over and over.

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