Page 20 of Shoot Your Shot

For a moment, he looks ashamed—or maybe embarrassed.

“It’s the same one it’s always been,” he mutters. “Same as when you lived here.”

I stare at him in complete awe. The code to the gate used to be the same as the code to our alarm. My birthday. Not our anniversary. Not his birthday. Mine.

I want to ask him why he kept it. I want to know why on earth he’d want the birthday of the woman who left him to be his damn code. But maybe I don’t want to know the answer, so instead, I say nothing. I just punch in my birthday on the keypad, and within seconds, the gate gradually opens.

I’m not prepared for the rush of emotions that hit me as I drive down our driveway. The same drive I took so many times to a house I thought I’d never leave. I was always so excited to see him when I came home and he was already here. Or the times we drove down the driveway together, unable to keep our hands off each other the entire way. As soon as he put the truck in drive, I’d jump out and run for the bedroom or maybe the shower. I loved the chase. And he loved to chase me. I think we both loved when he caught me even more. Sometimes, it was inthe kitchen. A few times, on the stairs. And once … I didn’t even make it to the front door.

He took me against our yellow door, hard and fast. When we finished, he carried me into the shower.

I drive past a few trees we planted that seem to have grown so much since I’ve been gone. Everything looks the same, and yet … it feels so different.

A lump swells in my throat as I pull in front of the house and take it in. Life is weird. One day, you’re planning forever. The next, you’re staring at your reality, asking how you let yourself get here.

I’ve asked myself that so many damn times.

How did I become a stranger to my husband? And how did a house we’d picked out together and shared countless memories in turn into my personal hell?

I shift my car into park and kill the engine. For a moment, we both just … sit.

“So … this is fucking weird,” Kolt says. His deep voice vibrates through my soul, causing a stab in my heart. But his tone isn’t filled with irritation or frustration. Instead, he sounds sad.

“Yeah,” I whisper, agreeing with him because it really is one of the weirdest and saddest moments of my entire life.

A place that used to be my favorite now brings me anxiety. And the person I used to always find comfort in times like this is now an outsider.

After a few minutes of sitting in silence, he sighs. “Look, Paige, this house is still just as much yours as it is mine. But if you can’t do this—if you can’t be here, atourhouse—it’s okay. I’ll be fine. I can call one of the guys to come over until my mom can make it out.”

This man … he really has no one else.

Despite him buying her a house in New England, his relationship with his mother has always been strained. And Iguess that’s because she tries to pretend the past didn’t happen. But it did. And she isn’t the only one who had to pay for it. Her boys did, too, and they continue to daily, I’m sure.

You don’t get over a childhood like the one they had. Where you had to protect your mother from beatings, and some days, you’d end up being the one taking the abuse. Not to mention, I don’t think Kolt has ever gotten over the guilt he felt for leaving his mom behind to live with my family in high school. But had he not done that, he would have never made it to the pros and been able to provide her with the life she has now.

“It’s not our house anymore, Kolt.” My voice is pathetic, and I have to look away from him as tears threaten to well in my eyes. “It’s your house.”

I blink rapidly in shock when his fingers grip my chin lightly and he forces me to look at him.

“It will never be just my house, Paige.”

His eyes hold mine, and I feel a painful sensation spread across my chest.

When his gaze floats to my lips, I look away, pulling away from his hold, breaking the moment. I unbuckle my seat belt and open the door, leaving him in the car alone.

I hang out by the front of the car, and within a few seconds, he’s out of the car and walking toward the front door, not at all looking like a dude who had a heart attack. I know Kolt though, and he’d push through pain before ever admitting he was struggling physically.

The unease in my body is crippling. I don’t know if I should follow him or give him some time to decompress alone. I used to know what would make him feel better. Now, I know nothing and am terrified of doing the wrong thing. So much time has passed, and I don’t know him or what he needs anymore.

Opening the door, he glances over his shoulder. “You coming in or what?”

I bite down on my bottom lip as my head droops slightly with fear. Because being back in this house is going to hurt and I’m not sure I’m ready to face that kind of pain. But I don’t have a choice. I have to be here for Kolt, even if I don’t think he deserves it. It’s more for me than him.

On shaky legs, I follow him as he walks inside. When he closes the door behind us, the sight of our home and the scents of it hit my senses, and my knees threaten to buckle beneath me. Becauseeverythingis exactly how I left it and that is not what I expected. At all.

Taking a few steps, I notice right away that the outlets I used to fill with Yankee Candle plug-ins have fresh ones inserted. And I know by the smell … it’s the same scent I always bought.

“You … bought new plug-ins?” The words come out in barely a whisper, and I’m not even sure he can hear me, but it’s all I can muster up.

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