Page 29 of Shoot Your Shot

“She’s doing really good. She just got married a few weeks ago actually. The guy’s kind of weird, but he treats her well, and he makes her happy, so that’s all I can ask for, right?”

“Right.” She laughs just as Ryder moves toward her, throwing his arms around her and towering over her small body.

“It’s nice to see a pretty face after looking at these ugly fucks all day,” he says, chuckling. “You look good, Paige. Beautiful as ever.”

“A friend of mine told me about your office in Boothbay,” Smith chimes in as Ryder releases her. “That’s awesome. I love that area. Have you ever gone to the Botanical Gardens during Christmas?”

My eyes fly to hers, but she avoids my stare. All this time, I assumed she lived back home, near her parents. After all, one of the things she threw in my face before she left was that I had dragged her to Maine and away from her family. Sure, she didn’t word it quite like that, but I know that’s what she meant.

“Um, yeah,” she squeaks, tucking her hair behind her ear nervously. “Thanks. I love the area. And, yes, I actually went last year. It was so beautiful.”

“I think Walker took Poppy to that place last Christmas,” Tripp says. “Aren’t they coming over tonight to see y’all with Logan and his adorable little family?”

“Um, yep.” She nods. “I think so.”

Once again, I watch her visibly tense. Before she took off, she and Poppy were good friends. I’m sure she’s wondering if Poppy is pissed at her for leaving. From what I understand, they haven’t talked since she left.

“Did you hear she’s pregnant? So you’ll get to see her belly. She has for sure popped. That thing is out there,” Smith says, grinning and patting his stomach for some weird reason. “Can’t believe we’re about to have two Walker boys running around.”

I don’t listen to what comes next because my eyes are on Paige as she learns yet another friend of hers is pregnant.

And to everyone else standing here, I’m sure she looks fine. But I know better. Even though she’s happy … hearing that must also hurt.

As they all continue to chat, her eyes lift to mine.

“I think it’s time for you to take your meds,” she says, her voice small. “Right?”

“Yeah,” I utter.

I’m pissed at her for never telling me she lived so close, but she’s my wife, and she’s hurting. “It is.”

Luckily, the guys take the hint and all say goodbye, giving us each a hug.

“Stop into the arena soon, man. We meant it when we said it’s not the same without you,” Tripp says, climbing into the back of the truck before holding his hand up to Paige. “Real good to see you, Paige.”

Once he closes the door and they drive away, I start toward the house, walking around the gate and away from her. The last thing I want to do is lose my shit on her, especially after she got the news about Poppy, but that’s exactly what’s about to happen. I can fucking feel it.

When it comes to her, I’ve never liked the feeling of anger coursing through my veins. I watched my old man scare the shitout of my mother more times than I can count, and I never want to see that look of fear in Paige’s eyes. But sometimes, I just get fucking irate. And finding out she’s lived in Maine this whole time is sending me there.

I stew, trudging along in silence down the driveway, sulking like an absolute little bitch and not giving a fuck either. She doesn’t try to plead her case for the entire walk, but like clockwork, once the house comes into view, she starts in, exactly like I knew she would.

“You can’t be mad, Kolt,” she says from behind me. “You have no reason to be mad, and somewhere inside of you, you know it.”

“It’s nice to see you haven’t changed a bit,” I drawl leisurely.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she snaps back, annoyed.

“Well, babe, like always, you wait until we’re almost home to start a fight.”

She scoffs behind me as her tiny foot stomps. “That isn’t even true, jackass.”

Walking up to the door, I push it open and head inside. “Yeah, it is,” I mutter. “When we were together, you always pulled this shit when I pissed you off. You’d be silent the whole damn ride, ignoring me. Then, just before we pulled into the house—bam—you’d decide it was a good time to call me an asshole and start shit.”

“Well, you are an asshole!” She slams the door shut behind her. “Always have been!”

“Yeah, well, I guess you love assholes then, babe. Because you married me,” I say nonchalantly, like I’m not worked up when, in reality, I’m still fuming over learning she lives in Maine.

“Well, you used to be nice sometimes too,” she sasses, following me as I head toward the kitchen. “Now, you’re just all asshole, all the time. A miserable, bitter asshole.”

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