Page 182 of Things Left Unsaid

“You don’t?”

“Of course not. Who do you think was behind the expansion at HQ? With Clyde off the scene, I’ll be promoting more on a corporate level too. Laura Goulet and Katherena Villeneuve were my first picks for CFO and VP—that was before I became the head of the company.”

His brows lift. “Wow. You’re so woke, bro.”

“It’s not woke. They’re the best women for the job.” I tap my nose. “I’m very secure in my masculinity.”

“Speaking of… this wife of yours. What are you going to do with her?”

I scowl at the change of subject. “Shut it.”

“No, seriously. I’ve seen the way you look at her and I’ve also seen how she looks at you.” This time, his ever-moving brows waggle. “You’ve always had a thing for her, haven’t you?”

“Not consciously.” I drawl the half-truth, tossing the rest of my sandwich on the plate.

“Lies,” he jeers, but his eyes are twinkling.

Twinkling.

“Is this how you’re going to be now that you’re no longer a serving officer in the Air Force?”

He mockingly salutes. “Amazing how freeing it feels not to kill people for a living, bro.”

“Yeah? Let’s not switch out that burden for the one where you’re into matchmaking. I have enough of that with Callan!”

Cody chuckles. “Callan? Not Mum?”

“Nah. She’s been quiet about this. But she’s letting Callan get away with murder, so she’s going along for the ride.”

“Is she okay?”

“I think so. She seems to be.”

“How’s she getting along with Zee?”

“As far as I can tell, they don’t talk. Not because they hate one another, but because?—”

“Ships that pass in the night?”

The words sink into me.

He’s right.

Zee doesn’t bother getting to know Mum because this is still temporary in her mind.

Mum isn’t bothering to open up to Zee because I’ll be divorced longer than I’ll be married.

I rub my forehead, trying not to feel like I’ve been sucker punched.

“It’s not a crime to want your wife, Colt,” Cody murmurs, his voice soft and free from ridicule. “It’s a good thing, in fact.”

“I failed her.”

He shrugs. “That’s what the Korhonen charm is for. You can make it up to her.” His smile is bright. “And I get front-row seats for the charm offensive. Talk about brilliant timing.”

“Dick,” I grumble, but I lean over and muss his hair.

Though he punches my shoulder to get me to stop, he reasons, “Why shouldn’t she want you? You’re a good man. The best. Fair and kind. Generous. And you don’t have a face only Mum would love. Why shouldn’tyouget the woman you want,ifyou want her that is…?”

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