Page 10 of Take My Name
The moment I call out her name, I regret caving when Bellamy begged me to let her name a couple of them. She and Bodie are twins and the babies of the family, so they’ve grown up always getting their ways.
She finally struts in, and I close the door. “G’night, girls and Chucky.”
Charles got his nickname after he chased Bodie around the yard, then nearly pecked off his face when he tripped and face-planted on the ground.
He hasn’t tried to steal my eggs since then.
I strip out of my work clothes and get in the shower to wash off the barn smell. The hot water feels good on my achy muscles, and although it wasn’t a labor-intensive workday, they still get stiff. Constantly lifting, moving, or even sitting behind my desk with a tense posture makes me feel like I’m sixty instead of twenty-nine.
My after-work routine is simple. Put on comfy clothes, listen to music or an audiobook as I make dinner, and eat on the couch while catching up on the news. Most nights, I’m passed out before nine.
When there’s a knock at my door, I sit up and stare at it. I’m not in the mood to deal with any of my family members tonight, but considering the wall is covered in floor-to-ceiling windows and they can see inside, there’s no use pretending I’m not here.
Except when I open it, it’s the last person I expect.
My wife.
chapter two
Maisie
Staringinto the same gray eyes that’ve been ingrained into my memory since I was a teenager makes my heart race.
Or rather, it’spounding.
I’m positive he can hear it.
My chest aches at seeing his face in person again and sweat forms over my palms. It’s painful to see how much he’s changed and how grown he looks. He’s no longer the boy I fell in love with at fifteen, or even the man I married at twenty-one. He’s all man—more muscular and a defined jawline, with light scruff over it. The thicker hair above his lip is…new. But the hair on his head is shaggier, more unkempt than I remember. Aging lines crease around his mouth and in between his brows, which means he frowns more than he smiles.
Blinking away the fog being near him puts me in, I straighten my stance and inhale a confident breath.
It’s now or never.
“Hi, Warren,” I greet when he doesn’t say anything. I fold myhands in front of me, my thumb rubbing over my engagement band mindlessly and the papers burning a hole in my purse.
His jaw tenses, eyes narrowing as his gaze burns through me. Darkness surrounds him although the lights are on behind him. This isn’t the Warren I walked down the aisle to. The charming, sweet man who couldn’t wait to get us back home so we could celebrate our nuptials in private is long gone.
He’s stone-cold.
His gaze lowers down my blazer and pencil skirt. The corners of his lips curl as his hand grips the side of the door. “You must be lost. The stuck-up resort is down the road.”
My breath hitches at the cruelness of his words, but I’m not going to sink to his level of bitterness, so I speak with all the confidence I can muster. “I’m not stuck-up and you know it.”
Blinking, his hard eyes find mine again. “Coulda fooled me. You hate skirts.”
He’s not wrong, but some things have changed, and me wearing professional work clothes is one of them. I grew to tolerate them since I was no longer spending my summers on a ranch.
“Iusedto hate skirts.” I’m not giving him the satisfaction of being right. He doesn’t get to pretend he still knows me after seven years.
But I didn’t come all this way to argue about that, so I blurt the words I should’ve said to his face years ago. Pulling out the manilla folder, I hold it out to him. “I want a divorce.”
The fire behind his gaze could burn me alive. “No.”
Then the asshole yanks the folder out of my hand and slams the door in my face.
I pound on it, screaming his name. “Open up, Warren!”
“No one’s home.”
