Page 122 of Bad Love

“Pasta met yourexpectations?”

“Best ever,” my son says. “We saved you dessert.” He passes Logan the box from thetable.

“Why thank you.” Logan’s smile almost looks natural, but I know he’s forcing it. That he wants to argue, but he’s putting on a face for Rory. “Nine’s going to be bomb, Ipromise.”

“Logan, you should come over! Mom’ll let me stay up late if you’rethere.”

I feel as though my heart’s nailed to the table in front of us, and every word from Rory’s mouth, from Logan’s, drives the spikes indeeper.

Logan meets my gaze. “Rain check, Rory. I’m going to enjoy my dessert and let you guys finish yournight.”

Rory says goodbye, and as we start out the door, I look back through the window to see Logan standing over the table, arms folded as he stares down at the pieces of myheart.

26

If there'sone thing I'm good at, it's sleeping. When my head hits the pillow, I’mout.

But last night, I tossed and turned and got up and stared into the light of the fridge before returning tobed.

Every time I close my eyes, I see Kendall’sface.

The relief when she spotted me across the restaurant and realized I wasn’t bleeding in aditch.

Chased by disappointment when she realized I wasn’t bleeding in aditch.

I wanted to argue that Icouldbe there for her and Rory. But I wouldn’t make excuses by saying I’d had a chance to win the breweryback.

It was another foolish bet. Part of me knew it the moment Nellie dangled it in my face, but I couldn’t resist the temptation of hitting an Easy Button that promised to solveeverything.

No matter how many miles I run or reps I do this morning, I can't free my brain. No matter how much work I do on the partnership with the restaurant or building my business plan and presentation for the board meeting, I can't get her words out of myhead.

She might be done, but I’m notdone.

At five that evening, I pull up in front of Kendall's place. She’s likely not home yet, so I intend to sit in the car, but as I sling an arm out the open window, tapping the door with my fingers, movement catches myeye.

A guy who’s a few years younger than me with dark hair and a plaid shirt is hanging out by the front of her building, glancing up theside.

His gaze pulls to me as I make my way up thewalk.

"Can I help you?" Iask.

"Came to see my kid but can’t getin."

I stare at the button he's been pushing and draw a roughbreath.

I recognize bits of the man now. The chin, theears.

At his side, there’s a bike with a bow onit.

"Present for my son,” he says in an easy way that has my hands fisting at my sides. “Yesterday was hisbirthday."

"I know," I grindout.

Surprise flickers across his expression. "You knowKendall?"

"I'm herboyfriend.”

The surprise in his gaze fades quickly, replaced by an affable we’re-all-friends-here look on his face that makes me want to punch him. "I'm herhusband."

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