His hand smoothed down my back, easing the tension in my spine. “You’ve had some bad news and—”
I jammed my elbow into his stomach, pushing him away from me. “Bad news?” My voice rose to shrill on the words. “Seriously? That’s what you call it? I find out my perfect marriage was a nothing but a–a sham and you call that bad news? Jesus, Will. You have no idea what I’m feeling, do you? Can you even imagine what it’s like to find out the man you thought adored you was busy doing it with another woman while you were taking care of his house, his kids… his life ?”
A torrent of words poured out of me as Will stood still as a statue. I couldn ’t stop them. “The bastard was screwing around with God knows how many women the whole time he was pretending to be this perfect husband and father. Oh, and don’t forget— Dr. Wonderful . Everyone in that damn town believed he was right next door to a saint.” I took a breath before continuing to seethe. “Oh yeah, Saint Charlie… works the soup kitchen in Traverse City every Thanksgiving morning, spends hours sitting with patients post-surgery, attends PTA events—even if it means he has to come in late because of an emergency—never misses a single goddamned anniversary or birthday. Not once.”
I snorted. “Don’t think I didn’t wear that like a badge of honor when my friends bitched about their husbands forgetting special days. Hell, Charlie brought me flowers or jewelry or something on the anniversary of the day we met, for sweet Christ’s sake.”
“ Julie, take a breath. Come here.” Will crossed to me and laid his hands on my shoulders. “If you need to rant, then rant. But let me help you.”
“ How? How can you help me?” Squirming out of his grasp, I paced the kitchen into the dining room, the living room, casting about desperately for something I could throw. Rage boiled inside me. “I just want to hit something, break something. To hurt someone. I’ve never been this angry in my life.”
“ Here.” He met me by the grand piano and handed me… his shoe?
I gazed up at him. “What?”
“ Throw it. Hurl it against the door. If it leaves a mark, we’ll get it fixed.”
“ It’s okay.” I managed a weak smile. “Thanks, but I don’t need to throw your shoe.”
“ Do it,” he encouraged, his head cocked toward the wood front door. “Just chuck it. You’ll feel better, I promise.” Obviously he sensed my hesitation because he toed off his other loafer. “Look. Over there. Isn’t that Charlie by the door? Let him have it.”
I hefted the shoe before I drew back and launched it with every ounce of strength I could muster.
Take that, you asshat.
The leather loafer hit the door with a very satisfactory whump.
“You got him. Right on his big fat head.” Will tossed me his other shoe. “Do it again. I think he’s still conscious.”
His grin was infectious. So with a wicked smile, I took a pitcher ’s stance, wound up, and threw the loafer as hard as I could.
“ And he’s out!” Will shouted with a raucous hoot. “Want to do it again? Take your shoes off.”
But I was exhausted and suddenly out of the mood to lob any more shoe grenades. “Thanks, Will.” My voice cracked.
No , goddammit, no more tears! I refuse to cry over that man, ever again.
Instead, I brushed past him to the kitchen where I opened the wine fridge. “I’m thinking a big glass of wine would be good about now.”
“ It’s five o’clock somewhere.” Will agreed and took the bottle of wine from me. “Go sit on the couch. I’ll bring it to you.”
I flopped on the sofa as he found the corkscrew and opened the pinot noir I’d pulled from Liam and Carrie’s stash. After filling two glasses, he joined me. I could tell he was trying unobtrusively to judge my frame of mind. I stared off into space as I sipped, shoving the hurt down.
I wanted to explain the mish mash of emotions roiling inside me. Betrayed? Most certainly. Hurt?
I jammed my elbow into his stomach, pushing him away from me. “Bad news?” My voice rose to shrill on the words. “Seriously? That’s what you call it? I find out my perfect marriage was a nothing but a–a sham and you call that bad news? Jesus, Will. You have no idea what I’m feeling, do you? Can you even imagine what it’s like to find out the man you thought adored you was busy doing it with another woman while you were taking care of his house, his kids… his life ?”
A torrent of words poured out of me as Will stood still as a statue. I couldn ’t stop them. “The bastard was screwing around with God knows how many women the whole time he was pretending to be this perfect husband and father. Oh, and don’t forget— Dr. Wonderful . Everyone in that damn town believed he was right next door to a saint.” I took a breath before continuing to seethe. “Oh yeah, Saint Charlie… works the soup kitchen in Traverse City every Thanksgiving morning, spends hours sitting with patients post-surgery, attends PTA events—even if it means he has to come in late because of an emergency—never misses a single goddamned anniversary or birthday. Not once.”
I snorted. “Don’t think I didn’t wear that like a badge of honor when my friends bitched about their husbands forgetting special days. Hell, Charlie brought me flowers or jewelry or something on the anniversary of the day we met, for sweet Christ’s sake.”
“ Julie, take a breath. Come here.” Will crossed to me and laid his hands on my shoulders. “If you need to rant, then rant. But let me help you.”
“ How? How can you help me?” Squirming out of his grasp, I paced the kitchen into the dining room, the living room, casting about desperately for something I could throw. Rage boiled inside me. “I just want to hit something, break something. To hurt someone. I’ve never been this angry in my life.”
“ Here.” He met me by the grand piano and handed me… his shoe?
I gazed up at him. “What?”
“ Throw it. Hurl it against the door. If it leaves a mark, we’ll get it fixed.”
“ It’s okay.” I managed a weak smile. “Thanks, but I don’t need to throw your shoe.”
“ Do it,” he encouraged, his head cocked toward the wood front door. “Just chuck it. You’ll feel better, I promise.” Obviously he sensed my hesitation because he toed off his other loafer. “Look. Over there. Isn’t that Charlie by the door? Let him have it.”
I hefted the shoe before I drew back and launched it with every ounce of strength I could muster.
Take that, you asshat.
The leather loafer hit the door with a very satisfactory whump.
“You got him. Right on his big fat head.” Will tossed me his other shoe. “Do it again. I think he’s still conscious.”
His grin was infectious. So with a wicked smile, I took a pitcher ’s stance, wound up, and threw the loafer as hard as I could.
“ And he’s out!” Will shouted with a raucous hoot. “Want to do it again? Take your shoes off.”
But I was exhausted and suddenly out of the mood to lob any more shoe grenades. “Thanks, Will.” My voice cracked.
No , goddammit, no more tears! I refuse to cry over that man, ever again.
Instead, I brushed past him to the kitchen where I opened the wine fridge. “I’m thinking a big glass of wine would be good about now.”
“ It’s five o’clock somewhere.” Will agreed and took the bottle of wine from me. “Go sit on the couch. I’ll bring it to you.”
I flopped on the sofa as he found the corkscrew and opened the pinot noir I’d pulled from Liam and Carrie’s stash. After filling two glasses, he joined me. I could tell he was trying unobtrusively to judge my frame of mind. I stared off into space as I sipped, shoving the hurt down.
I wanted to explain the mish mash of emotions roiling inside me. Betrayed? Most certainly. Hurt?
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