Chapter 21

21

Davey

"Good morning," I call out to Art as I cross Killer Brew. I've already dropped the kids off, and Mack is at work, so I'm free to commit third-degree murder if it comes to it. "I'm giving you a choice. Either I kill you for getting in my husband's head about me sleeping with other men, or you help me. You have until three to answer. One … Two …"

"Hold up," Joey says. "Why are you killing Art? What did he do?"

"He told Davey he should find someone to hook up with because that's what I would be doing."

Joey turns his glare on Art. "I wish this surprised me."

"Well, how was I supposed to know?"

"You could have asked," I point out.

"Sure. I'm going to say, ‘Hey, Davey, who've you fucked lately?' "

"You say that like it isn't a standard opening for you."

At least he has the good sense to look sheepish.

Joey looks torn. "Are you upset that he slept with someone? Because even though Art's a dumbass, I don't think you can blame him for that."

"No. Thankfully, Mack didn't sleep with anyone. And neither did I. But he was hurt because he thought I did."

Joey pulls the dish towel from his shoulder and whips Art across the ass with it.

"Fucking ouch !" he cries. "But also … do it again."

" Don't do it again. Die or help? Two and a half … thhhhh?—"

"Fine. I'll help." Art's handsome face morphs into something that might look like disappointment if his eyes weren't so amused. "You don't need to threaten me. I'll do it anyway."

"This way was more fun for me." I settle on the stool, and Joey pours me a Coke.

"You're paying for that," Art says as I take a sip.

Joey winks. "I've got it. Art loves when I buy other men drinks."

He huffs but comes over to sit next to me. "What do you need help with?"

"I'm moving home."

"Uh … what?"

My fingers drum over the hard bar top, and the words are difficult to get out, but I'm determined. "I love my job, but they're pulling me back into the office over a month earlier than we agreed on, and if I'm honest … I'm tired. I'm tired of leaving the kids. I'm so, so tired of leaving Mack. The travel is amazing, and I get a lot out of what I do, but there comes a point where I have to admit that I can't have it all. "

Art looks like he doesn't know what to say. There's no sign of joking when he says, "But you love your job."

"Yeah. I do."

"You love your family more."

"Obviously."

Joey crosses his arms and leans toward us. "What's changed though? No offense, but I'm pretty sure you've always loved your family more. It'd be shitty of you if you didn't."

I huff a laugh, not offended, because he's right. "I took them for granted. Even after the divorce, Mack was always there. We were still together whenever I was home. Still happy, still playing the part of a family for the kids."

"And?"

I screw up my face. "He went on a date the other night, and it was the first time I've had to face what life would look like if he moved on."

"Ahh … the old ‘don't know what you have until it's gone' trick."

That's so far from wrong I don't know where to start. "I've always known what I have. Mack is the most kindhearted, incredible man. I love him. I've never stopped. But the thing is … I don't have him anymore. Not really. And the reality of that cuts me up inside."

"So you're moving home." Art thinks it over for a moment. "I don't think that's a good call."

"What?"

He looks world-weary as he shrugs. "That's not to say I don't think the two of you together is for the best. It is. You were made for each other. But if you're anything like me …" He waves a hand over the bar. "I am this place. I am my work. I love that about me, and Joey would never try to change it. If he did, well, I don't think we'd have the shot at forever that we do because I wouldn't be me. And he wouldn't be him."

"I don't want to be my work."

"You are though. What you want doesn't matter."

I'd been so confident with my plan when I walked in here, and I hate that Art is hitting me with the truth. "What am I supposed to do? Let him go? Give up on my family?"

He opens his mouth and quickly shuts it again.

Dammit, no. I'd had a plan, and I'm sticking with it. I've been back and forth over this enough. "I know what you're saying, but I'm done. No more. I'm not walking out on work tomorrow, but I am going."

"Right. So what do you need me for?"

"Your contacts."

"Ah. I have those, do I?"

"You wouldn't be the great Art de Almeida, future ruler of the universe, if you didn't."

He nods. "Flattery will get you everywhere. I'll make some calls."

And while he does that, I'll mindlessly troll every job listing that's driving distance away. Even ridiculously long commutes are an improvement to what we're going through now.

On the way home, I pick up a box of Mack's favorite donuts and then straighten up the house a bit. With the free time I have left, I head out to my LEGO shed. Everything is exactly where I left it. Honestly, I haven't spent as much time out here as I used to. And honestly , honestly, a lot of the time I spent in here was to get some distance from Mack.

The tension was thick before the divorce, and I didn't want to deal with it, so this was the way I switched off. Standing here now, the itch to build something isn't what it used to be. I still love it, still regret my Millennium Falcon being smashed, but this particular room … it makes me sad.

I switch off the light and step back outside. There's a room in the house where I could relocate all my things, but that comes with the added risk of the kidlets breaking something again. And even if I did move inside, what would I do with the shed?

The weight building over my shoulders suddenly releases with the reminder that I have time . I don't have to figure it all out now. Soon, I won't be packing my suitcase and leaving every couple of weeks. Goodbye frequent-flier miles, goodbye hotel rooms, goodbye that deep ache in my chest every time I have to leave my family again.

It's fucking cold because it snowed last night, and I'm getting hopeful it might stick. Some of the best memories of my childhood were going to sleep on Christmas Eve, belly full of Gran's casserole and pudding, then waking to presents and snow covering everything. Somehow, it made Christmas more magical. I want that for Kiera and Van. I sort of want that for me too.

But Gran's gone, and Kilborough hasn't had a white Christmas for at least five years, so I'm not hopeful this year will be the one. With a fifty-fifty shot, it's got to be coming soon though, and hell—I tilt my head back to look at the bleary gray sky—maybe it could be my sign. A way of showing me that this is where I'm supposed to be. I'm making the right choice.

By the time I'm back inside, my hands are frozen solid, so I make a coffee, grab my laptop, and then sit down to job hunt. It's been so long since I've had to do this that I'm rusty as fuck. I also don't have an updated resume since my job has never been in danger of going somewhere, and I've never wanted to let that kind of job security go.

The problem is, this close to Christmas, businesses are wrapping up for the year. There are no jobs in my field advertised and barely any outside of last-minute retail at all.

Okay.

This isn't going to be a quick thing.

I knew that.

My first steps are to make up a resume, maybe look up some of the people I've met at conferences over the years to see if they're, A, close, and B, willing to make some introductions between me and their HR departments. Then, I should tackle our budget. If I'm going to take a pay cut, I need to know how much of a reduction we can manage without making major changes to our lives.

It's looking more and more that returning to work on the second will be unavoidable, but at least this time I can go, knowing we'll have a better future ahead.