“If you must know, I was actually gathering your clothes to wash,” she says, her eyes narrowed on me. “You know, being a good wife.”
I bark out a disbelieving laugh. “You haven’t been a good wife since the day we were married. How about you try another excuse?”
Her eyes flare and her lips press into a firm line. “You still haven’t answered my question. Who in the hell are you sleeping with, Brady?”
The hatred I see on her face reminds me of the comment Camila said in the bar about Addison slashing someone’s tires. It was never proven Addison did it, but I knew in my gut she did. For some reason, my wife has a crazed obsession with me. She has since we were fifteen. I just didn’t realize it until it was too late.
And because of that, she can never know I slept with Camila, because I fear what Addison would do to her.
“I’m not sleeping with anyone,” I tell Addison, holding her glare with steady eyes.
“You’re lying!” she suddenly screeches.
The crazed look that enters her eyes is something I’ve seen hundreds of times.
“I’m not,” I say.
“Yes, you fucking are.” She points down to the panties still clutched in my hand. “There’s the proof right there.”
I hold the panties up, letting them dangle from one of my fingers. “I found these in the men’s bathroom at the courthouse. I kept them to ask around the office who they belong to and to reprimand the culprit.”
She steps closer, which only leaves a couple feet between us. My body tenses, already knowing what’s coming, and I set my glass down on the counter.
“I’m not stupid, Brady,” she spews and spit flies from her mouth to land on my shirt. “I know you’re fucking another woman, and I want to know who it is.”
I hold my ground and keep my voice calm. “You can think what you want, but it doesn’t make it true.”
Just as expected, malicious intent crosses Addison’s face at the same time she grabs an empty vase from the counter and screams at the top of her lungs, “Tell me her name!”
Before she can clock me over the head, I catch her wrist mid swing. I keep my grip as light as I can so I don’t leave a mark, but with enough force to prevent her from hitting me with the thick glass. She screams again and tries to jerk away. I catch her other wrist when she tries to bring that one up to use her nails against me. I spin her around and the vase falls to the floor with a loud crash, breaking on impact. Releasing her wrists, I pin her arms to her sides, but she bucks her hips back against me. Dropping her head, she tries to sink her teeth into my forearm, but I lower them so she can’t reach.
“Enough!” I bark and jostle her some.
It has no effect. She just continues to squirm and kick her legs, acting like a mad woman. And that’s what she is. She’s fucking crazy.
“Goddamn it, Addison, I said enough!” I roar, thanking Christ our house is far enough off the road so no one can hear the struggle going on inside.
After another moment, Addison slumps in my arms. Her chest rises and falls against my arms and her ragged breathing fills the room.
“Are you finished?” I ask, my tone tight with anger.
“Fuck you, Brady. I’ll find out one way or the other, and Lord help whoever the bitch is. She’ll be praying for death by the time I get done with her.”
Rage courses through my veins with her threat, but I learned a long time ago to keep my control around her because she’ll use everything she can against me to her advantage. It’s also why I need to make sure when she gets like this I don’t leave any marks when I have to restrain her.
Calling the cops and reporting her abusive behavior is out too. There’s not a goddamn thing I can do, but endure this shit on a daily basis.
I squeeze her enough to get her attention, but not enough to hurt her. I’ve never, in all the years I’ve put up with this shit, laid a hand on her in anger. The most I do is defend myself.
“Listen to me, Addison,” I growl in her ear. “You need to drop this shit now. I told you where I found the panties. They don’t belong to some mystery affair you think I’ve had. You’re delusional and making shit up in your head.” I grind my back teeth together. “Stay the fuck out of my room.”
A grunt is my only response, and I already know this isn’t over.
“If I let you go, are you going to try to hit me again?”
Her head shakes jerkily from left to right.
I let her go and take a step back, keeping my eyes on her as she spins around. A glance down at her wrists tells me they are mark free, which has me letting out a relieved breath.
“You can’t hide her from me forever,” she remarks, her voice low and filled with conviction.
I lift a shoulder and keep my expression neutral. “If you want to waste your time, go ahead.”
I’m hoping the more I deny her claim, the more she’ll question her suspicions.
With her eyes slanted into slits, she turns on her heel and marches out of the room. When I know she’s far enough away, I let out a tired breath and lean against the counter. My eyes drop to the broken vase on the floor.
What I wouldn’t give to be able to go back in time and see Addison for what she really is. To stop her before she destroyed my life.
I snatch up the bottle of Maker’s, uncap the top, and forgoing a glass, tip the mouth of the bottle to my lips.