“He’s married. He isn’t going to do other girls,” Killian says.
Thank you, bro!
“Maybe it’s cancer. People do uncharacteristic things when they’re terminal,” Emily says.
Okay, enough. “I don’t have cancer,” I say as I walk into the dining room, where the two are seated at the table.
“Hey, Dev.” Killian nods, while Emily has the decency to turn slightly pink.
I sit at the table and give her a baleful look for thinking I could be unfaithful. That’s Becca, not me! Except the thought doesn’t make me feel better. It makes me feel like a possum that’s been run over. A sexy possum, but still run over.
“Want something to eat?” he asks.
I don’t, but starving myself isn’t going to undo what happened in Drover. “Sure.” I wince at how grumpy I sound. “Yes, that would be nice.”
Killian raises his eyebrows. “French toast?”
“Yeah.”
He goes to the kitchen and heats up some toast he must’ve made earlier.
While he’s busy, Emily stares at me like she’s trying to read my mind or get me to talk. I ignore her, since I’m still annoyed that she thought I’d treat my wedding vows like a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe. There’s a difference between a player and a liar. She should know that. She’s a damn author!
Killian places four slices into syrup, making them swim in it just the way I like, and serves it up.
“Thanks,” I mumble, then grab a fork and cut into my first bite in…a lot of hours. “How long was I out?” I ask Killian.
“A full day,” Emily says before he can. “I was worried, but Killian said you were probably just tired from driving.”
“You drive straight through from Texas?” he asks.
I nod, my mouth full. After a couple of bites, I put down my fork. The food tastes like sawdust, but it’s me, not him. The man knows how to whip up a breakfast. Emily brings me coffee, and I down the whole thing as quickly as possible without burning the roof of my mouth. But even caffeine doesn’t do much to make me feel better.
“You okay, man?” Killian asks, peering at me.
My eyes go from him to Emily. They’re wearing identical worried expressions. Somehow, seeing how in unison they are makes my heart hurt more. It’s like they’re a true couple. A real team. Killian would cut off his balls before doing anything to hurt her, and Emily would rip out her ovaries before betraying him.
Maybe there’s something wrong with me. Or maybe I need to play a longer game with women, although I haven’t figured out exactly what that is yet. But I’m sure something will come to me if I put my mind to it. I might not be a Harvard cardiologist, but I’m smart enough to figure it out.
Emily gets up. “You know, I think it’s best if I let you two have a little man talk. I’ll go work on my book.”
She leaves the room. I don’t stop her—I’m still emotionally too drained, and I don’t need her staring at me more. Killian goes to the fridge and gets two Hop Hop Hooray beers out, then hands me one.
I must look like absolute shit for him to do that. He can be greedy about the Kingstree beer.
I sip the raspberry-fl
avored brew for a bit. When I’m about halfway through, I finally say, “Why are women so terrible?”
“Women? Terrible?” He squints at me. “You love women.”
“I mean long-term women. Not, you know, women in general.” I run my fingers through my still-damp hair, feeling like shit, since the beer isn’t doing anything to soothe the rawness in my gut.
“Okay. What happened?”
“Becca cheated on me.” I still want to kick something. Actually, I should’ve kicked that asshole in the face before I left. Sitting at my drum set, with my woman wrapped around him? Oh hell no.
Killian stares like I suddenly started speaking Icelandic. “What? No way. She seemed so sweet in Vegas. New York, too, for that matter.”