Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 82187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Ruxs huffed. “Shit, man. We came all this way.”
“Y’all got any Wagyu sliders or brats?” Green asked, with a plate in his hand.
Day closed his eyes as though he was praying for strength. “Get. The fuck. Out. All of you.”
Ruxs and Green backed out of the room, awkwardly sweeping shards of glass to the side with their boots and propping tables up on the legs that weren’t broken.
“We’ll…uh…we can see ourselves out,” Ruxs muttered.
“Sorry ’bout the vase. You really do have a lovely home.” Green waved. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
God stood there, silent, fists clenching and unclenching, still staring at Day, trying to figure out what the fuck he’d just done…and how the hell he was supposed to explain it.
Day
Day dropped his keys in the bowl by the door and walked farther into their house without a word.
God followed a few steps behind with his head low and his steps heavy.
Day’s pulse pounded like a bass drum. His chest was tight with anger and confusion.
He paced back and forth until he stopped at the liquor cabinet.
He poured himself a glass of bourbon, filling it almost to the top, hoping the burn would help cover the sting of his hurt.
It didn’t.
When he turned around, God stood in the shadows of the hall, staring at the floor like a scolded child.
“Leo,” God started.
He held up his palm and God snapped his mouth shut.
Day stalked into the living room, gripping his glass so tightly he thought it might shatter.
He dropped into a chair and took another slow sip, trying to gather his thoughts.
God sat in the recliner across from him with his elbows braced on his knees, cradling his face in his big hands as if he were trying to physically hold his thoughts together.
Day had rehearsed what he was going to say the entire ride home, but now that they were face-to-face, all he felt was exhaustion.
“How’d you even realize I wasn’t home?” he asked, finally breaking the silence. “I’ve been going to that support group every Thursday night for six months.”
God snapped his head up. His eyes wide and full of an expression that resembled shame.
“Yep, six months of me leaving work without you and coming home late. You didn’t even notice.” Day barked a humorless laugh. “And you call yourself a detective.”
God flinched as if he’d been slapped.
“Or maybe you just didn’t give a fuck to notice.”
“Leo I—”
“Do you know why I even joined that group?”
Day didn’t wait for God to answer.
“I was home one Sunday night…alone. I’d made your favorite dinner… and your mother’s pecan pie. I was sitting at the table with my leg propped up on the chair, icing my knee, since it was still giving me problems from when I fell off the fire escape during a breach simulation.”
God placed his fist to his mouth, his lip trembling.
“It was after eleven and I was still watching the clock, starving and holding out for my husband to come home and eat with me, just once.”
Day paused, remembering his first online chat with Callum.
“I googled ‘how to make your husband notice you’,” He took another long swig of his Jim Beam and laughed again. “There was a whole bunch of shit about dressing sexy, flirting, compliment him, surprise him, show affection, communicate…give him space.”
Day couldn’t sit any longer as anger burned hotter than the liquor.
“Then I saw the suggestion to join a support group.”
“Leo, why didn’t you just talk to me about—”
He glared so fuckin hard God actually looked scared.
“We’re you really about to say that?”
God shook his head.
“Oh good. Because I never stopped trying to talk to you, Cash.” Day pfft’d. “In between meeting and raids of course.”
“I researched a lot of groups and saw there’s quite a few of’em in Atlanta. That’s how I met Callum.” Day shrugged. “I had no clue there were so man ignored husbands out there.”
“I swear I didn’t know it—”
“It what?” Day frowned. “You didn’t know it was impossible to talk to you about anything besides your task force. You didn’t know it was easier to confide in a group of strangers—that cared more about my feelings—than my own husband?”
“Yeah,” God sighed.
“It was either talk to them…or the department therapist. But, that would’ve required you making time to go to an appointment.”
“Fuck.” God shook his head as if defeated. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t know what else to—”
Day leaned forward. “So, how’d you find out?”
God opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Day slammed his glass onto the table, liquor sloshing over the rim.
“Who convinced you I was having an affair?” he demanded. “Who did you trust…over me?”
God closed his eyes, looking older than he’d ever seen him.
“Who?” he roared, voice echoing through the room.
“Vasquez.” God confessed in a chocked whisper.
Day was sure he’d heard wrong, but the expressions on his husband’s face confirmed he’d heard it right.