Halftime Husband (Sassy in the City 5)

I didn’t want to put her on speaker, but it was the easiest way to deal with it. She probably just wanted to let me know she was out of rehab.

“Hello?”

“Brandon. So, when were you going to tell me?”

I grimaced. “Tell you what, Bridget?”

“That you have a girlfriend living with you. I’m still their mother, you know. I deserve to know who is hanging around my daughters.”

Dakota made a sound that was not friendly. I glanced over at her and gave her a pleading look. She rolled her eyes.

“I have a nanny, Bridget. I don’t have to consult you every time I hire someone to be a care provider. And yes, I understand you’re still their mother.”

I could practically feel the anger radiating off Dakota as I drove. This was one of those times I wished I lived in Jersey. I would have been home already and could take this call in private.

Bridget snorted. “Please. You’re going to tell me you’re not fucking her?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“So you are. That’s so predictable.”

I decided to go on the offensive. I kept my tone calm. “Are you done with rehab?”

“No. I still have another thirty days.”

“Then you should be calling the girls with your phone privileges, not calling me to ask about my sex life.”

“You’re such an asshole,” she seethed. “It’s no wonder I can’t stay in recovery.”

“I’m sorry if you feel that way.” This was the line I always had to walk with her. I couldn’t tell her how I really felt because I didn’t want to be responsible for her withholding herself from the girls as some kind of punishment to me. She had an irrational way of thinking that I had learned was futile to argue with.

“How old is your slut?” she asked.

Before I could repeat again it was none of Bridget’s business, Dakota’s voice rang out clear and concise. “I’m twenty-eight,” she said.

Wonderful. I rubbed my forehead.

“You have me on speaker with her?” Bridget said. “What the fuck, Brandon? How dare you?”

“We’re in the car. I answered the phone. It’s not a big deal.” Then because while I wanted to maintain the peace, I couldn’t let her bully Dakota, I said, “And don’t call her a slut, seriously. Let’s just stay civil.”

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

That was just a useless threat and a waste of money. The court was not going to overturn custody at this point. I sighed. “Do whatever you need to do.” I didn’t even bother to ask how she’d found out about Dakota. I didn’t particularly care. I knew it wasn’t from the girls. She hadn’t spoken to either one of them in five months.

“I will. And oh, Slut? Watch your back.”

With that she ended the call.

“Wow, she’s fun,” Dakota said. “Here I was feeling sorry for her for struggling with addiction.”

“She turns to alcohol and pills because she has other deeper issues. I’m sorry about that. She had no right to talk to you like that.”

“I’m sorry you have to constantly deal with this.”

“Me, too,” I said, being honest. “She wasn’t like this when we got married, obviously. I didn’t realize the extent to which she suffered from bipolar disorder. It didn’t actually get bad until after the kids were born. Something about either the hormones of the pregnancies or motherhood itself made things way worse.”

“You stayed longer than I would have.”