Every Sweet Regret (Orchid Valley 2)

GoodHands69: Thank you. For that, and for . . . just listening. It means a lot.I can hardly swallow around the lump in my throat. This guy has no idea, does he? I’d listen anytime, anywhere.

ItsyBitsy123: Absolutely any time. I mean that.Chapter ElevenKace“Mr. Matthews? This is Janie from Little Angels Preschool. Today’s Hope’s share day, and she said she forgot her stuffed friend on the breakfast table.” The woman lowers her voice. “I’m sorry to bother you in the middle of the workday, but she’s taking it pretty hard.”

Instead of show and tell, Hope’s school does share day. They each get one day a month to bring in something special from home and share it with the class. Hope looks forward to her share day only marginally less than Christmas. “It’s no problem. I’m on my way now.”

“Oh, thanks so much!” Janie says.

We say our goodbyes, and I head out to my truck while calling Amy. It’s not like her to forget Hope’s things, but our lives have become a little more chaotic since we started this shared-custody thing, and details slip through the cracks sometimes.

When I get her voicemail, I try her work line, but that goes to voicemail too. Figures—she’s always in a meeting or on her way to another. “Hey, Ames. Hope left her share-day toy on the table. I’m just going to swing by your place and grab it for her. Talk to you later.”

Within five minutes, I’m pulling into Amy’s driveway. The sight of her house makes my gut twist. This little bungalow is the physical embodiment of my divorce. It’s weird that a house could upset me more than any of the other thousand things that changed when she left, but this place has always made me sad. Home was supposed to be where we were all together. Now that doesn’t exist.

Pushing aside my angst, I climb out of the truck and use the key she gave me to let myself in.

The foyer looks right into the living room, where Amy’s straddling someone on the couch, her head thrown back, wild blond curls everywhere, tits bouncing as she moans.

Why didn’t I knock?

“Shit!” I turn around and walk right back out the door, slamming it behind me.

“Kace!” she shouts, but I’m already heading to my car.

I yank my door open, throw my phone in the passenger seat, and slide in. Squeezing the steering wheel, I force myself to draw in a deep breath. It takes every ounce of my will not to storm in there and start swinging my fists at whomever she had beneath her. It’s not my right. She’s not my wife. But, fuck, it’s like my heart never got the memo, because it’s pounding so fast, so hard, and it just hurts so fucking much I have to shut my eyes.

The rap on my window has me opening them again. Amy’s standing outside my truck in her fluffy pink robe. My first thought is surprise that she still has it. I bought it for her at Christmas a few years ago, and when she opened it, she made a comment about nothing saying the spice is gone like a terry cloth robe instead of lingerie. The off-hand remark pissed me off, but it wasn’t until after we’d tucked our exhausted toddler into bed that she said she needed me to at least pretend I still thought she was sexy, even if it wasn’t true. I told her she was being ridiculous and that I’d never stopped finding her sexy, that she was the one who’d been pulling away when I tried to touch her, that we hadn’t had sex in months. She said she couldn’t be the woman from my fantasies when she was busy being the mother to our child.

She slept on the couch that night, and even though she came back to our bed after that, our sex life never improved. But apparently hers has since she left.

Her face is screwed up in a frown. “Kace, I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you knock.”

I should step out of the truck and have this conversation somewhere other than the middle of her driveway. I should give her a chance to change out of that fucking robe, but I don’t trust myself not to go after the fucker inside, so I roll down my window. “I didn’t knock,” I say, shifting my gaze back to the house. I can’t look at her without seeing her as she was when I walked in that door. The ecstasy on her face. When was the last time I made her look like that? “I thought you were at work.”

“I took the day off.” She gives a tentative smile. “That was super awkward, so I’m guessing I don’t need to tell you it’s best to knock in the future?”