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  “Current relationship status?” he asks, gaze dropping to my bare hand. I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything. Just your standard heteronormative reaction.

  “Um.” This question causes an even mix of awkward and painful. I should be used to it by now, but oh well. “It’s complicated. Well . . . separated. Yeah.”

  “Right. I, um . . .” His mouth opens, then closes, as if he’s thought better of whatever he was going to say. Which is curious. “I’m sorry.”

  I just nod. To be honest, I’m still experiencing culture shock. My marriage and my husband were huge parts of my life. As they should be. Now it’s like someone hit pause on all of that and I’m not sure how to feel or what to think. With my heart and mind in a permanent state of confusion, there’s not much I can do. Not yet. And it’s been like this for months. Betrayal has one hell of a sting and I can’t get past the pain to come even remotely close to forgiveness. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Forget about putting my wedding ring back on any time soon.

  “Favorite food?” he asks, moving on, thank goodness.

  “Mexican.”

  “Excellent choice.” He pulls his cell out of his back jeans pocket. “How hungry are you?”

  “I could eat.”

  At this, he gives me the stink eye. “You know, women always say that all casual like and then they eat half of your food.”

  “Order enough and I won’t eat half of your food.” I hold back a smile. “It’s that simple.”

  He sighs. “I get the distinct feeling that nothing about you is simple. But I’m going to feed you anyway. How do you feel about tacos?”

  “I love them.”

  “Carne asada?”

  “Would be great.”

  “Queso and chips?”

  “Please. And Mexican corn if they have it.”

  “They do. Okay,” he says, busy with his cell. “We’re set. You know, you’re the first person I’ve had come visit me here outside of family.”

  “Really? Why?”

  A shrug. “I don’t know. Just busy, I guess.”

  I take another sip of beer. Which is when I realize I feel comfortable here, and I’m even having a good time. My first in a while. “Let me pay for half.”

  “No. I’m buying you dinner. It’s a done deal.” He tosses his cell on the counter. “Next time you can pay.”

  “There’s going to be a next time?” I ask.

  “Sure,” he says, fetching himself another beer out of the fridge. “We’ve already had our bonding moment. I watched you get cut out of your car and everything. I was even holding your hand for a while until the paramedics arrived on the scene. So yeah, we survived a traumatic event together. More than the other guy who caused the accident and took off without helping can say.”

  “Am I a bad person for fervently hoping that God smites him?”

  “Nope. I got a titanium plate and eight screws in my arm. Not my idea of a good time.” He winces at the memory. “That compound fracture could have ended my career. Let alone what he did to you.”

  I raise my brows. “Subdural hematoma, hemorrhagic contusions, a dislocated shoulder, and five broken ribs.”

  “Exactly.”

  “How is your arm? Is it okay now?”

  “Eh. Pretty much. I had okay insurance, so I didn’t come out of it too badly. And I can tell when it’s going to rain now, which is always handy,” he says, his expression darkening. “That was a fucked-up thing, that accident. We’re lucky to be alive.”

  “Very true. You didn’t see the other car?”

  He winces. “It was a silver sedan. Beyond that, I’ve got nothing. I sure as hell wish I’d seen the driver or the license plate or something useful.”

  I take another sip of beer, thinking it all over. My cell buzzes again inside my purse. I will not look at it. I won’t.

  “You need to get that?” he asks, settling himself on the floor.

  I shake my head. “No. It’s my mother. I appreciate her caring, but she’s gotten clingy. I’m trying to deprogram her back to a manageable level.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Just because I’m a little fragile doesn’t mean I’m no longer an adult,” I say, and boy do I sound cranky. On the verge of ranting, even. Not good.

  “How are you doing with all of that, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Better than I was at first. I had to learn to walk and feed myself all over again. And there’s a lot more rehabilitation in front of me.”

  He just nods.

  “It’s unlikely I’ll be running anytime soon.”

  “Running sucks. My brother and his wife live next door and he makes me go with him all of the damn time.”

  “I have to be honest, I’m not really missing that part of it. Though it would be nice to have the option.”

  “Any white tunnel moments? Did you go toward the light and see your life flash before your eyes?” he asks.

  “No.” I shake my head. “Some weird dreams about spooky shadows, though. I think it was just the difference between day and night. Nothing interesting.”

  He leans his head back against the wall, watching me thoughtfully. “If I can say one thing on the subject of your mom . . .”

  “Okay.”

  “I was only in the hospital for a few days. Long enough for them to operate and put some screws in to hold my arm together,” he says. “But it was enough to see what was going on around you. The way your people were taking turns to stay with you. So you wouldn’t wake up and have no one there, you know?”

  I nod because I do know. Mom and Dad don’t like to talk about it, but Ryan was only too willing to discuss all he’d done. Sharing the many and varied details in an attempt to prove himself the dutiful husband. The hours he spent by my bedside. The sacrifices he made. The long, lonely hours, et cetera. Poor Ryan.

  Mind you, waking from a long vegetative state is no small feat. That the odds were against me was made abundantly clear by posts on my Facebook page. Old stories about me. Thoughts and prayers. Messages of loss like I’d already died. There was even a “rest in peace.” No wonder Ryan gave up on me—just about everyone else had. Though those others hadn’t stood up in front of a preacher and taken vows.

  Anyway.

  “Your mom took the night shifts,” Leif continues. “She didn’t mind me sitting with you because it meant she could go grab a coffee or go for a walk or whatever without worrying. Even though the first time we met she looked at me like I was there to steal her purse.”

  “I come from a judgmental family, apparently.”

  “You upper-middle-class suburbanites, you’re all the same.” He winks at me. “But, Anna, she was a wreck. It’s probably not my place to say this, but that woman would do anything for you.”

  I sigh. “I know.”

  “Despite being a wreck, she was all over your treatment, grilling the doctors and nurses, getting all up in their faces if she wasn’t sure something they were doing was best for her baby girl. It was a beautiful thing to see.”

  “You’re making me feel like a bad daughter.”

  He downs a mouthful of beer. “No one could blame you for being pissed about the situation. It’s got to be a huge adjustment.”

  “I had to move back in with them when I got out of the hospital for various reasons and . . . it’s been an adjustment for everyone, I think.”

  “My mother is a wonderful woman. But she does have white carpet and a special day of the week for doing laundry,” he says. “So trust me, I understand. There’s no way I could move back home.”

  I give him a glum smile and look around to buy myself time. To put my thoughts in order. It’s really quite a nice condo. Older, with character. The kitchen could use some work and I’m guessing the bathroom is similar. But still. The high ceiling and wood-framed windows have charm.

  He clears his throat. “What about your friends, they being supportive?”

  “Oh. That too is complicated.” And while I don’t particularly
want to say more, he just waits patiently for my explanation. “Most of the people I was close to . . . their lives have kind of moved on. Or I can no longer keep up. I get so easily exhausted.”

  “That must suck.”

  I nod. “Mom insists on driving me to all of my medical appointments, so we spend a lot of time together. She’s had to cut back on church and her Scrabble group to fit it all in.”

  He says nothing.

  “The truth is, I hate putting her out all of the time. I feel like an inconvenience in my own life.”

  His gaze is soft and sympathetic. “Anna . . .”

  Oh, God. I’m the worst. The absolute ruling queen of negative losers. “And then for fun, I whine at hot guys.”

  At this, he immediately perks up. “You think I’m hot?”

  “What? No.”

  “You said hot. I distinctly heard the word hot.”

  “I know, right? Would it kill you to turn the AC on?”

  He snorts. “Very funny.”

  “Thanks.”

  Despite not having flirted in forever, it would seem I haven’t lost the knack entirely. It’s heartening. There’s also not even one iota of guilt inside me. So there. Not that I’m interested in or looking for more. My life is confusing enough right now. Nor would someone like Leif really be interested in me. I’m okay looking, but he’s on a whole other level. Though the curious glance he gives me strays into titillation.

  “You don’t want the AC on, do you?” He raises a brow. “You’d tell me if you did, right?”

  “No, I don’t want it on. And yes, I would tell you.” Despite my mother’s belief in suffering in polite silence, I do not like to sweat. My milkmaid complexion turns lobster red and it all goes downhill from there.

  “Good,” he says, relaxing back against the wall once more. “I have a feeling this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

  I take a deep breath. “Leif. Thank you. That’s very kind of you. But I don’t need your pity. I—”

  “It’s the resting bitch face that does it for me,” he carries on, as if I hadn’t said a word. “And who else is going to teach me all about linen napkins and matching silverware and the various stuff I now apparently require as a new homeowner?”

  “Good sir, you mistake me for Martha Stewart on a bad day.”

  “Nuh.” He grins. “You’re way hotter.”

  Heat rushes into my face. Despite this, it’s kind of impossible not to smile back at him. Not only is he pretty, but happiness is apparently contagious around this man. And that’s exactly what I need right now.

  He nods. “There we go. That’s better.”

  Oh, God. Am I leading him on? “I’m still legally married, Leif.”

  “I said ‘friends,’ Anna. Friends.” He mock scowls, which is also exceptionally attractive. Dammit. “Don’t go getting ahead of yourself.”

  “Sorry.”

  Then the doorbell buzzes and he’s jumping to his feet. Our food must be here. Excellent, for I am hungry. I think what I came looking for here tonight was a life. A future or a way forward at least. And a new friend is a definite step in the right direction.

  Except when he opens the door, shouting echoes down the hallway, and the voice is familiar. Painfully so.

  “Where is my wife?” yells Ryan.

  My face falls.

  Meanwhile, Leif frowns before setting his jaw and striding off down the hall as if to do battle. Oh shit.

  No, no, no. This is a disaster. I have to get out there and stop this. How to get down on my own? I roll onto my side, then onto my belly, then wiggle toward the edge of the counter. At long last, my dangling feet touch the ground and I’m a little rumpled but good to go.

  I walk as fast as my feet will take me out the door, down the hallway, and out to the front of the building. Where a furious Ryan is facing off with a determined Leif, while a tall and also tattooed man watches on. There are no words for the pain of seeing my estranged husband. For having my current shitty reality hit home yet again. No wonder I avoid him whenever possible. It just hurts too much.

  How the hell Ryan found me is answered by the cell in his hand. The phone tracker app. I’d completely forgotten about it. Back when our marriage was hale and hearty, it was useful to know where the other was. How far from home, or how close to the store. We both agreed to it and it was fine. But for him to be using it now, in this situation, makes my blood boil. Guess he rang the buzzer for a few different condos and that’s why the other guy is out here. What a farce.

  “I told you to stay away from her.” Ryan jabs a finger into Leif’s chest and oh my God. They’ve met before. That’s why Leif stopped visiting me at the hospital. Ryan either got jealous or control freakish or a mean combination of both and warned him off. Holy cow. Never before has he behaved like this. At least, not that I’d ever seen. Like a bully. Like a spoiled child determined to get his way.

  My stomach curdles at how loud and obnoxious he’s being. I could honestly heave my beer into the bushes. He keeps darting looks at me out of the corner of his eye, like he’s gauging how this whole scene is affecting me. My shoulders are slumped, beaten down by his words and his anger. As if I’ve already given in. Not okay. He doesn’t get to show up here and make me the bad guy. And he doesn’t get to shame me publicly, or otherwise, when I’ve done nothing wrong.

  Leif stays silent.

  “I fucking warned you,” continues Ryan.

  The other tattooed man stands there with his arms crossed, watching and waiting.

  “Anna?” Ryan’s hands are clenched into fists, hanging ready at his sides. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. Just deleting the app off my phone that you used to find me.” I drop my cell back into my purse. “That won’t be happening again.”

  He blinks in surprise. “I’m still your husband.”

  “And that gives you the right to stalk me?” I ask, indignant as all hell. “I don’t think so. You’re not my keeper. You don’t own me.”

  “Anna, I love you.”

  “No,” I say, my finger jabbing in his direction. “No, Ryan. You don’t get to do what you did and call it love.”

  He lets out the heaviest of sighs. No man has ever been so poorly treated. Just ask him. It’s like the stresses of my accident have created a second Ryan. A raging asshole Ryan. “Let me take you home. You look tired.”

  “I think she looks good,” says Leif. Which is nice, but not helpful.

  Ryan bristles. “Let me drive you back to your parents’ place. Or you could come home with me. What do you think?”

  “You don’t care what I think. You know, I almost believed you were sincere about giving me space. About respecting my decision to take some time to figure things out.” My laughter is a bitter thing. “You lie about everything these days. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

  “I was sincere. I am sincere.” He swallows hard. “You’re not thinking straight. You don’t understand how—”

  “Hard it was for you while I was in a coma. Yes, I know,” I say. “So hard that you had to fuck one of my best friends.”

  “Anna,” he chides. Ladies aren’t supposed to swear. Especially not at him.

  “He slept with your best friend while you were unconscious?” asks Leif. “Seriously?”

  I nod.

  “Ouch,” says the other dude, whoever he is.

  Ryan squares his shoulders. “This is none of your business. Either of you. This is between me and my wife.”

  Funny thing is, I don’t feel like his wife anymore. I don’t feel like a hell of a lot of anything. A blank piece of paper waiting for a new story to be written. The beginning of something with no future in sight. That’s what it feels like to be me.

  “Problem is,” I say, “everyone knows because you were so damn careless that my mom walked in on you and her having a touching moment at my bedside. So not only did you cheat on me, but you were shitty at it!”

  Ryan’s mouth gapes at my outburst
. But I do not apologize, nor will I calm down. Not this time, dammit.

  My hands shake at my sides, but I am not some meek bitch to smile and nod and do his bidding. Not now. Not ever.

  “Anna?” Leif is asking me what I want to do. It’s nice that someone here still thinks I’m a capable adult and not a broken thing in need of handling.

  “You shouldn’t have come here,” I say, placing a hand on the railing to hold myself steady. “I mean . . . my husband and one of my closest friends. Not only my whole damn life, but some of the most important relationships in it, got fucked while I was unconscious. Every time I think I’ve got a handle on it the whole thing just slaps me in the face all over again. Do you have any idea how that feels? To be made to feel so small and stupid by the actions of people who are supposed to love you?”

  “You’re being unreasonable,” mutters my husband like he’s dealing with an irate child.

  Truth is, I’ve been pretty sedate about things until now. Apart from crying for the first month and hiding out in my room the rest of the time. Maybe I’ve just been reluctant to get loud and messy in public. To delve deep into the nitty-gritty of the situation. Practicing denial and hiding from shit has been so much more helpful. Not. Guess this showdown has been coming for a while. And it’s his fault for showing up here and forcing things.

  My hands shake with righteous fury. “Ryan, you need to leave. Now.”

  He opens his mouth, but no.

  “Now,” I repeat.

  He stomps off, climbs into his new company Chevrolet Silverado, and slams the door shut. Give me strength.

  I just wilt, my chin sitting on my chest. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Not your fault,” says Leif. “Hey. It’s okay. Really.”

  The other guy disappears inside without another word.

  Meanwhile, I’m about to burst into tears like an idiot. There have probably been more embarrassing situations in the history of space and time, I just can’t think of any right now. Thing is, I was having a nice evening. I was doing all right. I was going to eat Mexican corn, dammit. Then Ryan had to come at me with his hypocritical possessive bullshit.

  I could honestly scream, but I don’t. “He’s why you stopped coming to read to me.”