If I Could Do It Again (6 page)

“My legs hurt.”

Joshua laughs. “I’m sorry, baby. You still driving?”

“Yes,” I mutter, readjusting in my seat. Note to self, indoor spin class equals muscle agony. “It’s like my legs are on fire, and I hurt
everywhere
. I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea.”

Okay, that’s not entirely true. I know exactly why I thought trying out a spin class was a good idea. Not only has my weight loss slowed down over the last couple of weeks and spinning is supposed to be a great cardio workout, but I figured that it might be easier than running since there’s a seat.

I was totally wrong.

“You did it because you needed to change up your workout,” he says, his tone hinting at his amusement. “Don’t be a pussy about it. When you get home, put some
BENGAY
on your legs. They’ll feel better.”

“Right,” I say, squirming a little more as I flick on my signal, changing lanes. Then, feeling a little uncomfortable complaining to him about how out of shape I am and wanting to talk about something, anything but my burning muscles, I say, “I have a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“If you found a spider in your house,” I say, pulling up to a stop light, “would you kill it or put it outside?”

He laughs. “Well, I’ve been bitten by two poisonous spiders, so I’d kill it. Where did that come from?”

The light changes to green, and I give the car some gas. “I’m not really sure. It just came to me.”

He laughs again. “Aww, changing the subject. Was I making you uncomfortable, beautiful?”

“Maybe a little bit,” I mumble, feeling my face flush. I don’t know what it is about him calling me beautiful that makes me squirm, but damn, I like it. I like it a lot. “So what are your plans for the day?”

“I’ve got REC at eleven, twelve your time,” he says, still chuckling under his breath. “If a movie’s on later, I’ll probably watch that, but other than that, my day’s wide open. You?”

“Not really sure yet.” I hesitate, running through my schedule in my mind. “I’ll probably work for a bit, but Richard was still home when I left, so …”

“Really? Doesn’t he have to work?”

“I don’t know. I asked, but all he’d say was that he was going back to work when he felt like it.”

Joshua lets out an aggravated huff. “I don’t know how you put up with his shit. It drives me crazy knowing that you’re stuck there with him, dealing with him, and there’s nothing I can do about it. You really need to start thinking about getting out, beautiful. Make a plan.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” I agree, because he’s right. I do need to make a plan, an exit strategy of sorts.

Joshua keeps talking, rambling on about the weather and his workout. He tells me what’s on the menu for the day, grumbling about how much he hates fish and mayo, and I fill him in on all the errands I have to run, and the housekeeping I’ve been slacking on. The conversation flows easily, just falling from the tongue naturally, and it strikes me, when was the last time I’ve felt so comfortable with someone that we could fill a conversation with mindless chatter without getting bored? I can hardly remember.

Maybe never.

When I pull into the driveway, the garage is wide open. Richard is there, standing in front of the house, eyeing my rosebushes with what looks like a pair of garden shears in hand.

I freeze, my hand resting on the gear shift as my eyes take in the mess. I’m guessing he’s been out here for a while because the beautiful bushes have been … trimmed, half the blossoms now covering the lawn.

My rosebushes.

The rosebushes I planted when I moved in with him.

Really?

Stomach sinking, I let go of the gear shift, turning off the car, eyeing Richard cautiously. “Joshua, I think I have to go. Richard’s, uh … outside, and it looks like he’s gardening.”

“Really?” Joshua sounds confused. “He’s gardening?”

“Well …” I hesitate. “He’s doing something with the garden.”

“Is there a problem?” Joshua asks, his tone changing, hardening.

“Not sure yet,” I tell him. “I’m sure it’s nothing. He’s probably just in a mood. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“No,” he says. “I want to stay on the phone with you. Make sure everything’s okay.”

“I, uh …” His tone is chilling, cold and angry. I have no idea how to make him feel okay again, what to say to bring back the playful, talkative man from moments ago.
Shit.
I shouldn’t have said anything. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Victoria …”

“It’s fine,” I repeat, cutting him short. “I can handle him. Besides, you can’t do …” I stall mid-sentence, biting off the words, hoping like hell I didn’t offend him.

Way to make him feel better, Vic.

Ugh, I’m such an insensitive bitch.

“Right,” he says, his voice losing all emotion, turning blank. “You’re right, there’s nothing I can do. Just don’t let him push you around, okay? Stand up for yourself.”

“Okay.”

He mumbles a goodbye, and then the line clicks and the familiar recording plays in my ear indicating that he hung up. Groaning, I shove my phone into my purse, and run my hands over my face, frustrated.
Shit.
Why is Richard even still here?

I reach into my purse, digging around for the pack of cigarettes and lighter, knowing that the electronic one isn’t going to cut it right now, before I get out of the car and start toward him, lighting one up. He’s watching me, his expression blank as he opens up the shears and takes another random snip out of my flowers.

My footsteps falter as the yellow blossoms fall to the ground, and I take a drag from my cigarette. Richard’s eyes are puffy and red, his nose slightly swollen. His allergies are kicking his ass. From where I’m standing, I can see that three of the once beautiful bushes have been torn right out at the roots, which explains the redness spreading up his arms.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

What the hell is he doing?

“Are you okay?” I ask, stepping onto the lawn, approaching him cautiously.

“I’m great,” he says, and takes another snip out of the flowers. He tips his head toward the destroyed bushes. “What do you think?”

I blink, taking another puff.
What do I think?

“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head, because I truly don’t know what to think. “Why are you doing this?”

Richard shrugs. “I figured I needed a new hobby. Becoming a gardener sounds … appealing.”

Grimacing, I scan him over as an uneasy chill spreads up my spine. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he says. He’s silent for a moment, regarding me, looking none too impressed that I’m still standing here. “Don’t you have work to do?”

I hesitate, staring at him for a moment, not sure what to do. He looks like he needs his medication, but he’s irritated about something and I most definitely do not want to deal with that.

Sighing, I eventually nod and put out my cigarette. “Yeah, I do. Do you want me to grab your allergy meds before I get started though?”

“Nah,” he says, smirking at me. “I’m good.”

I stall for another second, eyeing him carefully, before heading straight for the door. I slip into the house and shut it behind me, so he doesn’t decide to follow me. Running a hand through my hair, I head up the stairs, my footsteps faltering when I reach my office. The typically closed door is wide open. I pause a few feet away, scanning the room, noting the shredded paper scattered all over the floor and the always locked filing cabinet with the drawers hanging open.

My eyes glue to it and a legitimate feeling of surprise passes over me, although it’s wiped away by fury just as quickly. Shaking my head for a moment, I stare at the broken lock, before my feet start to move.

Rushing into my office, I pause at the first shreds of paper, recognizing the colorful scraps immediately.

Joshua’s letters.

That asshole!

He tore up Joshua’s letters.

Fury induced tears burn my eyes as I move over to my filing cabinet. It’s a mess. Files dumped, papers scattered. I dig through the mess, searching for my photo album, hoping like hell that the bastard didn’t destroy that too.

After a moment of searching, I find it laying open to Joshua’s picture at the bottom of the pile. My gaze locks on it, my throat closing as I see the state of the photo and Richard’s poor captioning job. Joshua is now sporting devil horns and there’s a caption bubble that reads: I’ve killed and I’m okay with it.

My heart thundering in my ears, I pivot in place, not bothering to drop my purse before jogging back down the stairs. Anger overwhelms me, heating my skin, blurring my vision. It spreads through me like a wild fire, burning me up.

“You broke into my filing cabinet.” The words fly from my mouth as I rip open the front door, stepping out onto the covered porch. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Of course I did,” he says, smirking at me from his spot by the garden. “I know everything. Every-
fucking
-thing.”

I let out a sharp laugh. “You don’t know anything.”

“I searched your computer, too,” he says casually. “I read all of those letters you wrote him. You’re a goddamn fool, Vic, falling for all his bullshit.”

I roll my eyes, throwing my hands up in the air. “I’m not
falling
for anything.”

“You love him,” he says, matter-of-factly. “You fell in love with a convict.”

His statement freezes my rage. Did I? I don’t know. I like Joshua. No. Scratch that. It’s more than
like.
I care about him—a lot. But love?

I don’t know.

At the moment, I don’t even know what to do or what to say or even what to think.

I laugh because I can’t dispute his claims and there’s really no point in lying about it—I like Joshua. I care about him a lot, so much so that I’m terrified to admit it. And from the way Richard’s eyes are searching me, and that goddamn smirk on his lips, I’m pretty sure he can see it. He knows how I feel.

“You’re going to make yourself sick out here,” I mutter after a moment, spotting the beginning of what looks like hives spreading up his arms. “Take your pills and go to bed. We can talk about this later.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he hisses. “It’s either me or him, but fair warning, if you decide to leave me for some fucking killer, I’ll take you for everything you have. I’ll take your business, this house, every goddamn cent in your bank account. I’ll take everything and make sure you don’t get even a goddamn penny of my money.”

I laugh harshly, feeling the red-hot rage flare once more. “Don’t you dare threaten me.”

“It’s not a threat,” he says, dropping the gardening shears to the ground. “It’s a promise. You choose to keep talking to that biker and I’ll take everything from you.”

“The choice isn’t between you and him.” Heat rushes through my body as my hands curl into white-knuckled fists, although when I speak again, my voice comes out scary calm. “It’s between me and you, and you know what, Richard, for the first time since I met you, I’m choosing me.”

He narrows his eyes, taking a long stride toward me. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

I don’t respond right away, glaring at him, my thoughts racing as I attempt to pick my words carefully. I open my mouth, close it, open it once more, and then my phone rings.

Pulling it out of my purse, I glance at the caller display, not surprised to see Joshua’s number flashing there. I know I shouldn’t answer it. I know it will only piss Richard off further, but I do it anyway.

Maybe it’s because I don’t care if it pisses him off.

Or maybe it’s because I want it to.

I’m not really sure.

“Hey, beautiful,” Joshua says as soon as the call connects, his voice instantly soothing my nerves. “Is everything okay?”

“Hey, I’m not really sure yet, but it will be.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I say, trying my damnedest to keep my voice light and cheery. I’m pretty sure I fail. “Everything’s fine. I’m just in the middle of something with Richard. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

A moment of silence, and then, “Fine. I’m going to call back in twenty minutes,” he says, although he doesn’t sound happy about letting me go. “Please, even if you’re not done, answer the phone and tell me you’re okay.”

A genuine smile splits my lips. This man …

“Okay,” I say softly. “I will.”

“Talk to you soon.”

“Bye.”

Hanging up and dropping the phone back into my purse, I turn my attention back to my
so-called
husband, glaring at him. I take a deep breath, and then I answer his question. “What it means is that it’s about time I do something that makes me happy, Richard, and stop worrying about what you think.”

Red tints his already swollen face, and he balls his hands into white-knuckled fists. “You didn’t seem to give a fuck about what I thought when you quit your job and started writing fulltime.”

I snort out a laugh. “I did that for you. You’re the one who was embarrassed that I was a waitress, not me. I loved that job. And don’t act like that wasn’t the best career decision for me.”

Richard sneezes so loud it makes me jump. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “It wasn’t. It gave you too much time on your hands, and look at what you did with that time.”

Shaking my head, I sigh. God, I almost feel sorry for him.
Almost.
“For a few years now, I’ve been living my life trying to make you happy, trying to make you proud of me. I worked like a dog fulltime, and started publishing books to make more money because that’s what was important to you. Then, I quit a job I loved because it embarrassed you. I gave up friends and I barely speak to my family because you don’t like them. I moved to this ostentatious, oversized house because you needed to have everything better than everyone else. I do everything you want, killing myself to try to make you happy, and you do nothing but ignore me and degrade me. It doesn’t matter what I do, it’s still not good enough. Nothing’s ever good enough for you, and I’m done trying.”

“You’re done trying,” he says coolly, closing the distance between us, stalling a mere few feet from me. “Sorry you think I’m such a shitty husband.”