“You’ve got to roll with the plan, Iz.”
Instead, I roll my eyes, glaring at him.
“May I ask you a question?” he asks.
“Shoot, Rutger.”
“Why the hell do you hate me so much? I remember a time when we used to get along just fine.”
I press my lips into a thin line, staring a hole through him. Honesty’s always the best policy, so I take a deep breath, diving right in. “I don’t like you because of how my husband, I mean soon-to-be-ex-husband, acts around you. You’re very good at bringing out the worst in him.”
He laughs. “I wish that was the case. The motherfucker’s been a stick in the mud for the past nine years.” Rutger glares at me, frowning.
“And I suppose you’re implying that’s my fault?”
“One hundred percent.”
“And you’re going to try to tell me you weren’t a bad influence on him? That he never went out partying and clubbing with you?”
He looks puzzled. “Are we talking about before he met you?”
I shake my head.How rich!I pull out my phone and find his Facebook profile under my friends. I hate doing this because the pictures disgust me, but if he wants to know. Then, I’m going to let him know.
“What are you doing?”
“Just wait a second. I’m about to make my point.” I scroll through Rutger’s posts from this year—a string of unending debaucheries and smiling selfies. Finally, I have to go to Wolfe’s page, which he never uses, to find the old tagged photos. My stomach churns as I stare at the very obviously inebriated pictures of my husband with a young tan blonde on either side of him. Arms around him in various compromising positions and his face sandwiched between their lips as each woman kisses him on the cheek.
I wouldn’t be surprised if steam were coming out of my ears. Time hasn’t healed this particular wound one bit. “Here,” I say, handing my phone to him for examination.
He laughs, nodding with a big smile, “Shit, I totally forgot about those two. The Berezovsky girls. Polish twins and flight attendants we met while clubbing in Dubai. I wonder what happened to them.”
“I don’t care. But I do rest my case.”
He shakes his head, laughing. “Is that all you’ve got? The way you’re acting, you’d think you had a sex tape on the guy. Besides, look at his face. He was miserable. Never saw a bigger frown on a man getting fawned all over by smoking hot twins. He was a total pain in the ass that night and retired early, as I remember.”
“Do you realize you just defended him better than he ever has himself, Rutger? When I first saw those images, they made me furious. I won’t lie. But I tried not to jump to conclusions. Instead, I confronted him about them. And you know what Wolfe did? He shut down, refusing to answer me, and hung up. When I brought it up again, he stonewalled me. After that, he started talking about divorce. He was the one to initiate it with his words, not me. I just followed through with his suggestion, trying to pull off the band-aid quickly to avoid unnecessary pain.” I can’t imagine going through a prolonged, excruciating divorce like my parents. Subjecting my kids to that would kill me.
“You questioned his loyalty, Iz. That’s a big fucking deal for a man like Wolfe.”
“How could I not after seeing those pictures? What was I supposed to think? Especially after he refused to talk to me? How do you live like that? In a marriage with zero communication and the expectation of blind obedience, all founded on a giant heap of secrets? It’s not possible.”
“You’re supposed to know him better than anybody. Besides, the only reason he went out with us that night was because of how depressed he was feeling about your relationship.You guys were already on the rocks before those pictures were ever taken.”
My voice drips venom as I reply, “Yes, we were. But it wasn’t like I was out clubbing and living it up. I was busy being a single mom.”
“You knew what you were getting into, Iz.”
I shake my head, sighing in frustration.
Rutger interjects, “What did I tell you about Wolfe when we were in Afghanistan, Izzie? Do you remember?”
I laugh in exasperation. “There’s a lot you told me. What, in particular, am I supposed to remember?”
He sits back, his face deadly serious. “I warned you about all of us PMCs, made it clear to you that we were meat eaters. But what did I say about your husband? He’s a fucking apex predator. The guy you call in to do the shit nobody else has the balls, the intestinal fortitude, or the skills to handle. I also made it clear that you were marrying a secret squirrel. Remember that conversation? I warned you that married life wouldn’t be a cakewalk.”
“I was an idiot,” I reply sadly. “I thought you were warning me about his past exploits as an Army Ranger. I didn’t know you meant black ops or whatever you do now.”
“Black ops. That’s funny, Iz. You make it sound like we playCall of Dutyor something.”
