Page 83 of The Score We Never Settled

In fact, she looks damn right pissed.

“First, you stride in here without a hello. Not a wave, a middle finger, or nuthin’. Then you don’t sit in my section where I can grill you on all the important questions like how have you been, did you lose my address because I haven’t gotten a signed jersey or anythin’. After all the milkshakes I used to feed you, boy wonder, when you needed some calories for baseball practice, I get nuthin’. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

I quirk a brow. “And how was I supposed to know what section was yours?”

She blinks several times at me, implying that I’m a damn idiot. “You ask, boy. You only talk with yer fists now?”

“I apologize. I’m tryin’ to keep a low profile, and my sisters dragged me to breakfast.”

Sherry slides a coffee container toward Layla but keeps her eyes pinned on me. “I’m sorry, was that another excuse, wonder boy? I’m still waitin’ on a better one.”

“No, ma’am.”

“Good. Because you ain’t gettin’ no more milkshakes from me, ya hear? You can pay for them yourself.”

“Will do.”

“And you can pay for yourwife’scoffee.”

My lips coil upward because that’s the first time someone besides me has said that.

My wife.

Now, it’s public knowledge.

Now, everyone knows she’s mine.

However, it does feel like it’s a little too late, and Layla is still going to be on her bullshit.

“Put it on my tab,” I advise. “I’ll take care of it.”

Sherry nods. “Good. Now, start payin’ attention to where your wife goes because she’s gone.”

Craning my head to the side, the spot where Layla was just standing is now empty.

Son of a bitch.

“She doesn’t eat breakfast still, does she?”

“No,” Sherry replies. “Coffee on busy mornings and then she’s off again.”

“Which is probably all the time.”

“Mhm hm. She keeps herself busy, that one. Now, I see why.”

I refocus on Sherry because I’ll take the blame for all of it if I have to. Even if Layla does keep pushing on this divorce, I’ll be the bad guy so she doesn’t have to endure any negative comments about what she should and shouldn’t have done.

“She didn’t tell her Uncle Ben, did she?”

Sherry asks the question before I can devise a comment to match hers. To have me look like it’s my fault, Layla is always running around.

But I can’t answer that question because it means going against what I just said.

So, instead, Sherry leans in and whispers so no one can hear, “Show her, wonder boy. That woman needs a man, and she needs support. You can do both, even from afar. Her Uncle Ben knows now. But his opinion doesn’t matter; she’s free now.”

It doesn’t feel like it.

And this is the second time she’s brought up Layla’s uncle, so that only means he’s really made it known around town that he loathes me.