Page 31 of Untying the Knot
“Okay, sure. Thanks, Nola.”
“Any time.”
We both hang up, and I set my phone down. A simple conversation, that’s all I need to have. It shouldn’t be too hard. If I approach her without wanting to fix things between us, but to fix myself so I can be a better man, then she will be receptive. She’s never had any problem harping on me about my faults. From the very beginning, she’s always told me like it is, so this conversation should be very pleasing to her.
When I see her, I just need to remember not to let my emotions get the better of me.
I get up from my bed and head downstairs just as I hear voices in the kitchen. Two voices.
I pause on the stairs and listen closely.
I know that voice.
I’ve heard that voice many, many times.
“Okay, I say we start at the bar, grab some drinks and apps, and then see where the night takes us. Possibly the dance floor.”
Yup. I know exactly who that is.
Fucking Nichole.
I have a serious love-hate relationship with the woman. I love that she’s taken care of Myla over the years when I wasn’t there for her. And I love that she had some one-night stands with my brother so I got to meet Myla, but I fucking hate the way she treats my relationship with Myla as if it’s expendable.
There’s no doubt that those divorce papers on my nightstand are a product of a conversation with Nichole.
So if she thinks for one goddamn second they’re going out to the bars—where I know they will undoubtedly hit on men—then she is sadly mistaken. No way in fuck will I let my wife go out with Nichole.
No fucking way.
Anger surges.
My pulse screams through my veins.
And everything Nola told me is tossed right out the window as I descend the rest of the stairs and head straight to the kitchen, where I will be shutting down whatever plans they have for tonight.
* * *
MYLA
I pickedup Nichole an hour ago. While we drove home, Nichole listed off all the bars and clubs she wants to take me to. I just sat there quietly, nodding my head even though the last thing I really want to do is go out.
But that’s why Nichole is here, to get me out of my funk.
Once we got back to the house, she picked out a dress for me to put on—a red number that I haven’t worn in years—pulled my hair up into a tight bun, and did my makeup for me. Ryot has always made me feel sexy, but this outfit, this makeup, makes me feel sexy on my own. Like I don’t need a man to boost my confidence, and that’s sort of nice.
The only problem is, Nichole has it set in her mind that we’re going to have “fun” and fun to me right now is eating ice cream in bed while bingeing Netflix. But I understand what she’s trying to do. She’s trying to shake me alive again, so I’m wearing this dress and listening to her plans for the evening.
“I think we start at Four, and then we move on from there. I heard they have great appetizers. Soft pretzels with beer dip? Yes, please.”
“Sure, yeah, I went there—”
“Myla, a word,” Ryot says from behind me, startling me. I didn’t even hear him creep down the stairs.
“Oh, why hello there,” Nichole says, waving her fingers at Ryot. “How’s it going, Bisley?”
I catch Ryot flash his icy glare at Nichole before turning back toward me. “Myla, I would like to speak to you in private.”
“Not even a hello?” Nichole asks.
