Travis cried, “Dah, bah, buh!” and yanked on Joker’s earlobe.
That almost made me smile, but I didn’t when I looked back at Aaron, who was not watching Joker with Travis.
He was watching me.
“I don’t really understand your response, Aaron,” I told him and did it carefully. “But I’ll reiterate those things were given to me. They’re mine. I have uses for them, and I’ll be putting them to those uses.”
“I gave you your engagement ring on the bricks of Boston Harbor,” he returned. “I asked you to marry me with the lights on the water.”
He did. He’d put a knee to those bricks. The clock had just struck midnight. He’d held my hand and looked up at me, asking me to be his wife, the night lights of Boston illuminating the moment, making it almost like a fantasy.
In any other circumstance, it would have been unbearably romantic. At the time, I’d even convinced myself it was.
But in truth, the months before, he’d been with another woman.
“You don’t want to do this,” I warned him quietly. “I don’t need emotional manipulation with everything else. But just to say, I know what you were doing and who you were doing it with when you proposed. I’ve got ammunition. You want fire for fire, I’ll give it to you. But I’d prefer we not go there.”
He shook his head as if he suddenly realized where he was and what was happening.
Then he stated, “I’m not manipulating you emotionally, Riss. God.”
“You have never, not once, shown any indication you cared about what you threw away,” I replied. “Now I’m fighting back and have a man in my life and suddenly—”
“Speaking of that,” he interrupted me, his eyes going to the hall and back to me. “Carson Steele? Honey, really?”
Oh no.
Absolutely not.
“Do not,” I snapped, my back straight, my eyes I could actually feel shooting icicles.
Aaron’s back straightened too.
“He’s—”
I leaned toward him. “Mine,” I bit out and leaned back. “He’s great with Travis and wonderful to me. Wonderful, Aaron. Flawless. Amazing. The way he treats me, something I’ve never had in my life”—I threw out a hand to him, making a point I knew he didn’t miss when his face got hard—“you don’t get to judge. You don’t get to say a thing. That’s mine. I don’t share my thoughts about who you spend your time with. I expect you to return that favor.”
“I don’t spend my time with the high school loser grown up to be whatever the fuck he is now, but just looking at him, I know it’s no good,” Aaron shot back.
Oh no.
Absolutely not!
“No, you spend your time with a woman who has no problem sleeping with a married man,” I returned sharply. “A married man who had a pregnant wife. Then accepting that man’s ring after he scraped off that pregnant wife while she was still pregnant. A woman who stands by watching her man make the mother of his son’s life a misery. She’s shown signs of humanity recently, Aaron. But don’t you dare think you can compare when Joker wipes the floor with her.”
He looked furious but he didn’t volley.
Instead, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Walking to the coffee table we bought together for the home we were supposed to share for eternity, he opened his wallet, took out a bunch of bills and dropped them on the table.
He then turned to me, “I know you like your clothes. You need to look nice for your loser, use that.” He pointed to the bills. “Don’t sell my rings.”
I couldn’t imagine why he cared one little bit about those rings. He’d never cared before.
But I couldn’t think on that. I had to think about the fact that my head was about to explode with the pressure of mounting fury the likes I’d never experienced.
“For your information,” I hissed. “When I sell all that stuff, I’ll be using it to pay off my old attorney’s bills. It’d be lovely to have a few new tops and some shoes that are cute that aren’t made of plastic. But Joker likes me as I am. He doesn’t need me in two-hundred-dollar sandals. He takes me as I come.”
“He wouldn’t, seeing as Joker, whatever the fuck the deal is with that shit, the guy’s name is fucking Carson, probably doesn’t know shoes can cost two hundred dollars.”
“I suspect that his motorcycle boots don’t come cheap,” I retorted.
Aaron’s lip curled as he asked derisively, “Motorcycle boots? Seriously?”
I had my reply on the tip of my tongue but didn’t get to say it because Joker said from the mouth of the hall. “You’re done, friend. Leave.”
I looked to him to see he still had Travis and now Travis had a toy he was shoving in his mouth.
Even as angry as I was, it wasn’t lost on me that Joker looked fabulous with my son in his arms.
This made me wonder what he would look like if he held our child in his arms.
Probably the same. No more. No less.
Simply fabulous.
“I’m not your friend,” Aaron ground out.
“No, you’re not,” Joker returned.
There was silence. This stretched. There was hostility in the air. It built.
When I was about to put a stop to it by walking to the door and opening it, Aaron asked a strange question.
And he asked it to Joker.
“Do you think you can beat me?”
I felt my breath catch, understanding the question and not liking it one… little… bit.
Joker also understood the question.
Completely.
This was why he answered, “You lost way before I entered the picture.”
“Gentlemen—” I began.
“We’ll see,” Aaron spoke over me, his gaze intent, irate, and locked on Joker.
Joker shook his head, his lips curved up, and he muttered, “Whatever.”
“We’re done,” I announced, walking to the door, opening it and looking to Aaron. “If you wouldn’t mind…”
Aaron tore his gaze from Joker and looked at me. He then studied me for a moment that went on too long.