“Claire? What are you doing here?”

Keith.

I’m frozen, unable to turn and look behind me. Exhaling hard through his nose, Shane leans all the way back, lifting his chin in that nod men do to greet each other. “Hi, Keith. Naomi.”

Kill me now.

TWENTY-THREE Claire

If there’s a more uncomfortable encounter than this one, I can’t imagine it. Keith’s staring at us—at me. A glance across the table proves Margot’s as disturbed as I am, though hopefully I’m doing a better job hiding it. Shane’s gone from happy to grim, the transition so stark it’s unnerving. Caine, however, is all smiles. I think he’s also on some sort of sugar high.

Extending the donut box toward Naomi and Keith, he plays the host. “There’s plenty for everybody. Don’t just stand there, sit down and get com—”

He cuts off with a high-pitched yip, betrayal on his face as he whirls toward Margot. “What the hell?” Snatching up her hand, Caine studies her fingers. “How can these cute little things pinch so hard?”

Margot doesn’t jerk her hand away, only darts a furtive look from Keith to me.

“What’s in your eye?” Caine asks, moving like he’s going to brush her hair away from her face.

I don’t see how Margot fends him off. I’m too busy cringing as Keith sits down.

On the bench.

Next to me.

With him on one side and Shane on the other, I’m the cream filling in an angry lawyer sandwich cookie. Naomi’s forced to sit next to Margot. I’d usually feel sorry for anyone being ignored by their partner the way Keith is ignoring her. My feelings were hurt dozens of times by his conscious or unconscious dismissal throughout the course of our relationship. With Keith, you’re either the center of his universe or in a galaxy far, far away. There is no nice, reasonable orbit.

However, I’m a worse person than I like to admit, because seeing him be a little bit of a dick to her feels good, fair somehow. Maybe if she hadn’t made small talk with me at the Christmas party, I’d be more sympathetic. While Keith holds all the blame, there’s a part of me that feels like Naomi is a traitor to some unspoken woman commandment.

Thou shalt not ask the wife of the man you’re fucking for her Christmas cookie recipe.

My problems are bigger than her anyway.

“I’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” Keith leans in, angling his body toward me.

Reluctantly, I finally look at him, scared I’ll feel something. Scared it will hurt. Taking in the planes of his face, the set of his jaw, and that rogue piece of hair that always falls onto his forehead, I do feel something. It’s pain, but it isn’t the agony of a new injury or the discomfort of one that’s still healing. It’s an ache, dull and unpleasant.

When I was twelve, a car hit me as I rode my bike home from school. I broke my left femur, a spiral compound fracture that my orthopedic surgeon cheerfully told me was one of the worst he’d ever seen. It hurt so bad I threw up in the ambulance. Post-surgery, I’d wake up in the middle of the night, breathless with pain because I’d bumped it or moved wrong in my sleep. Decades later, I only think about it during the winter, when the exact right blend of humidity and chill causes an ache that makes me reach for the ibuprofen. The ache that comes and goes is a part of me. Nagging and annoying, it reminds me that once there was terrible pain here. Now there’s just discomfort. After agony, a residual ache is nothing.

So is Keith.

The green eyes I used to get lost in are just eyes. Lips I loved on my body hold zero appeal. There’s only the echo of anguish when I look at him. Soft, but insistent, reminding me that there was so much pain here. And the same way I’ll never fling myself in front of a car and re-create the accident, I’ll never put my trust in Keith again. I want nothing to do with him.

“Why?” My voice is neutral, and I feel Shane tensing on my other side. He’s silent but practically vibrating.

Do he and Keith have some kind of lawyer rivalry I don’t know about?

I’m vaguely aware of the three on the far side of the table making awkward small talk, but I need to solve the problem in front of me.

“Can we talk for a second? Privately?” Keith asks, giving me his most charming smile.

Shane’s about to levitate from the energy radiating off him. Maybe taking Keith away will help.

“Fine.”

Keith smiles. Shane makes an odd sort of cough.

“You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to,” he whispers, his voice gruff. “I’ll tell him to fuck off. Happily.”

I don’t need Shane to tell off my ex-husband for me, but the fact that he’s willing to is heartwarming in a dysfunctional way.

“I’m good. Better to get it over with.”

Keith is already standing, scrutinizing Shane and me. He’s pissed, so pissed, but keeping it clamped down. Good. I hope he’s livid. It’s only fair.

“I’ll be right back,” I say to the table in general.

Naomi’s eyes narrow as she looks at Keith. “Should I com—”

“Wait here.” He’s dismissive. “We’ll only be a minute.”

Even though I don’t like her, I want to grab Naomi and go, See this? This is a red flag. I ignored them. Don’t make the same mistake.

But I don’t. I stand and walk away with Keith.

Shane

I’m ready to upend the picnic table. This is fucking bullshit. Maybe it’s the entitlement, assuming he can have her time simply because he wants it. Or maybe it’s because he has the audacity to parade his affair partner in front of his ex-wife and then abandon said affair partner to go talk to the ex. Who does that? Whatever it is, it has me angrier than I’ve ever been in my adult life. Apparently, my rage is palpable enough that Caine notices. As Margot and Naomi continue to make stilted conversation, he moves to my side of the table.

“You look ready for war.”

I think I am.

Rubbing my hands across my face, I fight the urge to get up and follow them.

“What about this is getting you so worked up?” Caine asks, settling beside me. I’m facing the direction Claire and Keith went, just in case. “You know she’s not going to blow him behind a food truck, right?”

“That wasn’t on my list of worries.” I crack my knuckles. “Until now.”

“Then what is on your list?”

I don’t know how to express it. “He’s going to try to get her back.”

Caine rolls his eyes. “At the Alley, with his new lady waiting? No way.”

“He’ll plant the seeds for it.” I lean against the table, resting my elbows on top. Maybe I can force myself to relax by assuming a casual position. “Remind her of all their happy memories. They have history.”

“But some of it’s bad.” Fidgeting with a napkin, he lowers his voice. “Are you really serious about her?”

“I think so.”

Truthfully, I know so, but saying it out loud to him—sober, anyway—before I’ve told her feels wrong.

“Then you need to wait and see what happens. If she’s done with him, she’ll be done. If she’s not, it’s better to know now versus later.”

He’s right. I know he is. But there’s part of me that feels the need to do something. To try to tilt the scales in my favor, position myself more favorably.

As if he knows what I’m thinking, Caine says, “He cheated on her, right?”

Barely angling my head back, I murmur, “With Naomi.”

“Really? Oh shit. Sorry, I wouldn’t have invited them to sit if I knew who they were.” Glancing behind us, he blatantly looks for Naomi.

I turn too, but she’s gone. There’s only Margot, tapping away on her phone. Feeling our gaze, she looks up. “Everything okay?”