Go Away, Darling - Alexis Anne Page 0,72

frozen yogurt. If you want?”

I appreciated the way he asked. “Of course. I didn’t divorce them.”

A pained look crossed his face. “Um . . . have you heard the news?”

I didn’t like the way he asked that. Harrison Montague wasn’t the kind of guy who ever hesitated to say exactly what he was thinking. Not even when it was hard. The day Berlin announced she wanted a divorce? Harry punched me in the nose and told me it was my fault. Gave me a detailed list of all the ways I’d been a bad husband. Then he bought me a beer.

Guys were like that.

So if he was hesitating now, this news, whatever it might be, was big.

“What news?”

“Shit. She didn’t tell you. Shit.” He set his bucket down again. This time I got a look at the two very dead snapper inside.

My stomach growled again. Why could my stomach be so happy to be back on Mistletoe Key when my head was clearly picking up on some serious warning signs?

That warning beacon went into overdrive when Harry braced his hand against the wood railing and he looked me straight in the eye. “Berlin is engaged to Ryker. They’re getting married.”

“Stop, Ma.”

She fluttered around, shoving freshly baked rolls and butter at me as if food could solve a broken heart. “I thought you knew.”

“How would I know that my ex-wife was getting married? We’re not friends.” Not for lack of trying on my part. “I don’t live here. There isn’t a divorce Bat Signal that goes up when your ex says yes to another man.”

Mom whimpered and dropped into the chair across from me. “It was just such big news here. Berlin is an original—you know how people are about the locals. And Ryker Larson has become a big name here.”

Yeah, yeah. Money does that. It gets you places you didn’t earn.

“Well, I know now. Thanks for the butter roll.”

At least that made Mom smile. “I’m sorry, baby boy. This has to hurt.”

She called all her kids baby boy or girl. There were a lot of us. I used to joke she used the generic nickname so she didn’t have to remember our real names. I usually gave her a hard time because I was clearly no longer a baby or a boy, but at the moment I liked being “baby boy” because it reinforced the false idea that my mother was in charge and could somehow protect me from the very real pain I was feeling.

Berlin was getting married.

To a man who wasn’t me.

Fuck that. Just . . . fuck that. “Where did I go wrong?”

She slid her hand into her lap as she sat back and gave me her mom glare. “Do you really want me to answer that, or do you want me to tell you what you want to hear?”

“They’re not the same thing?”

She shook her head.

Damn. Did everyone know I ruined our marriage except me? Was I seriously the only person who was clueless?

I guess that answered most of my original question. “Give it to me, Ma.”

“Well,” she said entirely too fast. Like she’d been waiting all three years to punch me in the nose just like Harrison. “You were selfish. You still can be, but not like you were.”

I grimaced, but nodded. “I know. I was young and cocky and stupid.” I thought landing the youngest head-coaching job in professional hockey made me hot shit. Untouchable. My career was obviously the most important thing in the world. And Berlin was understanding.

At first.

Then she got pissed. At the time our fights seemed so unfair. I was doing something rare. It paid me a lot of money. Of course my schedule was more important than hers.

It wasn’t until after I signed the divorce papers that I started to hear myself. More important. My career was never more important than her, but I sure acted like it.

“Keep going,” I gritted out. As hard as it was to hear, I needed this. I wasn’t the guy I was three years ago. Divorce rocked me. Made me stop and take a long hard look at myself. I’d changed, but I also hadn’t had the courage to face what happened.

“Well,” she repeated. As if the well somehow softened the blow. “You weren’t very romantic either. Watching your team play is not a date, Jackson. I taught you better than that.”

Also true. You didn’t get to have four sisters and three brothers if your parents weren’t really happy. And trust me, my