What You See (Sons of the Survivalist #3) - Cherise Sinclair Page 0,12
got out, and did his usual quick scrutiny of the surroundings. An itch tickled his monkey brain—someone was watching him—but whoever it was didn’t feel dangerous. Then again, maybe he was paranoid simply from lack of sleep. Fucking PTSD. He’d left the military a good seven years ago. Shouldn’t an escape from nightmares accompany the DD-214 discharge papers?
At least Gryff woke him up before he’d descended too far into the abyss. Good dog.
With narrowed eyes, Bull checked the area for movement. Seemed quiet enough. By the roadhouse, the patio area overlooking the lake wasn’t open for dining yet. Movement caught his attention. Near the forested path to the town park, two people stood hand-in-hand, watching the water.
Music from the bar trickled out into the night along with the clamor of voices inside. Sounded as if it was getting busy. Time to rev up to tend bar.
Owning the roadhouse suited him, since he could alternate bartending with being a chef, or not do either on the days he needed to be in the office. Damn paperwork. Owning two other restaurants and a brewery, plus managing Mako’s trust, was getting to be too much.
Maybe he could re-enlist?
Off to the right, a car door opened with a creak. “Bull!”
His muscles tightened. Oh, hell. Guess he knew who’d been watching him.
His ex-wife Paisley hurried across the slushy, gravel lot. Her blue eyes were alight, her smile big. She clasped her hands together. “Honey, it’s so good to see you.”
Sure, it was. His mouth flattened. Once upon a time, he hadn’t been a cynical bastard, but his first wife and various girlfriends had introduced him to disillusionment. His second wife, Paisley, had put the icing on the cake.
Unable to avoid her hug without pushing her away, he turned his head to escape her attempted kiss. Even the wind off the snow-pack-fed lake couldn’t cool down his annoyance. “What do you want, Paisley?”
“Oh, darling, don’t be angry with me.” Ignoring his step back, she patted his arm, then his chest.
Irritation bit into his self-control. “For fuck’s sake, woman, when a person moves away from you, it’s a polite way of saying don’t touch. What part of that don’t you understand?”
She stared at him with hurt on her face. “You love my touch and always want my kisses and to make love.”
“Not. Any. More.” He took another step back and crossed his arms over his chest. Fucking-A, they’d been divorced for over two years.
“But…”
“Why are you here?” The struggle for patience felt as though he was slogging through the endless sands in Afghanistan with a full pack.
She curled a strand of hair around her finger and looked up through her lashes. “I miss you, Bull. I want to get back together.” Her voice dropped to a mere whisper. “I think we made a mistake.”
We made a mistake? He stared in disbelief. Had she forgotten so easily? He sure hadn’t.
He’d been so in love with her. So damned blind. He’d let slide the times she said she had to show a house and been out late. He’d explained away the occasional whiff of unfamiliar aftershave when he’d kissed her neck, telling himself she’d touched her neck after shaking hands with someone. Despite knowing she was obsessive about checking her phone, he’d excused the times she didn’t answer his texts.
Until one day.
Until he had trouble pissing, got checked, and was told he had an STD.
Trailing her for a few days, he’d learned that loyalty and fidelity were merely words to her, donned for appearance sake, and discarded as easily as her last month’s purse.
Now she was here, saying they made a mistake?
There had been no mistake, except marrying her in the first place.
He gritted his teeth to keep from flaying her with sarcasm. What would be the point?
After a calming breath, he said evenly, “Paisley, we’ll never be together. We had this talk.” The one where he told her that he’d never be with someone he couldn’t trust—and she’d broken that trust. Irreparably.
“But…but I miss you. I need you.” She latched onto his arm and clung. “You love me. You said you did.”
“It’s over. I don’t love you.” He pried her fingers off. “Go home—and don’t come back.”
When she burst into tears, he hardened his heart and walked away.
As he reached the back door of the roadhouse, someone cleared their throat. Aw, fuck, someone had witnessed that clusterfuck of a scene? Hell.
“My boy, are you all right?” Lillian’s crisp British-accented voice was as clear as if she were still