Wife's Bitter Revenge Against Neglectful CEO Husband-Chapter 82: Falling on My Butt

As my body warmed, the shock wore off. I felt better. Hungry. A little antsy, but better.

I couldn’t control King. I never could. I knew that as surely as I knew Jake was a good man. As I knew with my skills and connections, I had the potential to be this world’s worst nightmare.

It was best to let go of what I couldn’t control and focus on what I could—predominantly me.

Jake gave back my phone and laptop before heading out to pick up Davon. We were still going roller skating this morning. This afternoon, I’d keep my promise to Alec. I foresaw a very awkward afternoon, but it still felt important in a very organic way that some people might interpret as fated.

I wasn’t sure I believed in fate. That seemed to take away the little control I had left, and I needed to retain at least some control otherwise I’d be tempted to waste away in my room as I waited for something to happen.

I sat down with my newly reacquired electronics. First, I texted Bea with a wish list of clean clothes to ship back with Jake. I wasn’t going roller skating in the same raggedy sweats I wore yesterday. And I definitely wouldn’t show up before Alec in the same clothes.

In fact, I had the overwhelming desire to go shopping for something frilly and pastel. I never wanted to go shopping for anything that wasn’t tech-related.

Maybe King broke my psyche more than I thought. Or was Alec to blame?

Teela: I’m fine. Don’t worry.

Stiff: I’m worried. Where are you?

Teela: Jake stashed me somewhere safe and quiet to rest. All better now. Anything pressing?

Stiff: You tell me.

So I did. He knew about the press conference, and by now, the whole world did, too. King’s visit was new.

Stiff: We can do both. Take King’s deal. Then, I’ll locate where he sends Lettie. We can monitor her progress and pick up where we left off if she becomes a threat.

Teela: I suppose.

Stiff: Jake is here. Can I come roller skating?

Teela: That is up to Jake.

Stiff: Woot. I’m going roller skating.

I answered Ben’s messages, assuring him I was fine. I handled the miscellaneous messages, leaving Anya’s piecemeal rant for future entertainment. King’s messages, I left for last, not sure if I wanted to read them. After all, I’d just seen him. Anything important, he would have said it person.

"I love you."

"Don’t go."

"I can’t do this."

"We’re over."

"It’s for your own good."

Message after message said the same thing. They all said King was as torn about his decisions as I was. Good for him. He was human, after all. Maybe he would grow from this experience and be a better husband to the next woman.

I gave up on catching up when a knock at the door announced my clothes had arrived. What I didn’t expect was Bea to bring them personally.

She greeted me with one of her signature life-affirming hugs. I had it all over King. I had friends like Bea. King had people as damaged as he was. Real support wasn’t in their DNA.

Bea dangled a croissant before my face. I salivated. Food. So hungry. In her other hand, she carried a sweet-smelling coffee. I gravitated toward the coffee.

"At least eat half the croissant first," Bea said. "We don’t need a repeat of this morning."

Jake was a tattletale.

"I’ll eat while I change."

I obediently took a bite as Bea handed over the duffle bag. I took both the bag and the bread to the bathroom.

Another bite, and I knew I couldn’t eat the croissant, not even half. On any other day, the buttery goodness would have been devoured promptly. Today, not so much. My tastebuds wanted what they wanted. I set the bread on a clean washcloth and changed into butter-soft high-waisted jeans and a soft pink off-the-shoulder sweater. The sweater was cropped short, ending right below the waistband of the jeans.

I managed another bite of the croissant as I dug through my makeup bag. Thank you, Bea, for being more thoughtful than me. A little lipstick and eye color made a world of difference in lifting my spirits.

I hadn’t nibbled my way to the middle mark on the bread, so I pinched off a bit and flushed it. I really wanted that coffee.

Bea handed over the coffee. "Ready? We’ve got people waiting."

One delightful sip of the coffee and I had the staying power to last until brunch. Please have soup. I needed soup.

The Italian restaurant served excellent stracciatella soup. The rich chicken broth fed my soul, while the eggs and Parmigiano cheese provided much-needed protein. Davon opted for pizza. He wore as much pizza as he shoveled into his mouth, but that was okay. Davon had his dad, Bea, Stiff, and Father DiMarco to help him clean it up.

It was fun to sit back and eat my life-affirming soup while Davon was the center of attention. Sometimes, it felt like I was always the one on display.

Davon was cute. He liked to smile, but the smile never quite made it to his eyes. It was like he was a real boy on the outside, but he carried the ghost of a dead boy on the inside. That ghost boy was a mirage floating close to the surface. Sometimes I saw the real boy, sometimes the ghost boy. Sometimes both.

I prayed that the ghost boy found peace over time and was able to let go of the real boy. Only then would Davon have any chance of a normal childhood.

In the meantime, he had this little extended family to support him as they supported me.

In many ways, this little boy and I were more alike than all my friends combined. We both survived the Heavenlys. We truly understood the horrors of the reflection room, and we both were pros at putting up a front to protect the people who cared about from seeing just how damaged we were.

I was willing to bet Davon and I could sit in an empty room together for hours and speak not a word and yet feel totally in sync. Someday, I hoped to test that theory but not today.

Today, we would smile and skate. Well, they would skate. I would fall on my ass. I was certain of it. I’d never been on roller skates before. Look at me trying something else new.

The roller rink wasn’t crowded. Mostly families with young kids. We rented skates as the music shifted from 70s disco to a tune made famous by a purple dinosaur. I grinned. How many mornings had I begged Mom to watch the show with me even after I was way too old for toddler TV?

I tried to stand on the carpeted bench area, getting a feel for the wheels beneath my feet. Not so bad. I could do this.

That sentiment lasted all of two minutes until I entered the roller rink and took my first fall.

Father DiMarco helped me up. "First time?"

"How did you guess?"

He smiled. "Well, stay close to the rail and hold on to me. Get a feel for your center of gravity. You can do this. It just takes a little practice."

I clung to his arm with one hand while sliding my other along the railing. Every time I felt as if I was losing my balance, I gave up on the dear father and committed to the sturdy metal bar.

We made it halfway around the rink in what felt like hours when I called it quits and took to the carpet again.

"Giving up already?" Father DiMarco asked.

"Taking a strategy break. You go on without me."

I waved him off.

"If you’re sure."

He didn’t wait for an answer. He was off, skating backward to join the conga line. I wondered if he learned that at the seminary.

Even Davon and some three-year-old Goldilocks skated better than me.

There had to be a trick to this. I watched carefully, eventually catching on to some of the problems with my own skating style, like clinging to safety instead of using my arms and upper body as a counterbalance to my rebel wheels, which were so determined to go two different directions at the same time.

"It’s all in the stance," Jake said as he leaned close to my left ear.

Now someone was talking my language. No wonder I couldn’t skate. I’d forgotten my training.

In short order, Jake explained the dynamics of skating. By the time he was done, I was excited to try again. It was better this time, especially with Jake skating backward in front of me and Stiff behind me, holding onto my waist.

Before long, Stiff was skating freely at my side, and Jake returned to Davon, who was busy doing circles with Bea.

I was free. Truly free as I glided around the rink, my body relaxed and moving with the music. I should skate more often. I should do lots of things more often, fun things just for the sake of doing them without concern for money or justice or saving victims from their prey.

And then my moment of freedom was over when my phone vibrated in my back pocket.