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By the Way
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By the Way
By Megan Derr
Published by:
Less Than Three Press
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.
Edited by Samantha Derr
Cover art by Megan Derr
This book is a work of fiction and as such all characters and situations are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.
Electronic Edition March 2010
Copyright © 2010 by Megan Derr
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 978-1-936202-18-8
By the Way
Megan Derr
"Divorce?" Kathleen repeated, then laughed. "Don't be stupid, Wallace."
Wallace. He remembered, once upon a time and far away, he'd thought it special the way she used his full name and never abbreviated it. He'd thought it meant something special. What he'd learned too late was that she hated nicknames, considered them vulgar and low class. She'd never allowed him to call her Kathy, or Katie, or even sweetheart. She'd never once called him Wally.
"I've been stupid for the past fifteen years, Kathleen. You've done nothing but lie to me, use me, and abuse me since we met. There's nothing about this marriage worth saving, so I'm ending it. You can go along easily, or I'll take you to court and drag you through the mud."
She laughed again and sipped at her morning bloody Mary, perfect platinum hair falling perfectly over one perfect shoulder. He hated that word, perfect. It described her perfectly, and she'd never tired of telling him it was the one thing he would never be.
"You'll get the papers today," he continued. "I expect you to be out of this house, and your belongings out of the cabin and beach house, by the end of the year. I'm leaving you the penthouse."
In reply, she only kept laughing. Her voice was frigid, however, when she replied, "Why bother moving my stuff? I'll take them in the divorce and we both know it, Wallace."
Once, he would have had to acknowledge she was right. Kathleen was evil and vindictive when she wanted something. Easier to put up with her, and keep the peace, than challenge her and only suffer for it. Not now. He wasn't stupid. Thanks to Antoine, to Mal, he had all he needed to cut the bitch from his life completely. "End of the year, Kathleen. You had better hope one of your many boyfriends is willing to foot your bills from now on. Past the stock and property I'm giving you, you'll have nothing."
Though her derisive expression didn't change, though she didn't so much as twitch or even move beyond taking another sip of her bloody Mary. Shit, being married to her for fifteen years had taught him a few things, and he knew that lack of anything wasn't good at all. "What's wrong?" he asked.
She looked at him, blue eyes chilly, and he could see her going through it all in her head one last time.
Kathleen never did anything impulsively. She was calculating, and very good at it—and this time, it seemed, her numbers added up to a blunt response. "I'm pregnant."
Wally felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. "Not mine. I haven't fucked you in years. I'm guessing the father doesn't know? He probably wouldn't want it anyway."
"No," she said, and he supposed that covered both questions. So she'd messed up somewhere. It was the one thing he hated most about her, that little lie all those years ago. Oh, I love children. I've always wanted some of my own. We'll fill the house someday, Wallace. It had taken him too long to realize all her excuses Soon. When we're more stable. When you're not traveling so much were just that—excuses.
She had never wanted kids, wanted nothing to do with any kids at all.
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But he'd always wanted them, and she knew it, and she was using that now to get out of one last little tight fix. He should tell her to fuck off, to deal with her own mistake, her and whomever she'd fucked.
She knew she was screwed—he obviously knew of the lovers, and if he was being this confident about the divorce, he knew more besides. So she was cutting her loses, taking what she could, and handing off the last problem facing her.
Typical Kathleen.
"Fine," he said quietly. "You go along with the divorce, sign everything put in front of you, give me full custody of the kid, and walk out of our lives forever. I never want to see you again. Do that, take what I'm giving you, and we're done. Show your face again, and you'll regret it, understand? In return, I'll take the kid, and let you walk."
"Fine," she said quietly, and it was only then he saw just how scared she had been. All for herself, of course. A child would ruin her life, and he could have easily made it all so much more difficult. Antoine was going to call him a sucker, and probably worse.
Victory was his, and without the months or even years of long, drawn out fighting he'd been prepared to endure. She'd surrendered as easily as that, for a reason he had not seen coming in a thousand years.
He should feel jubilant, ecstatic.
All he felt was old, tired, and depressed.
A child. Christ, he'd never thought his divorce would bring him the one thing he'd wanted most from marriage. It wasn't his child, technically, but he preferred not to think about that part. He could give the child a better life than either of its real parents would. He'd take what he'd unexpectedly been given, and not look too closely at the source of the gift.
Except, he was staring straight at her now, and saw something immediately wrong with the picture.
"Why the fuck are you drinking if you're pregnant?" he demanded.
"It's virgin," Kathleen replied coldly. "If you bothered to be here anymore, or notice anything but yourself and your boyfriend, you would notice I haven't been smoking or drinking for the past three months."
Huh. She had stopped smoking. He really had ceased to notice anything about her, had stopped caring.
He knew that, but it was good to have additional confirmation that he no longer gave a fuck. It meant the break would be clean, and he'd never look back.
A child…he couldn't stop thinking about it. He should move to the cabin full time, then. That was a good little area to raise a kid, better than this flashy house. Wait until she found out he was going to sell it; he half wished he could tell her, just to see her explode.
So much for spending more time with Antoine. Mr. Player would never want to trek out to almost nowhere to hang out with him and a kid. Hell, Mr. Player was going to be Mr. VP soon. He wouldn't have the time.
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Something in his chest twisted, as it always did, when he thought of Antoine. Beautiful, smart, ambitious, too clever by half Antoine, there for him when no one else gave a fuck. He always hated when the rumors about them reached his ear. He'd never been the one to cheat, and Antoine was a player, not an asshole. They were just friends…except that didn't really do them justice, he thought.
They were best friends. They spent some part of every day together. He knew Antoine better than he knew himself, and Antoine knew him. He'd helped Antoine climb the ranks of Amberton, and Antoine had helped him build his reputation as a scout. If he'd listened to Antoine sooner about the dumb bitch he'd married…
Shit would have been way different, and he was tired of dwelling on it. He was moving forward. Hell, he was starting over a father, now. That didn't even feel real yet, and it probably wouldn't until he held the baby…
He turned from those thoughts, leaving the room when he realized he'd just been standing there wool-gathering. Kathleen had always hated his zoning out. Antoine had always been amused by it, in a…fond sort of way, he supposed. Why was he always comparing those two? But he knew the answer to that, he'd known it for years. It was finally admitting Antoine was everything, and Kathlee
n nothing, that drove him to push for the long overdue divorce.
If only he could figure out how to say that. Funny, that he could tell Antoine everything else, but damned if he could walk up to the man and say it like he would everything else. Hey, player. What's playing today? By the way, I love you.
Yeah, no.
Antoine had never been the settling type. He'd started playing in college and never stopped. Why should he? Antoine was the kind of man who could have whoever, whatever, he wanted, right up until the day he took his last snooze. He wasn't the kind of guy to play a friend, and he definitely wasn't the type to settle down and stop playing—never mind settle down with a friend who sucked at marriage, sucked at love, sucked at pretty much everything except music.
A job from which he was retiring early, because he'd thought he'd be taking full advantage of his new freedom. He was tired of the road, tired of clubs, tired of avoiding his home. He'd thought to spend the time with Antoine, doing other things with a freedom that he had just lost. He was going to have a son or daughter. He still couldn't think of it and really believe it, except for that lack of expression on Kathleen's face as she'd said it. In what, six months? He'd be a father.
Leaving the house, thinking gleefully of the day when he'd sell the damned thing, he slid into his convertible and drove off. He turned on the radio, and smiled to hear Cassidy's voice pouring out. It hadn't taken more than a second for that group to soar.
The announcement had gone far better than he'd dared hope. He and Antoine had both been certain it would take all morning to have it out and make her realize he wasn't fucking around. He had the whole morning free, now.
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His phone chimed an incoming text, and Wally smiled. That would be Antoine, texting to tell him good luck, keep going, don't give up. Grinning, he paused at a stop sign to slide his phone open. His grin widened as he read Half done by now? Keep going until she pops like a bloated tick.
Laughing, Wally sent a quick text back, then continued driving. Not thirty seconds later, his phone started ringing. Wally slide it open again and hit the accept button, then said, "Hey, player. What's playing today? By the way, I'm almost free."
Antoine's voice poured over him, warm and happy and going straight to Wally's cock. It should probably bother him to turned on by Antoine, but being Antoine's best friend for a decade and a half taught and untaught a lot of things.
"Then I'd say a small celebration for the completion of step one is in order. Where are you now?"
"Just driving around."
"Come pick me up, then, I'll buy you breakfast."
"I will take that offer," Wally replied. "Twenty minutes."
"Cool."
Wally hung up, and tossed his phone into the passenger seat as he hit the highway. Twenty minutes later, he pulled up in front of the building that housed main headquarters for Amberton-Lord Entertainments. Antoine was waiting for him on the sidewalk, dressed to the nines in one of his fancy suits and fuck if he didn't look as edible as ever in it. All the Osborne boys were too good looking, too everything, but it was always Antoine who got to him.
Antoine slid into Wally's convertible with a grin. "Hey."
"As often as you and your brother play hookie, it's a wonder either of you stayed employed as long as you have, and that any work gets done."
Shrugging, Antoine replied, "I get it done. My job is mostly shaking hands and meeting for lunch, cocktail parties. You know that."
"Yeah," Wally said, frowning. "Just ribbing. What changed your happy tune?" It'd only been twenty minutes.
"Nothing," Antoine replied, and smile. It was a bit forced, a bit distracted, but Wally knew better than to push. "What do you want for breakfast?"
"Let's just hit our diner," Wally said. "No place better for waffles, and that's what I want."
"Diner it is, then." They subsided into silence after that, the kind of silence in which Wally felt comfortable. It was light, easy, companionable. It wasn't the heavy, oppressive, weighted thing pressing him down that he'd endured with Kathleen.
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He didn't break it until they pulled into the diner parking lot. "So how is Mal enjoying his new life?"
"Loves it," Antoine said, smiling fondly as he thought of his brother. "Never seen him happier."
"Good," Wally replied. "God knows they both deserve it."
Antoine nodded, but didn't anything further until they were seated at their usual booth. "So how did you wrap it up so damned quickly?" he asked after the waitress had come and gone. "Was the bitch really that easily defeated?"
Wally shook his head, and fiddled with his coffee mug. Antoine was going to blow a gasket. Probably a lot of gaskets.
"What?" Antoine demanded, voice lashing out like a whip. "What the hell did you do?"
"She's pregnant," Wally said to his coffee. "I said if she signed everything and vanished for good, I'd take the kid, no questions asked."
There was a ringing silence that weighed heavier than anything he'd endured with Kathleen. "You're a goddamned fucking fool," Antoine said at last, voice scathing. ""Finally smart enough to drop her, and you can't even do that without fixing up one last mistake for her, and taking the burden of it on yourself.
So she gets the freedom and whatever you're letting her have, and walks away free and clear. You get saddled with a kid that's not even yours. So you look at your freedom for a half second, before throwing it away again?"
"But—"
"There is no but!" Antoine cut him off. "It's not even your kid, unless you were fucking lying about that like you've apparently lied about not taking any more of her shit."
"I didn't lie!" Wally snarled. "She threw it at me this morning. What was I supposed to do? Leave the kid to a mother and father who'd just as soon throw it out like so much garbage? Does that sound familiar, Antoine? Did you deserve to be treated that way? Does this kid?"
Antoine raked a hand through his hair and swore, unable to argue with that. "So that's it, then. Already chaining yourself to something else. So much for any plans with me, huh? I guess it's just as fucking well I had to cancel them, anyway. I had hoped you'd come with me, though, and we'd enjoy new plans."
"What in the hell are you talking about?"
"My boss came in after I hung up with you," Antoine said to the silverware. "I’m being shipped overseas for about a year, give or take, to help establish a new branch in London. I leave next month."
Wally stared at him. Antoine, gone for at least a year? But…but what was he supposed to do without Antoine? He'd known Antoine would want nothing to do with a kid, and be mad at him for letting Kathleen use him again…but he hadn't thought Antoine would vanish like this. Though, he guessed one didn't really have anything to do with another. Except it sounded like his invitation to tag along was being rescinded.
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"That's good for you though," he finally managed, forcing the best goddamn smile in his repertoire.
"Guess you're about done with playing CCO, huh?"
"Weber is due for retirement," Antoine replied. "If I pull off this London thing, I'm in line to fill his shoes."
"Vice President, just like you always planned, and well ahead of schedule, typical for you," Wally said.
"I'm happy for you, Antoine. You'll own the whole fucking world before you die. I…" I wish I could go with you, and I wish we could play house together, but you've got too much going to want to slow down now. "I hope it works out for you."
Antoine nodded, but his voice was hollow when he said, "Thanks. I was arranging for you to come with me, but I guess I don't need to bother. So where are you going to raise this kid that's not actually yours?"
"He's mine, all right?" Wally snapped, suddenly irritated. "You're right, I didn't fuck her. By blood, the kid has nothing to do with me. But I don't recall you and your brothers being blood related to each other or your mother. If you want to be bitchy that I let Kathleen use me, fine, but don't get snipp
y about who spawned the kid. I'm going to be raising him, so he's mine. I'm sorry it pisses you off that in the divorce I'm suddenly getting the one fucking I wanted from the marriage. I don't expect you to be happy for me, but you could stop being a jackass."
He wasn't being fair and he knew it—he knew Antoine had been looking forward to spending time with him without the dark cloud of Kathleen hanging over him. Wally had been miserable, and Antoine felt that misery, and had been happy for him that it would be gone. In Antoine's eyes, he was just moving from one cage to another. He wished he was a player like Antoine, that he could love and leave so easily. But he wasn't, and he had only ever loved two people his whole life—the stupid bitch who'd only ever wanted his money and reputation, the other a man who preferred a different flavor every week.
Both of whom were vanishing from his life, though for different reasons.
Sad, that he couldn't wait to see the last of his wife, but just the thought of being without Antoine for one short year left him in a state of misery.