Bad Husband Page 14

  Noah hits my hand right then with his, like he’s high-fiving me—if punching someone in the hand was high-fiving them. I want to scream in pain, but I don’t and smile at him. “Don’t do that.”

  “Why?” He stares up at me.

  “Because my hand hurts.”

  What does he do?

  Hits it again.

  It’s illegal to hit your kids. I know this, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to.

  Madison lets out a heavy sigh and picks Noah up so he can’t hit me. “Noah, don’t hit Daddy’s hand. I can see if Kip will move it.”

  I glare, not intentionally, but it’s my natural reaction whenever another man is mentioned. “I got it.”

  Madison shrugs. “Thanks.” And bends down to close the lid before I pick it up.

  Check out what happens when she bends down. Yeah, I didn’t miss it either. The coach is staring at her tits again. At first I’m thinking, hey, that’s okay. They’re nice to look at. I get it but looking is as far as it goes. But I don’t react that way at all. My blood begins to boil and my heart races. It’s like I can’t control any of my reactions these days.

  Remember when Madison said, and I quote, “Kip warned be you’d react this way”? You didn’t really think that little bit of information would slip by a man like me, did you?

  Didn’t think so.

  I have a feeling this douche is Kip.

  The guy must feel my burning stare of “you will die if you keep looking at her like that” because he straightens his posture and clears his throat. “Hey, Madison, what did you think of the game?” he asks her, smiling like he’s waiting for her to glance his direction.

  What did she think of the game? It’s a bunch of seven-year-olds chasing a ball around a field until one of them by chance kicks it in the right direction and gets it into the net. What the hell could she think about the game?

  To my surprise, Madison smiles and nods enthusiastically. “I thought it was great! The boys are really starting to come around out there. Your great coaching is really paying off.”

  My stomach twists and suddenly I have that acid reflux crap Brantley’s always complaining about after we get tacos from Sonora Taco Shop. You know that feeling where the bile rises in your throat, and you’re not sure if the contents of your stomach are coming up or not?

  Only mine’s not from Mexican food. It’s from disgust.

  What the fuck did she just say? I give Madison a blank stare, but she’s staring at the coach. Did she not just watch the same game I did? I mean, don’t get me wrong, the kids seemed to enjoy themselves, but I think they had more fun kicking each other than the ball.

  Madison and coach continue to talk about the game, and I’m just standing like some loser sidekick holding a pink cooler full of whatever snack Madison deemed appropriate. Why isn’t she introducing me? Does she not think it’s important for Mr. Super Soccer Coach to know her incredibly handsome and physically fit husband is right behind her? I have half a mind to drop the cooler on his foot.

  He’s about my height, wearing shorts and a jersey that match the kids, fairly lean and looks to be about ten years older than me with his blondish-brown hair graying at his temples and the wrinkles around his eyes when he smiles at my wife.

  Clearing my throat to bring the attention to myself, I drop the cooler, near his foot but not on it, and take a few steps forward to approach this asshole. Yes, asshole, and before you judge me for judging him before I’ve even spoken to him, let me remind you this man has been staring at my wife’s tits and ass since I got here. I think I’ve earned the right to call him an asshole. The alternative would be me kicking his sorry ass in front of everyone. Believe me, it’s crossed my mind already.

  I’m not a complete asshole all the time. Watch. I’ll show you just how nice I can be.

  I reach out my hand to shake his and introduce myself. “Hey, I’m Ridley, you must be Callan’s coach.”

  It takes a good amount of strength for him to do this, but he moves his eyes from my wife’s tits and turns to face me. His eyes tell me to fuck off, but his fake smile attempts to be welcoming. “Ah, yeah, I’m Kip. Ridley, you say?” He shakes my hand and then buries his hands in the pockets of his shorts and smiles at Callan who’s standing next to me now, watching our interaction closely. “Are you Callan’s uncle?”

  Ha. That’s funny. Look at him trying to offend me. He knows I’m not Callan’s fucking uncle. What a piece of shit. I should pull my son from the team right now. “No, actually I’m Callan’s dad, you know Madison’s husband?”

  That’s right asshole, I’m the husband.

  I smile at my wife and wrap my arm around her, bringing her to my side. I point to Noah who’s wearing Callan’s shin guards on his forearms now. “He’s mine too.”

  There’s a brief moment when he glances at Madison, and then me. Do you see the way his eyes widen as he gives me a quick once-over? He’s judging me. He’s accessing whether I’m a threat to him and he honestly has no clue how miserable I could make his life if he touched my wife.

  “Oh, sorry.” Oh, bullshit. You’re not sorry. “It’s just… Madison and Callan haven’t talked much about you… and when they did, I didn’t get the impression you had time for things like your kids soccer game. Didn’t mean to offend you, man.” He motions to Callan and Madison with a flick of his wrist.

  Bullshit he didn’t mean to offend me. Look at him. He totally fucking meant it.

  I squeeze Madison’s shoulder with my hand, the hurt one. Burns like a son of a bitch, but I want her to know how bad that comment hurts.

  This guy isn’t messing around, is he? First punch and it’s an uppercut straight to my jaw. Figuratively. No way in hell would he actually get a physical hit on me I can tell you that right now.

  Can’t really blame him. He had the opening and he took it. I shoot a look to Madison, whose face looks a bit flushed. She looks away quickly and at least has the decency to look embarrassed. This one is on her. If this guy is telling the truth, my own wife and son don’t even feel the need to mention me other than my lack of involvement in the family.

  Not gonna lie, it stings. What sucks dick is this guy knows she’s unhappy.

  “I’m sorry but what did you say your name was? Kit?”

  Kit Kat narrows his eyes at me and straightens his shoulders to stand a little taller.

  You can try and stand tall all day, asshole, I’ll still be taller and her husband.

  He smiles at me as if to say touché. “Kip. I said my name is Kip.” He pronounces the p as if I’m illiterate or something.

  “Oh, Kip.” I pop the P at the end of his name with a laugh. “Okay well, I guess that’s okay too. Kit sounds cooler. I’d totally congratulate your parents taste in eighties TV shows.”

  Madison rolls her eyes and whispers, “Knock it off, Ridley,” in my ear.

  Kip blinks slowly. Of course he doesn’t understand. “What do you mean? What does my name have to do with eighties TV shows?”

  Is this guy serious? “Seriously?” I laugh, my arm dropping from around Madison’s shoulder to protect my rib cage. I know after what I’m about to say, she’s going to elbow me in the ribs. “Kit? Knight Rider? David Hasselhoff? Any of that ring a bell for ya?”

  Nothing? You could hear grasshoppers mating with the silence I’m getting from this twat wad. Sure enough, Madison elbows me. In the ribs.

  I clear my throat and step away from her about a foot. “Kit was the name of the car in the show Knight Rider starring David Hasselhoff. Don’t tell me you don’t know who The Hoff is?”

  Still nothing. Honestly, I just feel bad for the guy. Who doesn’t know about Knight Rider? Either way, Kip or Kit, asshole name, asshole guy. That’s my assessment and you usually only get one with me.

  First impressions are lasting impressions.

  As if he’s dismissing me, Kip turns back to Madison and resumes their conversation like I’m not even here. “So are you and the boys still up for pizza f
or lunch?”

  Is this guy serious? Did he just ask my wife out on a date in front of me?

  Madison must sense my anger starting to build because she pauses and looks over to me with sympathetic eyes. “Every Saturday after the game Kip and his son, Aldon… we all go out for lunch so the boys can play. It’s kind of a tradition.” And then she adds, after seeing the look on my face, “It’s not just us. Sometimes other people go.”

  Uh huh. Do you believe her? I certainly don’t.

  Tradition? She has a tradition with another man? That feels like cheating. It screams cheating. It’s not like I have a tradition with Kennedy to take her to lunch every Tuesday. I buy her lunch like once a month—Like as I buy it and she eats at her desk, and I eat in my office. We don’t converse over a meal. We don’t have actual fucking dates. Tradition means it’s happened more than once and more than once is way too many.

  Tradition huh?

  Well, I hope you don’t mind my joining in on your little tradition.

  Kip glances my way, and I take this moment to really look at the guy. “It’s no problem. You’re welcome to join us.”

  I’m welcome? Did you hear that? I should feel all warm and fuzzy inside because Kitty invited me to pizza. What a fuck face. Why is it I get the feeling this jerk is trying to make me feel like the third wheel with my own family?

  Callan taps me on the arm. “You’re coming to pizza, right, Dad?” And then he notices my hand. “Why were you late? I was afraid you weren’t coming to the game.”

  I look down into my son’s eyes and see excitement, but also caution there. He really thought there was a chance I wouldn’t show up at his game. Even after I told him I would and I’m not sure what makes me feel worse, the fact that some asshole is hitting on my wife right in front of me, or that my kid actually has reason to doubt my word.

  I kneel. “Sorry I was late. I had a bit of an accident.” I hold up my bandaged hand.

  His eyes grow wide, and I can tell he’s worried about what happened. “Are you okay? What happened? Maybe we should skip pizza?” His eyes dart from me to Madison, and then back and the expression on his face morphs from concern to what almost looks like hope. I’m getting the impression that Callen isn’t as excited about the Saturday lunch tradition as Kipper is.

  Noah takes that moment to jump on my back, his arms tight around my neck. “Daddy owie.”

  My proud stare moves to Kip. That’s right, my boys love me.

  Trying to loosen Noah’s grip on my neck, I smile at Callan. “Don’t worry, I’m okay. Just had to go to the ER and get some stitches. I’ll be as good as new in no time.” Standing, I keep Noah on my back and hold onto his legs. “We can go to pizza if you want.”

  “Um.” Callan shrugs, making a face I know. It’s pretty similar to the one he wears when he’s playing soccer, but I can’t tell what it is. Is he upset? “Okay. As long as you’re sure because if you’re in pain or anything, we can totally go home now.”

  Yup. There it is. My son wants nothing to do with this lunch, but unfortunately for him, his selfish father needs to ride this one out.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. We’ll just grab something quick and head home, sound good?”

  “Sure.” Callan looks behind him at who I can only guess is Kip’s kid. I say this because he’s got the same blond hair and same stupid look on his face as his father.

  I feel bad saying that about a child but hey, his dad is a prick. I’m sure the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. The only difference is that this kid is looking at my kid like he’s some bug he wants to stomp on with his shoe.

  “You guys ready to head out?” I turn back to Madison and plaster a big smile wrapping one arm around her but keeping Noah on my back, just to remind Knight Rider who Madison’s husband is. “Why don’t you lead the way, Kit?”

  He shakes his head and leans down to pick up his bag and clipboard. “Kip. My name is Kip.”

  I grin. “Yeah, I know.”

  Madison shakes her head. “Cute, Ridley. Real cute.”

  I kiss her check only to have her smile. “I can’t help it if he needs to know you still belong to me.”

  She takes Callan by the hand and whispers, “Why don’t you just piss on my leg while you’re at it to mark your territory.”

  “We’ll save that for later.” I wink. “Wouldn’t want to offend him with the size of my—”

  She immediately let’s go of Callan’s hand and slaps her hand across my mouth. “Don’t you dare say that in front of him.” She gives a nod to Noah. “Last time you said asshole in front of him, he went around saying it for two weeks to everyone we saw. Including my mother.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s certainly some truth there.” I laugh.

  Do you see I’m the only one laughing at that remark? Even Callan’s staring at me with a confused expression.

  I almost forgot about Noah saying asshole for two weeks. It was as if he was that cat from Talking Tom and only knew one word. We’d ask him what he wanted for breakfast in the morning, and he’d scream, “Asshole,” like he was so proud of himself.

  Right then Noah remembers his favorite word and laughs, his head on my shoulder and screams. “Asshole!” in my ear.

  Have you ever had your toddler yell in your ear? It fucking hurts. I think he ruptured my eardrum. Again.

  Anyway, Noah screaming isn’t the worst part. The real cake topper here is all the parents shuffling their kids through the parking lot staring at us.

  “Great,” Madison mumbles, walking faster to the car.

  Callan shakes his head. “We can’t take him anywhere.”

  I’m assuming he’s talking about Noah, but there’s a strong possibility he’s throwing me in the mix too.

  I LEAVE MY truck at the fields and ride over with Madison to the restaurant. As we pull up to the restaurant, I notice it’s the same one as what’s on the back of Callan’s jersey. “Does this pizza place sponsor Callan’s team?”

  Madison reaches for her purse on the floor of the car. “Yeah, actually Kip owns it.”

  Oh well, isn’t that convenient?

  I make a mental note to start sponsoring all of Callan’s extracurricular activities from now on. Two can play at that game.

  Getting Noah out of his car seat is about as much fun as getting him in. I wish he’d make up his damn mind. He fights when you put him in, so much so that I’ve had to actually sit on him while Madison locks his belt, but then when you go to take him out, he tries to bite you when you go to unbuckle the damn belt. I swear this kid has to have more than one voice talking in his head.

  “Can I get you out?” I ask, slowly reaching for buckle between his legs. “We’re gonna eat lunch. You like pizza right?

  Noah nods, but there’s a look in his eye as I reach for his shoulder straps that tells me the little shit isn’t going to let me off all that easy.

  With my right hand, I move toward him, and he immediately tries to bite me.

  “Dude! Seriously? What is your problem today?” I ask, expecting an answer.

  I stand there waiting for an answer like it’s really going to make any sense. All I’m given is, “Grr! I’m Wolverine!”

  Oh Jesus, not this again.

  “All right, buddy, you’re Wolverine but let me give you a little hint, Wolverine doesn’t bite people he has claws in his hands, and he stabs them.”

  Noah’s eyes grow wide like I just shared with him the most amazing fact known to man.

  “Ridley!” Madison scolds me from behind, slapping my back. “What the hell? Do you really think it’s a good idea to tell him it’s not okay to bite but stabbing is just fine?”

  My first instinct is to defend myself. I want to tell her if she thinks it was such a bad idea then why doesn’t she come over here and try to get Cujo out of his damn car seat. But when I give it a minute and look back down at Noah who’s staring at his hands like he’s contemplating how to attach knives to them, I can see her point.

  I take
a stance of authority. You know the one where you stand tall and cross your arms over your chest like that’s going to make any toddler listen to you more attentively. “Listen, bud, bottom line, we don’t bite and we don’t stab or run over them with our big wheels.” I had to throw that one in there. “And while we’re at it, we don’t hit Daddy’s bad hand.”

  For a second I think I’ve got him but then my moment of triumph is smashed by his loud giggles. “Daddy funny!”

  Callan crawls over to Noah and unlatches the belt while I have his attention. I throw him an appreciative grin. “Thanks, big man.”

  The smile that crosses his face makes my heart burst.

  “No problem, Dad. We make a good team.”

  Reaching forward, I ruffle his hair and return the smile sticking my hand out for a high-five. “Yeah, we do. Now let’s get inside. We wouldn’t want to keep Kit waiting.”

  Callan laughs, but Madison throws me a glare. It’s a warning, but she should know better. There’s no way I’m gonna back off this guy until it’s made perfectly clear this is my family.

  When we walk in the door, I realize while the front gives the impression the restaurant is small, once you enter, it’s actually pretty impressive for a pizza place.

  Kips calls us over to a larger section of tables that’s ready and waiting for us. “Hey, I thought maybe you guys got lost.”

  “No, sorry. Noah can be a handful sometimes,” Madison says, sitting down in the chair I pull out.

  I glare at Kip. That’s right asswipe, I’m a gentleman. She wants to divorce me but still, I can treat her like a fucking lady.

  Sitting down next to Madison and Noah, Callan sits across from us next to Kip’s son.

  Watching Kip talk to my wife, I need a minute to decide my course of action. On the one hand, I can lunge across this table and beat the living shit out of him while taking notes from Noah and yelling, “I am Wolverine.”

  Or I could take the mature route and verbally beat the shit out of the pussy-named bastard.

  Normally option one would be the most appealing, but because of the stitches currently residing in my hand, I can’t imagine it would feel all that appealing in the aftermath.