And Thomas would deserve every single blow.
Why was he even here? So she could rub his nose in her infidelity? So she could have some kind of emotional revelation with her husband, while Thomas watched on? Maybe she even intended to use Thomas as an excuse to end her marriage.
He sighed and rapped his knuckles to the door. It cracked open.
“Thank God. You’re la—” Her eyes widened. “Crap.”
She slammed the door in his face.
Then latched it.
What the hell was she up to now?
“Damn it, Bree,” he called through the door. “We said no games. What are you doing?”
“We said no lies but I’m not playing any games.” The thick oak door made her voice hollow. “I thought you were the— I thought you were my sister. You’re too early.”
“I’m not—” He checked the time. He was actually early. He was never early. “Okay. Fine. So I show up ten minutes early and it’s a social faux pas worthy of slamming the door in my face?”
No answer. He groaned and glanced over his shoulder. No sister. No one. Just an empty yard, and around the corner of the house, he could just barely make out the edges of a multicolored…kids’ play set…
Oh. Oh, hell no.
A little snake of panic bit at his insides. “I’m leaving.”
“Don’t.” Her exasperated sigh came clearly through the paneled oak. “What if we reschedule? I’m not really in the mood to go out. I’m tired.”
His stomach turned. Toying with him again, and he didn’t even have one foot in the front door. And why the hell did she have a swing set in her yard? “Why did you tell me to come here if you didn’t want to see me?”
The latch slid. She cracked the door open again. One liquid hazel eye peeked out. “I’m just— I’m not—”
“You’re not what?”
“I’m—” Her lips pinched together. “Oh, screw it. Come in.”
She opened the door fully. He stepped across the threshold, his eyes taking in every inch of her body even though he didn’t even know if he liked her right now. She wore a pair of black slacks and a sparkly tank top that hung to her curves. “What’s going on, Bree?”
She shrugged stiffly. “There’s something I haven’t told you yet.”
“I gathered that.” He crossed his arms. “Look, let’s not make any unnecessary drama. If it was just a one-night thing, let it be that so I can walk away. Or tell me what’s really going on.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m trying.”
“It can’t be that bad, can it? You’re a mass murderer? You eat people for dinner?” he asked, and then his gaze drifted to the pictures on the wall.
Yes, it very much was that bad.
One of the photos, at least a few years old, was of Brianna. She held a baby. There were other kids in the rest of the pictures, and he didn’t think they were her nieces and nephews.
And the man from her desk photo was in all the portraits, smiling as if he was the luckiest man in the world.
Ah, shit.
Slowly, as if he were on autopilot, he turned back to her. His limbs felt wooden. So did his lips as he said, “You’re married. With kids.”
Her shoulders hunched. “I have three kids, yes. And my husband—”
“To hell with this.” He reached back blindly, grappling for the doorknob. He could barely see her pale, stricken face through a white-hot sheen of fury. “I don’t want to hear anything about your husband. I don’t want to hear your excuses about how cold he is, or how he’s never home. You have kids, Brianna. Kids and a family. I’m not going to be the one to rip it apart.”
Thomas jerked the door open and walked out—and nearly walked into another woman. A younger woman, a blond with wide, confused eyes, stood on the doorstep, staring at him as if she thought he would hurt her. He ducked around her, careful not to touch her. He’d never hurt anyone, but that didn’t mean he wanted human contact right now. He should have trusted his gut. Brianna was definitely married.
Married, and he’d been played for a fool.
Halfway down the walk, a warm hand caught his elbow with surprising strength. “Stay right there.”
She spun on her heel and walked back to the house. A teenaged boy hovered in the doorway, watching them with his mouth twisted into a curve of sullen resentment. Brianna said something to the boy, shut the door, then stalked back down the path. Thomas felt sick. Why had he stayed, and let her boss him into sticking around?
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes alight. “I’ll have you know I’m not the type of woman who cheats on her husband.”
He gave a harsh laugh. “Do you have some other explanation for the pictures? Divorcées don’t keep shrines to their exes. I’m divorced, and I’m fairly certain every picture of her I didn’t burn ended up down the garbage disposal.”
She cocked her head. “When were you married?”
“A while ago. As in, not right now. Ever wondered how that felt?”
Her face fell. She dropped her fists to her sides. “Not really. You’re right. A divorcée wouldn’t still have pictures up. But I’m not divorced.”
“That makes no sense. The only way you could be not married, but not divorced, is if…”
Oh.
Thomas, you idiot.
“Is if he’s dead,” she finished. Her slim hands planted against his chest, shoving him gently backward. “He’s dead. If you’d let me finish, you’d have heard me. I have three kids, I’m a single mom, and my husband is dead. There. Happy?”
Happy? He’d been an ass**le to a woman who didn’t deserve it. He should just give up and walk away, but he couldn’t. Pride choked him—pride, and that damnable need that roused every time he looked at her.
He swallowed hard. “No. I can’t say that makes me particularly happy. How long ago did he… When did he…?”
“A few years ago. And I didn’t want to tell you right away.” She let out a tired, dry laugh. “I mean, who wants to date a single mom of three? It’s something you ease into after a few dates. Not right away. Not like this. But…we kind of skipped the date and hopped right into…”
“More like out of our clothes. That’s what you meant when you said you don’t normally do this.”
She nodded. No wonder. She had kids to care for, to protect. She wouldn’t want strange men around until she was sure her children would be safe with them, and it wouldn’t be fair to bring men into their lives who might only be a temporary presence when they’d already lost their father. And he was definitely a temporary presence.