I am so sick and tired of hearing how their life is so fucking perfect and ours isn’t. Ryan does this and Ryan does that. It’s like nothing I’ve ever done for you was good enough.
So you know what? I just don’t give a fuck anymore. Some other asshole can live up to your expectations now. I pity the next guy that puts up with your shit.” My eyes quickly bounced from Gary to Mike, catching a twitch in his jaw from Gary’s verbal slap. Marie looked as if she were about to buckle at the knees.
“I hate you,” Marie breathed out, holding back her tears.
“Whatever,” Gary sneered at her as if he truly didn’t care anymore. Watching her three-year marriage crumble was painful.
How quickly people go from wedded bliss to murderous glares. My heart broke for her.
She started after him but Mike grabbed her by the wrist. Her eyes bounced from his hand to his face, watching as Mike silently told her to stop with a shake of his head.
Gary appeared affronted by Mike’s intervention. “What, she’s fucking you now? I knew it. I fucking knew it. How long, huh?
How long you been screwing around behind my back, Marie? Couldn’t get the fucking movie star you’re so in love with so you settle for his babysitter. That’s rich.” Marie gasped. “You bastard! You’re the one who fucked some stupid skank, not me!
You! Where is your little T-shirt-wearing whore, huh? She inside?”
“Only whore here is you,” Gary retorted.
“Oh my God. I can’t believe you just said that.” I wanted to slap him so hard, he’d see stars for days. Ryan grabbed my wrist, keeping me from moving any farther across the lawn.
Mike stepped his hulking body into Gary’s path, protectively guiding Marie behind his back. “Careful what you say to her, man.” Gary glared at him. “This doesn’t concern you.”
I was surprised Gary was brazen enough to pick a fight with Mike.
“Marie,” Gary barked, expecting her to jump.
Mike never took his eyes off Gary. He pulled Marie back again, keeping his body in between the two of them. “You’re done talking to her. You talk to me now.” Gary’s hand curled into a fist, dropping some of his keys between the knuckles. “Oh, is that right?”
“She’s not your concern anymore,” Mike said low and deliberately, clearly meant to send a message. “You lost the right when you locked her out of her own house.” Mike stood his ground, eyeing the gesture and questioning the absurdity of it. “Better make the first swing count because that’s all you’re gonna get,” he added.
Gary took a moment to think about it, weighing his odds. Like he had a chance in hell to win that fight. He reluctantly backed down. “Marie, tell your friends to get the fuck off my property or I’m calling the cops.” As if to heighten his threat, he pulled his cell out.
“It’s my property, too, you know,” she argued back.Mike glared at him as if he wanted to kill him, then turned and took Marie by the hand and tugged her toward the car, guiding her body in front of his. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Gary stood in the driveway, enjoying his moment of victory.
I climbed in the backseat with Marie and put my arm around her shoulder while digging out more tissues.
“I hate him so much,” Marie whispered through her tears to me.
“Babe,” Mike said from the driver’s seat as he drove down the block, “your house have a security system?”
Babe? When the heck did that start?
Marie wiped her cheek. “No.”
“Gary own any weapons?”
My eyes flashed to Ryan, who was staring over at Mike.
“Yeah,” she answered. “But everything is locked up in the gun safe.”
“Everything?” Mike questioned again.
Marie sat up. “He used to keep a revolver in the nightstand drawer in our bedroom.
The rest are hunting rifles.”
“And where are those?”
“Gun safe is also in the bedroom.” Mike nodded once. “You know where he’s going today? How long he’ll be gone?” I heard Ryan mumble something. Mike held up a finger for him to wait.
Marie sniffed. “No idea.”
I caught Mike’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Taryn, directions. I need a hardware store.”
Forty minutes later, with the aid of a small tool kit, Mike gained us entry into Marie’s house. And I thought my public takedown in Paris was a big deal; I could only imagine what “breaking and entering” would look like on the front page. I felt like I was going to rattle out of my skin and then maybe hurl lunch.