Page 66 of Twisted Needs

“Same thing.”

I watch her crack open one of my beers before noon without a shred of shame. Same old Jenny.

Not many guys can say they’re still friends with their ex-wife. Then again, not many guys would stay friends with the woman who kinda-sorta emotionally cheated on them. Long story. I guess I don’t really think about that part anymore. We’re far better off as friends.

“You really do look exhausted,” Jen says softer this time, leaning against the counter with her beer bottle pressed against her cheek. “Are you sleeping?”

“Sometimes.”

“That bad, huh?”

I shrug. My body feels heavy lately. Like something’s sitting on my chest at all hours of the day. Practice helps until it doesn’t. Games help until I get back to the hotel. Being around the team helps until everyone goes home to their families and I’m stuck alone with my own thoughts again.

I bounce Molly a little higher on my hip. “You don’t exactly look well-rested either.”

“That’s because I’m living in hell,” Jen sighs dramatically. “Do you know how overstimulating five children are? I haven’t had a coherent thought in ten years.”

“You wanted this, darling.”

“I know,” she groans. “That’s the worst part. I did it to myself.”

I laugh quietly, but my eyes keep drifting toward my phone sitting face-down on the counter. Nothing. No texts. No calls.

No anything.

Jen notices—because of course she does. She’s always noticed things about me faster than most people. Besides Anders, but that’s besides the point. “You waiting on someone?” she asks casually.

“No.” The lie comes too fast.

Her eyes narrow over the rim of her beer bottle, but thankfully she lets it go. “For the record,” she says, “I think being a stay-at-home mom is a scam invented by rich men.”

“You are rich.”

“Exactly. Which means I should be having more fun than this.” She gestures wildly with her beer. “Vincent is home constantly now. Constantly. The man works from home, orders groceries online, and has developed some sort of emotional dependency on sweatpants.”

“You sound devastated.”

“I am devastated,” she deadpans. “I miss when he had meetings. It made me look forward to seeing him come home.”

“You don’t have to stay home all day, Jen. Hire help.”

Her face twists immediately. “I don’t want strangers raising my kids.”

“You wouldn’t be replacing yourself. You’d just be less overwhelmed.”

She goes quiet at that. Jen grew up with nannies raising her while her parents disappeared into galas and business trips and country clubs. I think she’s spent her entire adult life trying to over-correct it, which is probably how she ended up divorced at twenty something.

“You know,” I say carefully, “there’s a difference between being absent and needing help.”

She stares at me for a long moment. Then she sighs deeply. “God, I hate when you’re emotionally mature.”

“I’m rarely emotionally mature.”

“Yeah, that’s a good point.” She points her beer bottle at me and closes an eye. “You’re usually just intimidating enough that people assume you know what you’re talking about.”

“Captain material.”

“Control freak material, honey.”