Page 80 of If I Didn’t Have You

“No, I don’t fucking believe you!” he snapped. “You just drove your car through a fucking window!”

“My foot got caught!”

“Is that the story you’re telling?” he argued, his eyes narrowing dangerously on me.

I snapped my lips shut, playing my part just a little too well. There was no room for error if I wanted to get out of this without a jail sentence or looking like an idiot.

“That’s what I thought. Hospital. Now.”

My nostrils flared in anger, and when the paramedic tried to shove me into the back, I stood my ground. “Then you can drive me. We’re not wasting any money on an ambulance.”

“Fine,” Ben gritted out. Taking my elbow, he guided me out of the ambulance and over to his truck. It wasn’t difficult to pretend I was mad. Yes, I had nearly run over someone out of anger, but he was flirting with her, and I wasn’t sure I would ever get over that.

When I decided to play the part of the damsel, I hadn’t considered that Ben would be the one to escort me to the hospital. I should have known, but I was trying to think ten steps ahead while frantically trying to keep my story straight.

I was a mess, and my husband knew it.

Sitting beside me, scowling at the road, I knew I was in for one hell of a lecture. It was best to get as far away from him as possible.

“Really, I’m fine. We don’t have to do this.”

But as he slowly turned and glared at me, I knew there was no way I’d talk him out of going to the hospital. Maybe I’d overplayed my hand.

“What exactly happened back there?”

“I told you, my shoe got stuck.”

“Uh-huh. And how exactly did your shoe get stuck on the accelerator?”

“What?” I stuttered.

“Was it glued there? Did you happen to step in the world’s stickiest gum? Or maybe you have secret magnets in both your shoe and the pedal!”

“Benjamin Parker⁠—”

“Don’t you double name me, woman. You just smashed a perfectly good car through a window, and you’re coming at me with your shoe got stuck?”

“It happens!”

Luckily, I’d had the time to quickly look up the statistics when the paramedics went back to grab a few things.

“Woman—”

“Do not call me woman!” I shouted, turning in my seat to face him. “I’ll have you know that nearly sixteen thousand shoe-related accidents happen every year!”

Smirking, he shook his head at me. “And you just happen to have that number handy, do you?”

I gaped at him, seeing now that I had overplayed my hand. “I couldn’t believe it actually happened,” I said stiffly. “So, I looked it up while they were prying the door open.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

At the dangerous look I shot him, he backed down slightly. “Clara, I’m just saying that something’s not right here. I know you’ve been pissed at me, and I can’t blame you. Hell, you already kicked me out, but this…this is taking it too far.”

Confusion washed over me as I studied the tormented look on his face. “What are you talking about?”

“Look, I would never tell Mav. I know you didn’t mean to do it. Call it a fit of rage or— menopause rage. Hell, I don’t know.”