“Not for much longer.”
He chuckles softly, like I’ve said something naive.
“The divorce papers haven’t been signed yet. And even when they are, I’ll always care about what happens to you.” He reaches out like he’s going to touch my face.
I flinch so hard I stumble backward. Something flickers across his expression. Hurt, maybe. Or the practiced performance of hurt.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I never did.”
The lie is so enormous it takes up all the air in the room.
“You grabbed me by the throat,” I say, and my voice is shaking now. “You threw things at my head! You shoved me into walls and called it an accident. You made me think I was crazy for being afraid of my own husband.”
“I was stressed. Work was difficult. You know how the pack and my father can be.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
