Free Burn (L.A. Untamed #2) by Ruth Clampett

and architectural detail—I was all over the idea. It was during the beginning of my divorce and it gave me something positive to focus on. I was constantly doing research and sketching out designs.”
    “I’m so impressed,” I say with a grin.
    “I joke that it’s my life’s work, my masterpiece, but it truly is the thing I’m most proud of.”
    I reach over and push him in the arm. “See that. Now I really want my own tiny house, or rig as you call them. Maybe you’ll design mine for me.”
    Tipping his head sideways, he smiles. “Maybe.”
     
    We look back out at the view, and he clears his throat.
    “Hey, I hope you know how much I appreciate you letting me park here.”
    I study his expression. It’s a simple statement but it feels like there’s a lot behind the words. He hasn’t mentioned when he plans to leave and I don’t bring it up because I dread the day he does.
    I smile at him. “Honestly, it’s been good to have you here.”
    “How are you doing with all the changes?” he asks.
    I shrug. “I’m taking things one day at a time.”
    Of course I don’t mention that only a bit ago I was cursing out Mike’s lawyer in a fit of rage.
    “Have you talked to your ex?”
    “Yes, but only once. He’s apparently still in the denial stage. He says he wants to work it out so we can give our marriage another chance.”
    Joe’s eyes widen. “Do you think that’s possible?”
    “No. I’m not even sure what our marriage meant anymore, and believe me, my ego’s taken a real beating. It doesn’t feel good at all to know you weren’t enough.”
    “But—” Joe starts to argue before I cut him off.
    “I know what you’re going to say. What happened was about him wanting men, and not about me. But if deep down he’s always wanted men then he should live that life and make peace with himself. I need a man who wants me one hundred percent.”
    Joe looks down as if unscrewing his water bottle is the most interesting thing on earth.
    “Besides, fucking around when you’re married is a deal breaker for me, no matter who he’s with.”
    Joe suddenly looks up with a haunted look in his eyes, and it feels like I’ve struck a chord. I remember back when he talked to me in the office and suggested that he had been through something that made Chief think he could be a support to me.
    “Is that what happened to you?” I ask softly.
    His fingers work the bottle cap back and forth and his lips press down into a straight line. He nods.
    “I’m sorry.” I wait for him to say more but he doesn’t. “How long ago did it happen?”
    “Two years,” he states in a tight voice.
    “Wow,” I whisper. It’s unsettling that two years later he’s still clearly really messed up over it. Damn. Is that what I’m going to be like?
    He turns away like he wants to be lost in the view, and I lean forward in my chair. I have an overwhelming desire to comfort him and I’m not sure how but I want to try.
    “Joe,” I say softly.
    His gaze darts back to me.
    “I’m so sorry.” I say each word slowly and with as much weight as a word can have.
    We have that moment as our gazes lock, where I feel like we are coding a language between us . . . the sad murmurings of two broken hearts determined to keep beating against all odds.
    He nods. “Me too. We deserve better, Trisha.”
    I have a surge of compassion for this wounded man. I want to go sit in his lap and hold onto him with my hand pressed right over his heart.
    We are comrades now in our own private battles of the heart. I’m willing to fight alongside him because for the first time since I walked into my husband’s flower shop to witness the end of my marriage, I think there’s a chance I can win.

    “Woman! Where’ve you been?” I grab my bestie Jeanine and give her a big hug. I’ve only talked to her a few times in the last few weeks, and it was always about my impending divorce. Bitch is traveling on business so much we barely get to hang anymore.