“Take a breath,” he demanded, forcing his voice to quiet just as he was forcing himself to remain calm and not lose it.

“I don’t need to take a breath. I cannot believe you’re humiliating me this way,” she snapped.

They weren’t going to do this.

Not now, not ever if it came out angry.

“This is not the time or the place,” he stated. “Like I said, we gotta talk. But it’s not happenin’ now when you’re pissed and I’m not feelin’ like bein’ pushed into a bad mood.”

“Well, fuck that,” she bit out, shoving him again, this time with both hands so his whole torso swung back.

He took a step to the side and warned, “Watch your hands, Mia. I don’t want them on me again.”

She tipped her head to the side. “You don’t? Oh. I would guess you don’t, considering you got the good stuff direct from a professional all weekend.”

He took a deliberate step away from her before he purposefully locked his body.

After he did this, he dragged in a breath that was supposed to be deep and calming, but it came in shallow and did not one thing to ease the fury he felt building.

“Watch your mouth,” he whispered.

“Fuck you,” she shot back. “Swank’s was bad enough. Swank’s. That woman and you at fucking Swank’s. But a football game? You took her to a fucking football game? In the ’burg? For everyone to see?”

“You need to leave. Now,” he returned. “I calm down, you calm down, we’ll talk.”

“About what?” she asked. “How you’re testing me? How many tests do I have to pass, Merry? I mean, you shit all over our marriage. You shit all over our future. Then you shit all over me for years. And now you’re dating the town slut, rubbing that in my face when—”

He advanced, she retreated, and neither stopped doing it until he had her pinned against the living room wall.

He didn’t touch her and kept his distance, but she felt him. He knew she knew she’d pushed too far. He knew this because she pressed against the wall and didn’t move.

“You ever fuckin’ talk to my face or I even hear you spewed shit like that about Cher again, Mia, so help me God, the over we’re already over will be history. You won’t even be a memory, good or bad. I’ll erase you so completely, I see your fuckin’ face, you’ll think I have no clue who you are.”

“Merry,” she breathed, eyes big, his name coming out pained.

“I wanted to sit down and talk about this, but you’re here and you’re like you are, which means I’m not big on seein’ you ever again, so this is happenin’ now,” he declared.

Then he gave it to her.

“I fucked up. I fucked us up. You’re right. I shit all over our marriage. I did that and I own that. It sucks I hurt you because…once, I loved you. Once, you meant everything to me. But I was fucked in the head. I fucked us up because I was terrified of what it would do to you if somethin’ happened to me and you lost me. I’ve felt that loss and know it’s an empty that never gets filled and I didn’t want that for you. I should have talked that out with you. I should have worked that out with you. I didn’t. And that was my fuckup.”