Six neat stacks—one for me, one for Owen, and four for Aria. How that girl managed to go through four times as many clothes as a normal human was a mystery. I decided to have her start washing her own laundry just to make a point. She’d agree, do one load to humor me, then I’d be back to doing it. Not that I minded. I loved the purpose it gave me. Sometimes Aria playfully accused me of being like those mindless commercial moms on TV, finding fulfillment in cleaning up little messes with the latest miracle product. I wondered when Procter & Gamble would come out with something to clean up really big messes. Like my life.

“Just work stuff. Nothing worth talking about. You?” Owen leaned against the island counter and cracked open the bottle, guzzling half the beer in one gulp.

As a manager at a publicity firm, it was usually smooth sailing at a job he loved, unless he lost a client. Today seemed like one such day.

“Lily called me earlier today. Invited me to Ryan’s baseball game. Apparently Robin wants to make up. I’m thinking we should—for the sake of the kids.”

He exploded. “Are you kidding me? Have you lost your mind? If you even see or speak to that family again, I promise you, you’ll regret it.” Owen’s threat echoed against the kitchen cabinets.

I regretted mentioning it as I watched his face redden and eyes go dark like windows in an abandoned house. To me, Owen was a haunted house, with layers of decay and demons playing hide-and-seek inside its bowels. He often scared the shit out of me.

“They’re my best friends. I can’t just stop being friends with them because of what happened with Aria and Ryan. Besides, once emotions cool off Robin and I will deal with it—together.” His gaze narrowed on me in a nonverbal warning, but I kept going like a runaway train. “And it doesn’t help that you had to escalate things. Why do you have to be such an asshole?”

His eyes widened. “First of all, there’s no need for profanity, Mackenzie.”

I noticed the use of my proper name, which was usually reserved for when I acted like a child.

He continued: “I am the man of the house and you don’t speak to me that way. You know better, don’t you? And secondly, they are no longer your friends. You’re forbidden from seeing them again.”

I hated it when he scolded me. I’d swear if I wanted to, damn it. I’d pick my own friends, thank-you-very-much. I was a grown woman. I could make decisions for myself.

But I didn’t say any of that. I didn’t say anything but a mumbled “sorry,” because that’s what I always did. Apologize. Obey. Rinse. Repeat.