“No,” Del said. “But we have to ask. It’s a rule. We don’t help cheaters.”

“Who the hell is we? What the fuck is going on?”

“You said she seemed like a stranger last night,” Del said. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe she is a stranger?”

Gavin shot him a what the fuck look.

“All spouses become strangers to each other at some point in a marriage,” Del said. “All human beings are a work in progress, and we don’t all change at the same pace. Who knows how many people have gotten divorced simply because they failed to recognize that what they thought were insurmountable problems were actually just temporary phases?” Del spread his hands wide. “But hell, you two? It’s a wonder you two ever got to know each other at all.”

“Is this supposed to be making me feel b-b-better?”

“You guys dated, what, four months before she got pregnant?”

“Three.”

Mack coughed into his hand. It sounded like the word shotgun.

“Right,” Del continued. “And the next thing you knew, you were getting married on a whim in a courthouse, and before the twins were even born you got called up to the bigs? Hell, Gavin, you’ve been on the road most of your marriage while she’s been raising those girls practically on her own in a strange city. You think she’s going to be the same person after all that?”

No, but dammit, that wasn’t the problem with him and Thea. Sure, she had changed. So had he. But they were good parents, and they were happy. At least, he thought they were happy.

Del shrugged casually and sat up straight. “Look, all I’m saying is that our careers are hard enough on couples who date for years and know exactly what they’re in for before getting married. But you two jumped into the deep end of the pool with no life jackets. No marriage can survive that, even in the best circumstances. Not without some help.”

“It’s a little late for counsheling.”

“No, it’s not. But that’s not what I’m talking about, anyway.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Del ignored him and instead eyed Yan and Mack again. “Well?”

“I say yes,” Yan said. “He’ll be useless to us next season if we don’t get them back together.”

Mack shrugged. “I’m good, if only to get him out of here. Because goddamn, dude.” He gestured widely at the room.

Gavin slumped toward Yan. “How do I say fuck off in Spanish?”

Mack took a final bite of the apple and tossed the core over his shoulder. It landed perfectly in the sink. Gavin hated him more than anyone else in the entire world. “My daughters gave me that apple.”

“Oops,” Mack said.

“Listen up,” Del said. “Sleep this off tonight. Tomorrow night, you’ll meet us for your first official meeting.”

“First official meeting of what?”

“The solution to all your problems.”

They stared at him as if that explained everything. “That’s it?”

“One more thing,” Del said. “Under no circumstances are you to go see your wife.”

CHAPTER TWO

Nothing on Earth is as strong as a woman who’s good and fed up.

Of all the bits of folksy wisdom her Gran Gran had imparted over the years, Thea Scott hoped at least that one was true because, holy crap, this sledgehammer weighed a ton. Four attempts to hit her mark had only resulted in a minor dent in the wall and a major pulled muscle in her back. But dammit, Thea was not giving up. Three years they’d lived in this house, and for three years she’d been fantasizing about knocking down this wall.

Seeing how her marriage had officially come crumbling down yesterday, it only seemed fair that today it should be the wall’s turn.

Besides, Thea really, really needed to hit something.

She swung the sledgehammer one more time with a grunt. Finally, the heavy end connected with a satisfying thud and left a gaping hole. With a whoop of victory, Thea yanked the hammer free and poked her face into her handiwork. She could almost feel the light from the other side just waiting to burst free from its sensibly beige prison. Who the hell would put a wall there, anyway? What architect in their right mind would separate the living room from the dining room and block all that glorious light from flowing through the downstairs?

Thea swung again, and a second hole joined the first. A chunk of drywall dropped to her feet as dust swirled into the air and coated her arms. Holy crap, that felt good.

Panting from exertion, Thea let the hammer fall to the plastic tarp she’d bought to protect the hardwood floor. Massaging her shoulder with one hand, she turned and surveyed the living room. Yes. Right there. Right by the French doors to the backyard. This was the perfect spot for her easel and paints. Someday, after finishing her degree, maybe she’d have her own art studio. But for now, she’d be satisfied just to paint again. She hadn’t touched a blank canvas since the girls were born. Her greatest creative accomplishment these days was dyeing her white T-shirts to make the stains seem intentional.

She’d tried to make it work, the wall. She’d hung family photos in quirky patterns. Framed the girls’ handprints and artwork. Displayed Gavin’s favorite bat from high school. All with the idea that someday she’d fix it. Someday she would paint it a more vibrant color. Or maybe add built-ins. Or someday just knock down the entire damn thing and start over.

Thea knew someday had arrived the instant she woke up this morning, her eyes still swollen from a weak moment in the middle of the night when she’d cried in the bathroom with a fist pressed against her mouth to smother the sound.

Tears were pointless. Regrets wouldn’t help her start over. There was only one way to move forward, and that was to come out swinging.

Literally.

So after breakfast, Thea sent the girls off to dance class with her sister, Liv, who’d been living with her since Gavin left. And then Thea dug out her old paint overalls, drove to the local hardware, and bought the sledgehammer.

“You know how to use this?” the man at the counter asked. His arched eyebrow screamed “mansplainer.”

Thea curled her lips into a semblance of a smile. “Yep.”

“Make sure your strongest hand is at the butt of the handle.”

“Yep. I got it.” Thea shoved the change in her pocket.

The man tugged on his suspenders. “Whatcha knockin’ down?”

“Patriarchal power structures.”

He blinked.

“A wall.”

“Make sure it’s not load-bearing first.”

The need to hit something surged again like a bad case of Twitter rage. Thea hoisted the sledgehammer onto her shoulder, but just as she started to swing, the front door flew open. The girls ran inside, their tutus bouncing over little pink tights and their blonde pigtails swinging in unison. Their golden retriever, Butter Ball, patiently followed behind like a K9 nanny. Her sister, Liv, brought up the rear, holding Butter’s leash.

“Mommy, what are you doing?” Amelia asked, screeching to a halt, a combination of awe and trepidation in her tiny voice. Thea didn’t blame her. Mommy probably didn’t look like Mommy right now.

“I’m knocking down a wall,” Thea said, keeping her voice light.

“Aw, yeah,” Liv said, rubbing her hands together. “I’m getting in on this action.” Dropping Butter’s leash, she crossed the room and reached for the sledgehammer. “Can I pretend it’s his face?”

“Liv,” Thea warned quietly. She knew her sister wouldn’t intentionally say anything bad about Gavin in front of the girls. They’d both learned the hard way that the only people who suffer when one parent bad-mouths the other are the children. But Liv’s mouth had a way of acting on its own sometimes. Like now.

“Whose face, Aunt Livvie?” Amelia asked.

Thea shot an I told you so look at her sister.

“My boss,” Liv answered quickly. Liv worked for a notoriously tyrannical celebrity chef at a famous Nashville restaurant. Liv complained about him enough that the girls didn’t question whether Liv was telling the truth or not.

“Can we hit the wall too?” Amelia asked.

“This is dangerous grown-up work,” Thea said. “But you can watch.”

Liv swung hard with a Tarzan cry and knocked another chunk of drywall to the floor. The girls cheered and jumped up and down. Ava let out a whoop and karate kicked the air. Amelia attempted a cartwheel. It was officially on in the living room.

“Damn, that felt good,” Liv said, handing the sledgehammer back to Thea. “We need music for this.”

As Thea took possession of the tool once again, Liv dug out her cell phone, swiped the screen a few times, and then the Bluetooth speakers throughout the house blared with the voice of Aretha Franklin demanding R-E-S-P-E-C-T.

Liv grabbed Gavin’s bat from the floor, held it like a microphone, and started belting out the lyrics. She extended her hand to Thea, so Thea joined in for the girls’ benefit, who laughed as if the impromptu concert was the funniest thing they’d ever seen.

And just like that, she and Liv were teenagers again, singing at the top of their lungs in the stuffy bedroom they shared at Gran Gran’s house. It was there, while their mother was off finding herself in a haze of anger and alimony and their father was too busy cheating on wife number two to pay attention to his daughters, that they memorized P!nk songs and promised to never trust a man, to never be as weak as their mother or as selfish as their father, and to always protect each other.

It was them against the world. Always.

And now again. Only this time, Thea didn’t just have a little sister to protect. She had to protect the girls. And she would. No matter what it took. She would make sure they never knew what it was like to grow up surrounded by tension or as the pawn between two warring parents.

A swell of sudden emotion stung the corners of Thea’s eyes as an ache spread through her chest. Her voice caught on the lyrics as her throat convulsed. Spinning away from the girls, she swiped at her face.