Chapter 2

I cross the floor on wobbly legs, heading for the closet—the reason I’m even home in the first place. I spilled coffee on my shirt and have an important Zoom meeting in a couple hours with a potential client in Asia and needed a fresh change of clothes. My hand is shaking as I throw open the door and grab a shirt without looking. With Frankie’s gaze burning a hole in my back, I snatch two more shirts and a sweater—hangers and all—for good measure.

When I turn around, Frankie’s standing. His Adam’s apple bobs, and he blinks rapidly. “I’m sorry, Lawrence.”

“Why?” I don’t even know what I’m asking. Why did you do it? Why are you sorry? Why, why, why? I have a hard time reconciling the Frankie I know, the only person I’ve ever trusted, with someone who would cheat on me. It doesn’t compute.

Frankie’s shoulders shake and his mouth opens and closes as though he doesn’t know what to say.

“I have a meeting,” I mutter. “I only came for a clean shirt. I spilled on this one.” I gesture to the stain on my chest.

Stop talking,my broken heart yells at me, and I snap my mouth shut. I don’t need to explain to him why I’m in my ownhome. I don’t need to stay here and listen to excuses for why he felt the need to suck off another guy in our bedroom.

I can’tstay here; I have a fucking meeting I can’t skip even though all I want to do is ask questions until Frankie finds his words and explains what just happened.

But at the same time, I’m not sure I want to know. I’m not sure anything he’ll say will be able to erase the sight of his swollen blood-red lips or the sound of a well-used throat. Not even the devastated tears crisscrossing his deathly pale cheeks.

So I grab onto the damned meeting with both hands, using it as a shield, as an excuse to take me away from the “whys” and the “have you done this befores” and “how many times?” Away from wrecked brown eyes and shaking shoulders.

As I walk out of the bedroom, I wish I could also walk away from the burning in my belly, the ache in my chest, and the sound of my heart breaking in my ears.

* * * *

I don’t remember driving back to the office or taking the elevator up to our floor. Not until the familiar smell of bad coffee, warm electronics, and stacks of paper the height of Mount Everest wraps itself like a warm blanket do I wake up from my trance. I disappear into the first bathroom I find and lock the door behind me, shrug out of the suit coat, tear off the tie, and step to the sink.

I avoid looking into the mirror; I don’t want to see the internal chaos staring me back in the face. I don’t want to see dull blue eyes full of hurt; that would make them look too much like my mother’s when my useless dad broke his promise yet again to do his best to keep a job. Or on the nights he came home reeking of booze and women as I grew older.

The tension makes my head ache, and I rub my fingers over the deep furrow between my eyes, trying to massage it away. When it doesn’t help, I turn on the faucet, cup my hands under the cold water, and splash it on my face. Again and again, I douse myself as though I’m trying to wash away the deep crease between my eyes, the image of cock-swollen lips that just won’t leave my retinas, the memory of a face wet with tears and remorse. I don’t stop until my skin starts going numb from the chill of the water.

After drying off, I unbutton and remove my soiled shirt with stiff, uncooperative fingers. As the clean garment slides up my arms and over my shoulders, I can breathe a little easier, and the tie and jacket help even more. When I turn back to the mirror, I almost expect to see a medieval-type armor complete with a helmet and shield, but it’s just my regular suit. But it’s not the first time the familiar clothes have acted like armor, and it helps me relax.

Dressed impeccably in this office where I spend so much time, I know how to act. The looming meeting helps me focus on something other than what just happened, and when I step out of the bathroom, I feel more like myself.

ThisI know how to do. I might not know how to handle—or even react to—an unfaithful fiancé, but I can do meetings with important potential international clients in my sleep. Everything else can wait.