48. Shayla
48
SHAYLA
I sat holding my mom’s hand, my head resting on the bed beside her. I’d been drifting in and out all morning after being up half the night. The emergency room staff had finally moved her to her room around two a.m. It took a while for the nurses to get her settled in, so it was nearly four by the time I conked out.
“Who needs coffee?” Makenna chirped as she entered the room carrying a to-go container from our favorite coffee shop. She’d stayed home last night at our mother’s insistence, but had promised to come this morning. “By the way, your phone is dead,” Makenna announced, tossing a phone charger to me. “So I just guessed at what you’d like,” she added with a shrug as I plugged the charger in next to the bed and connected my phone to it.
“That’s fine. I’ll take anything at this point.” I picked up the cup closest to me and took a sniff. It smelled sweet like caramel. Jackpot.
“How’s she doing?” my sister asked, nodding to where my mom lay sleeping.
“She’s breathing a little easier now since they gave her a breathing treatment. The doctor said she has pneumonia.” Worry filled her gaze, and she pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “They said it’s common among cancer patients since chemotherapy weakens the immune system.”
“Will she get better?” I swallowed down the emotion clogging my throat. For someone in her condition, there were no guarantees. I didn’t want to cause Makenna more stress, but I also didn’t want to give her false hope.
“The doctors said they caught it early, so that improves her chances of making a full recovery. She’ll need antibiotics and lots of rest.”
“How long will she be—” she began, but her words were cut off at the sound of her phone ringing. She pulled it from her pocket and glanced at the screen before silencing it and tucking it away. It immediately started ringing again. She rolled her eyes and pulled it out again, swiping her thumb across the screen. “Hello?” she said, and a second later her gaze shot to me. “Yeah,” she replied warily. Before I could question what the call was about, my phone came on and immediately began to chime with notifications.
“What the hell?” I muttered as I unlocked my phone. I had forty text messages and countless missed calls. There were several voicemails too. I didn’t know where to start.
“Shayla,” Makenna said softly, and I looked up to see her worried eyes trained on me.
“What’s going on?”
“I-it’s Easton,” she said, and my heart plummeted.
“What’s wrong? Is he okay?”
“No, he … I…” She shook her head as her voice cracked then fell away.
“What, Makenna? Tell me.” I didn’t know what I would do if something had happened to him. I needed to go to him, but I couldn’t leave Mom.
“He’s all over the tabloids. Someone took a picture of him,” she said, swallowing thickly before continuing, “with another woman.”
Pain lanced through my chest, and I brought my hand to my mouth to muffle my sob. This couldn’t be. He’d just made love to me two days ago.
Just then, my phone pinged with another incoming text.
Easton: Please, Shayla. I need to talk to you. I’m begging you to callme.
I couldn’t stomach the thought of talking to him right now, not while my heart was shattering into a million pieces. Closing out of that message, I opened up the group chat with nearly thirty notifications.
Hailey: I’m going to kill him. I’ll make it look like an accident, thenyou can collect his insurance money.
Brynlee: Easy there, killer. There might be a perfectly good explanation for this.
Emily: Whatever! That hussy had her hands all over him.
Delilah: I know this was only supposed to be a fake marriage, but he didn’t have to do you dirty like that.
There were three separate links from gossip sites attached to the thread. I clicked on the first and nearly dropped my phone when I read the headline: “Newly wedded Easton Walker caught with another woman: Is the honeymoon over already?” Below that were several photos of Easton with a tall, willowy blonde. In the first, her hand was splayed across his back while he leaned against the bar, his head turned to the side as he peered down at her. The second was a shot of them standing face-to-face, her fingers curled around his bicep and his hand covering hers. Another showed them leaving the bar together, his hand on her back. The last photo of them stole my breath, and nausea churned in my gut. They stood less than a foot apart, her staring up at him adoringly with her palms pressed against his chest. The same chest I fell asleep on only a few nights ago. The chest that rumbled with laughter every time I had a snarky comeback for something ridiculous he’d said.
The chest that had pressed against my bare breasts as he’d taken me in the shower, my legs wrapped around his trim hip while he thrust into me, his eyes never leaving mine.
I expected I’d have to see him with another woman one day, but not while we were still married and not so soon after having him inside me. Bile rose in my throat, and like a glutton for punishment, I closed out of that article and clicked on the next. It was the same series of photos with a different headline. “Who is Easton Walker’s Boston Mistress?” The third was titled, “Richmond’s Walker Still Hockey’s Biggest Playboy Despite Being Married.” It had one extra photo the others didn’t. It was an image of the blonde woman following Easton to the elevators.
Like they were about to go up to his room.
That was the image that broke me. He was taking another woman to his bed. He was about to give her a piece of himself that I thought was only reserved for me. Who was she, and why was he willing to throw away what we had for a single night with her?
I scrolled back to the previous photos and studied them more closely. The photo of her with her hands on Easton’s chest was taken from an angle where I could make out some of her features. There was something familiar about her, but I couldn’t quite place where I knew her from.
The blood froze in my veins, and my heart stopped when it finally came to me. The high cheekbones, delicate features, and long blonde waves. The pretty young woman was Jessica Danvers, Easton’s former coach’s wife.
That day, after he proposed our marriage of convenience, I’d Googled her out of pure curiosity. She looked exactly like his type, and I’d felt a twinge of jealousy then. It was nothing compared to how I felt now.
My phone buzzed in my hand, and I jumped. Easton’s name flashed across my screen. Panicked, I sent it straight to voicemail. A moment later, it dinged, alerting me to a new voice message. I hadn’t listened to any of the others yet, but I could guess what they were about.
With trembling fingers, I pressed play and brought my phone to my ear. My breath caught when his pained voice came over the line.
“Shayla, baby, please answer your phone. I-I can explain. It’s not what you think. Please, I just need to talk to you.” My chin quivered as I listened to his pleading. He sounded broken and apologetic.
Just like how my dad sounded every time he’d cheated on my mom. That was, until the last time when he left her for his secretary. Was that what it would be like with Easton? A revolving door of infidelity followed by hollow apologies until he found someone to replace me?
No, that wasn’t how this would go. I would never stand by and let a man disrespect me like that. What happened to his promise to honor our vows? And that had been before we were ever intimate.
I doubled over, gripping my middle as the sobs broke loose. The pain was too much. This was only supposed to be temporary, but I’d gone and fallen in love with my husband.
Makenna rushed to my side and pulled me into her arms. “I’m so sorry, Shay.” She held me as I cried. I tried to be quiet so I didn’t wake my mom. She didn’t need to see me like this. I needed to pull it together so I could be there for her.
“Are you going to call him?” Makenna asked hesitantly.
“I can’t talk to him right now,” I admitted, my voice cracking. I’d never be able to hold it together long enough to have a conversation with him.
“You might want to text him. If you don’t, he’s just going to keep calling.” She nodded toward my phone where it vibrated on the table, his name lit up on the screen again. I let it go this time, holding my breath until it stopped buzzing. Then I opened our text thread and typed out a message.
Me: I can’t talk right now. Mom’s in the hospital. She’s really sick.
Easton: I’m so sorry. I wish I could be there. I wish we could talkface-to-face. I hope you know I would never cheat on you. This is all amisunderstanding.
A misunderstanding? He’d been photographed with another woman, one who knew him intimately. There was no denying how … cozy they’d looked. He was sorely mistaken if he thought I would fall for whatever BS he planned on feeding me.
I couldn’t deal with this right now. My mom’s life was in jeopardy. My fake husband cheating on me would have to take a back seat to keeping my mom alive.
Me: We can talk once you’re home. Right now, I need to focus on mymom.
I hit send and exited out of my messages. Then I set my phone to do not disturb so I wouldn’t be tempted to answer if he called again.