Chapter 38 #2
I nod again. “Okay. Thank you. See you soon.”
“See you soon.”
I end the call.
It’s noon now. My face is a mess, but I know I’m not done crying, so I put off fixing it.
I wander into the living room with my laptop, not finished playing detective. I need more information.
I open it and then pull up the FindMy app on my phone. Jensen’s location is no longer even detectable. He turned off his sharing.
I scoff aloud. Figures.
I drop my phone beside me and navigate to my browser on the computer and log into our bank account.
I’m not sure what I expect to find. He uses his work card for most travel, but not everything is covered by his per diem. I just need some kind of proof—not even that he’s lying, but that not everything he’s told me is a lie.
Maybe the drugs are old. Maybe he’s not using again. Maybe I’m just jumping to conclusions.
I’m surprised I even remember our login. I rarely check our bank accounts. Jensen handles all of that. I’ve never had to worry about paying bills or moving money around. He takes care of everything.
I navigate to our checking account, which has a good amount in it. Makes sense. It was payday for both of us this week.
I scroll through the transactions. Both paychecks deposited Thursday, and a large chunk was transferred to our savings. That’s normal. We always save on payday. I know Jensen moves money around for investments, too. He’s been working with a financial planner Matt introduced him to years ago.
A big credit card payment was made the day before. That also checks out. We use the card for just about everything.
I click into our savings next, expecting to see a solid number.
It has less than five thousand dollars in it.
That’s low. Way too low. Especially since I know he moves thousands in every other week. Maybe he transferred it somewhere else? Maybe to the investment account?
I scroll through the savings transactions and stop cold, my breath catching.
There are large ATM withdrawals every few days. Three to five days apart. Going back months.
Six hundred dollars here. Nine hundred there. Sometimes a thousand. Every time. Over and over again.
Holy shit. Why would anyone need so much cash?
As soon as I ask the question, I answer it.
Drugs.
“Oh my God,” I whisper into the quiet, my fingers going cold. I can barely feel the keys beneath them.
I pull up the calculator on my phone and start adding the ATM withdrawals.
The last few months are steep. He’s pulling anywhere from five to seven thousand a month.
January through March were slightly lower, but it escalated fast. A direct correlation between how much he was spending and how deep he’d fallen.
I finish adding it up, my eyes locking on the number.
Forty-six thousand dollars.
My heart pounds, and my pulse is running a marathon in my chest. Forty-six thousand dollars. Withdrawn from an ATM. This year alone.
I wait for the emotions to come—rage, grief, disbelief. But I feel nothing. I’m numb.
How could I be so stupid? Who doesn’t check their finances? How did I have no idea this was happening? If I’d just logged in months ago, I would’ve seen it. The evidence is right here.
I walk back to the bathroom to touch up my makeup and get dressed.
Forty-six thousand dollars.
I actually start laughing while I’m getting dressed.
“Forty-six thousand dollars!” I shout to myself in the closet.
Yeah—I might be losing it.
I laugh again.
“Holy shit.”
But that last word catches in my throat, and a lump rises.
Nope.
I just redid my makeup. Keep it together.
I inhale slowly and hold it. Then exhale even slower, counting.
I repeat.
And repeat.
I keep going until Matt picks me up at two, and I finally have someone to distract me from the absolute shit show my life has become.
I didn’t even do anything.
I just fell in love.
And now look at me.
The wedding has been beautiful—perfect, really. Everything these two deserve and so much more.
Both grooms look handsome as hell. Zach is every bit himself—suave, confident, his signature blend of cocky and wild that makes you want to laugh, cry, and spill all your secrets at the same time. He’s built like a model: six-three, abs of steel, strong jaw.
Joey is the yin to Zach’s yang, the calm to Zach’s chaos.
He’s rugged and built like a wrestler. Hairy, bearded, and stupid hot.
Zach’s got Cody Rigsby energy; Joey’s more the unruly Viking who makes women irrationally upset the moment they realize he’s gay.
Yet somehow, they fit together seamlessly.
The ceremony wrecked me. I was determined to hold it together, but the second Joey started crying, I didn’t stand a chance.
The worst of it was when Zach noticed me after the ceremony with Matt. The look on his face said everything. He knew.
I only just told Zach about everything a few weeks ago. He cornered me at work, said I’d been off. Quiet. Sad. He said he knew something was going on. I broke down and told him everything. It sucked, but it’s been nice having someone to talk to besides Matt.
Matt’s the best. Truly. In fact, he’s so great it almost pisses me off that he won’t settle down with someone. It feels like a backhand to the universe—like what’s the point of being one of the good ones if no one gets to have you?
Then again, Matt would probably argue that if he’s that great, it’d be selfish not to share. Which is so Matt.
I used to feel that way about Jensen. That’s what makes all of this so damn hard. Jensen is one of the good ones.
I’m sure Matt has his own flaws, everyone does. The kind you only discover when you live with someone. He’s not perfect.
For one, he kept what he knew about Jensen from me. Which, I guess, makes him a loyal friend to Jensen… and something different to me. I get why he did it. They’ve been friends forever. Still, I was so mad when I found out he knew and didn’t tell me.
Jensen told me right after that first AA meeting. He said Matt had walked in on him at the bar the week before.
Matt told me later he was planning to tell me. He just didn’t know how or when.
Turns out, Matt’s easy to forgive.
I catch him weaving through the crowd in a suit that probably costs more than my rent, two drinks in hand.
Not gonna lie, I’m a little drunk. I never drink cocktails, but Matt’s bringing back the third. After the first, my face was tingling, and now? I have to concentrate just to see straight. I can barely feel my mouth.
Guilty thoughts creep in, and I try to shove them down. The ones that say I’m a hypocrite. That I’m no better than Jensen. That I pounded a cocktail to numb the thoughts and dull the pain. That I’m drinking just so I can laugh and have a good time.
It’s working. I have been laughing. And it feels so damn good.
But isn’t that pathetic? That I have to drink to laugh—to forget? Does that make me any different than my dad? Than Jensen?
The intention is the same. Only the outcome is different.
Matt slides into the seat beside me, placing two waters in front of us.
My brows knit together. “Water? I thought you were getting us drinks?”
“I did.” He flashes me a grin, the same cocky smile that gets Matt laid every time he looks at a girl.
“I don’t want water. I wanted another mojito.”
“I know.” His lips press into a line. “But I also know you, Al. And you’re already pretty tipsy.
One more will ruin your morning. The last thing you need is a hangover.
Plus, you’re an amateur. Trust me, right now, you’re at the perfect spot.
Fun, relaxed… one more will push you over the edge.
And I have to drive us home. So, water it is. ”
He lifts his glass and holds it in the air, waiting.
Reluctantly, I pick mine up and clink it with his. “Fine,” I say, a hint of a smile creeping in.
“Should we go dance?” Matt asks.
I glance at the chaos on the dance floor. Zach and Joey’s moms are out there showing everyone up.
A full grin sweeps across my lips, and though I’m smiling, the heaviest sadness settles in my chest. I wish Jensen were here. I want to dance with him. Laugh with him. Take pictures of us in the photo booth.
Don’t get me wrong—Matt’s been a great date. The perfect gentleman. He’s made me laugh, and we had a really great talk on the way here. I’m grateful he’s here with me. It’s comforting having him by my side tonight.
But he’s not Jensen.
I turn my gaze to him. “Yeah,” I say slowly. “Let’s go dance.”
I’m still breathless from dancing when Matt checks his phone. He freezes.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Uh…” He glances at me, hesitating. “Megan just texted me.”
“And?”
“Jensen’s not in Boston.”
Silence.
“He’s at Tom and Christy’s.”
His parents?
I gawk at him, then grab my clutch. “Drive me.”
I start walking, but when I look back, Matt’s still standing there.
“Now,” I snap.
He exhales hard and follows me toward the car.