Chapter Twenty-Four
Lorelie
“So, are you two back together?” Gen asks as she drops sideways onto my bed.
I shrug. “Not yet.”
“But you are going on a date.”
“Yes,” I say while applying lip liner.
“That does not go,” she announces.
I make a face. “Yes it does.”
She snorts and throws another one at my head. “Try this one.”
I wipe off the one I just put on and use the shade she tossed. Turning my head sideways, I study my reflection.
Gen smirks. “Told you.”
I ignore her, even though she is right. The mirror in my bedroom is perfect for this. Sure, I could do my makeup in the bathroom, but I like sitting cross-legged on the floor, everything spread around me like I am sixteen again.
“I wasn’t sure,” I say, lifting a shoulder. “About the divorce. I know people shouldn’t stay together for the kids, but I owe it to them and to myself. So, I don’t go the rest of my life wondering.”
“You’re doing this for closure?” she asks.
I squint at my eyeliner, adjusting the angle. “Not closure exactly. It’s just… the way I kicked him out.”
I pause, letting the memory settle in my chest.
“I was hurt. Angry. And I meant every word I said back then. But now, that the anger has passed.” I take a deep breath, “I don’t know, I guess I want to see what’s left. Or what could be.”
Gen sits up. “So, you want another shot.”
I roll my eyes. “I want clarity.”
“Lore,” she says, “that is girl-code for wanting another shot.”
I let out a frustrated breath, not everything is code. “Maybe I do.”
I meet my own eyes in the mirror. My hair is curled, makeup soft. I’ve lost almost all the baby weight from Agnes.
“I just…” I say quietly, “I don’t want the divorce to be another one of my regrets.”
Gen sits up straighter. “What do you have to regret?”
I start gathering the makeup scattered around the floor, picking up brushes just to have something to hold. “I can’t help feeling like this whole mess wouldn’t have snowballed the way it did if I had just talked to him back then. Instead of… lashing out.”
“Lore,” she says, her tone gentle but firm, “he may have gone drinking because of a bruised ego, but he didn’t end up with a drinking problem because of it. That wasn’t on you. That was something he had in him long before any revelation.”
I stare down at the compact in my hand. “How didn’t I see it?”
Gen tilts her head. “Because you’re not a mind reader. It’s not like your job is easy. And you were raising Milo and carrying a baby at the same time.”
She sits cross legged on the bed. “Come on, Lore. You’re human.”
I nod because she’s right. I am human. I know that.
But it still doesn’t take the sting away.
My self-righteous anger has bled into anger at myself, and that’s somehow worse. Because now I feel guilty for still feeling guilty.
How does that even happen? How do you get mad… at your own feelings?
I press my palms into the carpet, grounding myself, but it doesn’t stop the churn in my chest. “I shouldn’t still care this much,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t still feel responsible for things he did.”
Gen shakes her head immediately. “You’re not responsible. You never were.”
“I know,” I say, but it comes out thin. “I know that logically. But then I look back at everything and think… maybe I could’ve asked the right question sooner. I could’ve pushed him to talk instead of pretending everything was fine. I could’ve seen him slipping, stopped it.”
“Lore,” she says gently, “you can’t control someone’s addiction. All you can do is be there, which you were.”
I let out a shaky exhale. “Was I?”
Gen opens her mouth, probably to snap something comforting-but-aggressive, when the doorbell rings.
We both freeze.
Her eyebrows shoot up. Mine shoot even higher.
“Oh,” she says, tone sharp and amused. “Well. He’s early.”
Panic spikes up my spine. I look down at myself, still in my robe, no clothes on except the tank top under the robe. Not fit for public consumption. Definitely not for a date.
“I’m not ready,” I hiss, scrambling to my feet.
“No shit,” Gen mutters as she slides off the bed.
I practically sprint to the bathroom, nearly tripping over the hair dryer cord. I slam the door behind me and lean my back against it, breathing like I just ran a marathon.
Through the door, Gen calls, “I’ll let him in, I guess.”
“Thanks!” I yell back, already yanking open drawers in blind panic.
What am I doing? I need clothes not a toothbrush.
I fling the bathroom door open, hurry into the closet, and stare at the dress I originally picked out. Suddenly it feels… wrong.
Flipping through my dresses, I curse myself under my breath. Why do I dress like a nun half the time?
I consider raiding Gen’s closet, but it’s downstairs, and I am not running around like a headless chicken in front of Patrick.
God, I’m acting like this is our actual first date.
Pursing my lips, I grab a red dress. It covers me from tits to knees, technically modest, but with the extra curves I still have from Agnes, it’s definitely going to be tight.
Before I can change my mind, I step into it and wriggle it up, struggling around the chest area.
I shove my feet into black heels and check the mirror.
…Not bad. Like, dangerously not bad.
A boob might pop out if I bend over, but hopefully I won’t have to.
Cringing at the thought, I grab my phone, inhale deeply, and head to my date.
The carpet muffles my footsteps as I walk down the stairs, but like a moth to a flame with excellent timing, Patrick appears at the bottom just as I reach the last step.
“Hi,” he says, looking ridiculous in a good way, button-down shirt, jeans, clean-shaven, hair perfect. Like he tried, like I did.
I smile back. “Hi.”
My stomach flutters. Butterflies. Maybe actual birds.
From somewhere deeper in the house, Gen calls,
“Dustin is on his way back with Milo, so you two might wanna stare at each other at the restaurant!”
I roll my eyes but don’t dignify her with a reply.
Dustin, her beau of two months and a man who passed Officer Patrick’s background check, offered to take Milo to get popcorn so he wouldn’t see us together and think we’re getting back together.
I glance toward Agnes, who’s in Gen’s arms… staring at us with laser focus. Then she reaches out toward Patrick, making grabby hands.
“Oh God,” I whisper.
Gen waves me off and bounces away with my daughter. A second later we hear her cry.
“Just go!” Gen yells.
I pout at Patrick helplessly.
He laughs under his breath. “Come on. Before our bigger baby sees us and cries.”
Still pouting, I laugh too.
He shakes his head, then extends a hand toward me. “Come on.”
I stare at his outstretched palm. It shouldn’t feel like anything big. It’s just a hand. Just skin and bones and warmth.
But somehow… it feels like more. Like a commitment or a gesture.
Biting my lip, I place my hand in his.
His fingers tighten immediately, like he’s happy I took the leap.
At his car, Patrick opens the passenger side, but pulls me closer before I can sit.
Tucking a loose curl behind my ear, he murmurs, “You look beautiful.”
Heat shoots straight up my neck. God, I missed feeling shy around him. “You look beautiful too.”
He laughs and ushers me into the seat. Then he jogs around the hood… and immediately trips over the curb.
I bite my lip so I don’t laugh as he straightens, pretends nothing happened, and suddenly walks slower. Much slower.
I rub the back of my neck, watching him.
He’s nervous too.
Good.
Patrick
Lore moans when she takes a bite of the pasta and I nearly drop my fork.
“Good, huh?” I choke out, staring at her lips like a starving man.
She nods, still chewing. “I missed your cooking.”
My chest warms. I sit back, trying to look casual. “What else did you miss?”
She sets her fork down and sips her wine, slow enough to torture me.
“Well,” she says, “I definitely missed your height. I hate having to use a step stool.”
“Oh.” My face falls.
She laughs softly. “I’m kidding. Well… not kidding, but I missed a lot more.”
“Really?” I ask, sounding way more hopeful than I care to admit.
“Yeah.” She plays with the stem of her glass. “Even when I was angry, I missed talking to you.”
I smile before I can stop myself. “Don’t get mad, but Gen told me what you said.”
Lore’s eyes widen and she looks away sharply. I know she’s not admiring the view from the gazebo, she feels exposed.
“She didn’t tell me to betray your trust,” I say quietly. “She told me because she knew you’d keep it in to avoid hurting me.”
I stand and offer her my hand. She takes it, and I pull her up onto her feet.
I spent all evening setting this place up.
It’s private property, the owner lets people rent it out for basically nothing as long as you clean up afterward.
And I will. The space heaters, the string lights, the little air mattress covered in comforters and pillows I grabbed from home… I wanted it to feel romantic. Quiet.
A place where we could talk.
But what Gen told me has sat heavy in my chest all night.
I clear my throat. “I didn’t know,” I say finally.
She looks at me, confused.
“I didn’t know I had a problem,” I clarify. “I didn’t know it was… in me. It didn’t start with binges or DUIs. It was subtle. At first, I couldn’t wait for shift to end so I could relax with you guys, maybe have a beer. Then it became about finishing the drinks I bought before my next shift.”
My thumb drags across my lip, a nervous habit.
“I didn’t realize all this in a day. I didn’t magically figure it out. I went to rehab. To AA. To therapy. I did the work. And the truth is… it wasn’t about you. Or Milo. Or even work.”
I look her in the eyes, feeling stripped open.
“It was about how I started treating drinking as my only outlet. I didn’t even realize I was doing it.” My voice drops. “So how could you? There weren’t any signs.”
I step closer, lowering my voice even more.
“I need you to hear me, Lore. You didn’t cause this. You didn’t miss anything. I drank because it was easier than facing myself, not because of anything you did or didn’t do.”
Her eyes shine, but she stays quiet.
“Please,” I add softly, “don’t carry guilt that isn’t yours.”
Lore turns away from me, her gaze drifting back to the view, the moon half–hidden behind the mountains, stars scattered like someone threw a handful of diamonds across the sky. The wind lifts her hair, brushing it across her cheek, and she shivers.
Without thinking, I wrap an arm around her and pull her closer, giving her whatever warmth I can. She presses her cheek against my chest, fitting there like she always used to, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.
“Do you think it’s too much?” she asks quietly. “Everything that happened between us?”
“No.” I shake my head immediately, tightening my arm around her. “History is what makes us… us.”
She swallows but still doesn’t look at me.
“Until now,” I continue, staring out at the dark horizon, “I thought night shifts were bad. Milo wanting to sleep with us was an inconvenience. Your past was unimaginable. And now I know-”
I take a deep breath, hating that the next part happened yet glad it wasn’t worse.
“Now I know there way worse things than inconvenience. All the problems we had back then feel… insignificant compared to what came after.”
I close my eyes, picturing it, our old life, the one I didn’t appreciate enough.
“What I wouldn’t give,” I say quietly, “to wake up to our kids sneaking into our bed during a storm again. I wouldn’t even mind the feet in my face. I’d take that any day over empty houses and me-time.”
Lore turns, her cheek brushing my shirt as she looks up at me. Her eyes are full of understanding.
“I thought we had a blessed life,” she whispers.
“Like… actually perfect. So, whenever something bad happened, I just swept it under the rug. Pretended it wasn’t there.
I think I did that with your drinking too.
Told myself it was temporary stress. You’d snap out of it.
” She laughs, small and self-deprecating. “I don’t know why I do that.”
“Do you…” I swallow, nervous to even ask, “want to talk to someone about that?”
“Like a shrink?” she says, raising a brow.
I nod. “I mean, I still see Dr. Brett. Not as often as I should, but I go to AA regularly, I have a sponsor. It’s… nice, actually. Like a support group without bias.”
She wrinkles her nose, thinking. “I did go to a group for a while. But then I got busy and stopped.”
“What group?” I ask, genuinely not remembering.
Her eyes flick away. “A group for people who’ve been… cheated on.”
“Oh.” My chest sinks. “I guess you fit right in.”
She doesn’t respond, just watches the mountains like they’re easier to look at than me.
“You know I’ll never do it again… right?” I say quietly. “I’m not just saying it, ok, I mean it. I-”
“Stop,” she says quickly.
I clamp my jaw shut, inhaling through my nose, and try to steady the panic rising in my chest.
“Sorry,” I breathe.
She shakes her head. “I haven’t forgotten it. Any of it. Believe me.”
A lump forms in my throat. “We’re doomed, aren’t we?”
She steps away from me, only a few feet, but it feels like an entire world. She leans back against the railing of the gazebo, moonlight catching the shimmer in her eyes.
“I forgave you,” she says softly. “Back when you told me. You, Patrick. I thought… okay. People screw up. People cheat. But he told me. He’s honest. He won’t do it again. Do you understand how much comfort that gave me? How much I clung to that?”
My heart clenches.
“And then,” she continues, voice cracking, “Right after we made love, I found out you lied. Not just about cheating. About drinking. About everything. How do I ever trust you again? I couldn’t even tell when you were lying.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “I can’t even tell if you’re lying now.”
“I wasn’t,” I say immediately, stepping forward before stopping myself.
“Lore, this is the truth. I didn’t remember any of it, I mean…
I had glimpses but not what happened because I never thought I’d do something like that, ever.
When IA showed me the footage, I thought it was AI because I…
I couldn’t recognize myself. I still can’t. ”
My voice breaks, but I push through it. No hiding. No excuses.
“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell you,” I choke out. “I didn’t know. And that isn’t a defense. It’s accountability. Because blacking out, drinking that much, putting myself in a situation where cheating was even possible… that’s on me. That’s the work I’ve been doing this whole damn year.”
Lore studies my face like she’s inspecting my soul. She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t look away.
I swallow, throat tight. “So, the question is… can you learn to trust me?”
It feels like everything in the world holds its breath.
The trees.
The wind.
The stars above us.
Me.