Chapter 24
Eloise
It’s after nine o’clock in the morning in the middle of the week, and I’m elbow-deep in dirty dishwater in the kitchen at Sweet Cheeks when my phone buzzes with an incoming call.
Very few people actually call me because those who know me know I don’t answer my phone.
So, when I peek at the screen and see my best friend’s name, I frown.
She, of all people, wouldn’t be calling me, and a rock forms in the pit of my stomach, my brain spiraling with every kind of possible reason she might dial my number, and none of them are good.
I wipe off my hands and answer. “What’s wrong?“
“Ellie,” she says, voice breaking, and so does my heart.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Can you come over? To my house?” She sniffs a few times, and I’m already on the move, ripping off my apron.
“Yeah, of course. I’m on my way.” I pocket my phone and tell Leonard I’ve got an emergency.
He wishes me luck but doesn’t question it as I head out to the front, flying past Morgan, instructing them to hold down the fort until further notice.
They salute me, and I run out to the sidewalk, forgetting that I don’t have my coat on until I run headfirst into Roman.
“Jesus fuck,” he grates at the same time I rub at my head, having hit it on the middle of his sternum in my rush to get to Sloane. “Are you all right?”
I rub my forehead and blink rapidly. “Sloane called. Something’s wrong. I’ve got to get over to her house right away.”
His brow furrows with concern. “Is she okay? What happened?”
“I don’t know, she didn’t say. Just that she needs me.” I’m already moving to step around him, urgency propelling me forward.
He puts a hand on my arm, stilling me. “Hey, take a second. Breathe.” His dark eyes search mine. “Do you want me to come with you?”
I’m touched by his offer, but I shake my head. “No, it’s okay.”
“Where’s your coat?”
“I…oh.”
He curls his hands around my biceps. “Sunshine, take a minute. You won’t be able to help her if you’re not in the right frame of mind.”
I nod at his direction and inhale deeply through my nose, blow it out of my mouth. “It’s only that Sloane always has it together, you know? She’s the problem-solver. She’s not…”
He kisses my temple. “I get it. It’s okay. You’re worried for her, and I’m sure you’ll be able to help, but you need your coat. It’s forty degrees out. Where did you park?”
I wince. “I rode my bike today.”
“Eloise.” He sighs. “It’s November. What the fuck are you doing on a bike in November?”
“I felt like a bike ride this morning.” I shrug. “And it didn’t feel so cold.”
“When the sun was barely up? Jesus.” He scrubs his hand over his face. “I gave you that goddamn thing, and I’ll take it away if you’re gonna be reckless with it.”
For a moment, I put aside my worry and lean into him. “You can’t take Betsy away from me.”
“Who the hell is Betsy?”
“The bike.”
He snorts an amused sound. “You’re a trip.”
Regaining my purpose, I back away from him. “And I have to go.”
“Go back inside and get your coat. I’ll drive you,” he insists in a tone that brooks no argument, so I do as he says and meet him back outside, where he walks me to his car, telling me he’ll pick me up later after I give him directions to Sloane’s house, about a ten-minute drive from downtown.
“Text me,” he says when he parks outside of the brick-and-stucco house.
“I will.”
He grasps my chin and presses a hard, bruising kiss to my lips. “Be safe. Let me know if you need anything.”
My lips tingle as I pull away. “I will. I’ve got to run.”
With a last squeeze of his hand, I’m jogging to the front door, where I let myself in with the key code, and since no one is screaming and there are no kids here, I take that as a semi-good sign.
“Sloane?” I call out, moving through the entryway toward the stairs. “It’s me! I’m here!” I take the carpeted steps two at a time and turn right to her bedroom, pushing open the door to find her crumpled on the floor at the foot of her bed, face buried in her hands.
“Sloane?”
She tips her head up, and as soon as she spots me, she breaks.
Completely.
I sink down beside her and latch my arms around her slim body as she sobs. Sloane is not a crier. For all the bullshit her mother feeds her, she’s not super emotional. At least, not that she lets out.
I am the emotional one. I am the wreck.
But I am happy to return the favor, to be the one who dries her tears for once.
Holding her close, I press my cheek to her forehead and stroke her hair as she cries into my shoulder. I don’t know what to say, so I go with the old standbys. “I love you. It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out. I’ve got you.”
Eventually, she quiets and sits up to pull in ragged breaths, and I use the hem of my T-shirt to wipe her face free of snot and tears, not bothering to waste time searching for tissues. She combs her fingers through her long black hair then rubs at her blotchy eyes before apologizing.
“Sorry for—”
“Nope.” I hold up my hand. “We’re certainly not doing that. Try again.”
She takes a breath that makes her shoulders rise as she closes her eyes. “Trevor’s cheating on me. He’s been cheating on me.”
My jaw drops, and that really wasn’t on my list of possibilities when I tried to think of what could be wrong.
She meets my gaze, and my best friend is one fucking unbelievable woman because she delivers the rest of the story to me without flinching. “He told me last night after the kids went to bed. There’s another woman, and he wants to be with her. He wants a divorce.”
“Motherfucker,” I seethe. “What the hell? Where is this coming from?”
She shakes her head, chewing on her bottom lip. It’s swollen and chapped. “Apparently, he felt bad for lying to me. That’s why he told me. He didn’t want to keep lying to me when he loves her.”
I choke on a laugh. “What?”
Still gnawing on her lip, she stares at me with bloodshot eyes and nods.
“You’re ruining your best feature,” I say, tapping at her mouth, trying and failing at levity when she cracks, chin wavering as she bows her head and begins to cry again.
“Oh babe, I’m so sorry.”
“I just never thought…” She sniffs a few times, and I decide it’s time for me to find the tissues. I locate a box then fill up a small cup of water from the faucet in the attached bathroom. She accepts both and dutifully drinks the water.
After a few minutes, she tells me, “He doesn’t want to try counseling. Doesn’t want to work on things. He just wants her. I was stunned when he told me.”
I nod like a bobblehead because…yeah. This is fucking stunning. I always thought the guy was kind of a douche, but I never thought he’d cheat on Sloane.
“And he told you last night?” When she nods, I ask, “Why didn’t you call me then?”
“Because I knew once I started crying, I wouldn’t stop, and I still had to wake up this morning and get the kids on the bus. I didn’t want them…”
I wrap my arm around her shoulders. “You’re the best mom I know.
Literally. You should be on the cover of magazines and on podcasts and stuff.
I don’t know how you do it. You do everything for your family.
You’re an amazing mom, and wife, and you don’t deserve this.
I hope you know that. I hope in the dark recesses of your mind, you’re not letting all the BS make you think this is your fault, because it’s not. ”
She blows her nose, and I know she hears me, but I don’t think she hears me.
“The funny thing is, when he told me, my first reaction wasn’t even about me or my marriage, it was about the kids. What about the kids? What are we going to do about the kids?”
And that’s exactly what I was talking about.
Sloane lives for her children.
“The kids will be fine,” I say, hoping I’m right. “They’re resilient. And with you as their mom?” I wave my hand in the air, swatting away the bad vibes. “There is no way those kids don’t turn out to be perfect, loving individuals.”
She nods a few times, tears sliding down her cheeks. Then she rasps, “They’re all I care about.”
“I know, I know, I know.” I pull her in for another hug as a new wave of sobs overtakes her, and we sit on the floor for a long time. Until she seems to have dried out.
Then I hold her hand to help her stand and stay with her in the bathroom as she showers because this isn’t the first, and I doubt the last, time one of us will need help like this. I hand her a towel and get her dressed in comfy clothes then French braid her hair before we head to the kitchen.
I make us hot chocolate with a tiny splash of vodka because Sloane—of course—has to pick up the kids from the bus stop today. I admire my best friend for a lot of reasons, her big heart, her bravery, her artistry, but also for how she so willingly puts everyone ahead of herself.
It’s also the one thing that can and will be her downfall.
It’s while I’m making us lunch that I think of the letter I found from Amy.
The writings of another mother, wanting to be a part of their child’s life.
I don’t know her apart from what Roman has told me about her, but being here with Sloane, knowing how much she loves her children, makes me think Amy must feel something similar.
She wouldn’t write a letter to Roman without wanting to atone.
And I feel the call to help.
I can’t stand seeing my best friend hurt, and if Amy is suffering with even a quarter of the same pain, I want to help her too.
I could possibly do something. Maybe act as an intermediary between Amy and Roman. It couldn’t hurt to reach out.
But first, I need to get Sloane on her feet and make sure her two munchkins come through this whole nightmare unscathed.
And possibly invent a murder plan for Trevor.
Poison in a cinnamon roll sounds easy enough.