Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The coffee shop on Maple Street feels like neutral territory—a cozy little place with mismatched furniture and the scent of cinnamon hanging in the air.
I arrive first, choosing a corner table where we can talk without being overheard. My hands shake as I wrap them around my chai tea, the warmth doing nothing to calm my nerves.
When Caine walks through the door, my breath catches. He looks tired, worn down in a way I've never seen before. His lip is split, and his green eyes seem dimmed.
He orders plain black coffee and joins me at the table, but doesn't quite meet my gaze at first.
"How's your lip?" I ask softly.
"Fine." He touches it gingerly. "I've had worse."
We sit in uncomfortable silence for a moment. This isn't like us—we've never struggled for words before. My stomach churns with anxiety.
"Jenna, I—" He stops, runs a hand through his hair. "I need to apologize."
"For what?"
"All of this. The drama, the chaos I've brought into your life." His voice is quiet, almost defeated. "If it weren't for me, you'd still have your simple, uncomplicated life. Your marriage might not be perfect, but at least it was stable."
The words hit me like a slap. "Is that what you think I want? My old life back?"
He finally looks at me, and I see uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "Don't you?"
"No." The word comes out fiercer than I intended. "I don't want simple and uncomplicated anymore, Caine. I want you."
Something shifts in his expression then. The tension that had been pulling at the corners of his mouth begins to ease, and his shoulders drop slightly.
There's something else there too—something deeper and more complex that I can't quite identify.
His beautiful eyes, which had seemed so guarded and uncertain moments before, now hold a flicker of what might be hope, or perhaps gratitude, mixed with an emotion that makes my chest tighten with anticipation.
“What are we doing here?" I press, my heart hammering. "What did you want to discuss?"
The fear claws at my chest like a living thing, making it hard to breathe.
Every second of his hesitation feels like an eternity, and I can feel my world threatening to crumble around me.
I'm deadly afraid that he wants to end this—that after everything we've been through, he's had enough of all this drama.
The violence at the pool hall, Reeves’s escalating anger, the constant threat hanging over our heads like a storm cloud—maybe it's finally broken him. Maybe he's sitting there calculating the cost of loving me and has decided it's too high a price to pay.
My hands tremble slightly as I reach for my mug, needing something to occupy them before he notices.
The rational part of my brain knows he's not the type to run from a fight, but the terrified part of me—the part that's been abandoned before, the part that learned early that love doesn't always stay—whispers that maybe he fears for his safety now.
Maybe seeing Reeves’s rage up close, feeling the very real possibility of physical harm, has made him realize that I'm not worth it. That no woman is worth risking everything he's built, everything he's worked for.
The thought makes me feel sick, hollow, like someone has scooped out my insides and left me empty.
He takes a sip of his coffee, wincing slightly when it hits his injured lip. The hesitation in his movements makes my anxiety spike.
"You're scaring me," I admit. "You look like you're about to break up with me."
"Break up with you?" He sets down his cup, staring at me. "Jenna, that's the last thing—"
"Then what is it? Why do you seem so... distant?"
He leans forward, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Because the last thing I want to do is hurt you, Jenna."
"I hired a private investigator,” he explains.
The words hit me like ice water. I blink at him, certain I've misheard.
"You what?"
"A few weeks ago. I needed to understand what I was dealing with, what kind of man Reeves really is." His fingers drum against the table. "I'm sorry, Jenna. I know it sounds invasive, but—"
"It is invasive." My voice comes out sharper than I intend. "What gave you the right?"
"The gambling debt has reached over sixty thousand dollars in the past two years alone."
The number slams into me, stealing my breath. Sixty thousand. I grip the edge of the table to steady myself.
"That's impossible. He promised me he'd stopped. He swore to me—"
"There's more."
Something in his tone makes my blood turn cold. What could be worse than sixty thousand dollars of debt we can't afford? "I don't want to hear it."
"Jenna—"
"Whatever it is, I don't want to know."
But he's already leaning forward, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. "For the last two years, he's been having an affair with a bartender at the horse track. Her name is Melissa. She's thirty-two."
The world tilts sideways. The warm coffee shop suddenly feels suffocating, the cheerful chatter of other customers becoming a distant buzz. Melissa. The name echoes in my head like a curse.
"You're lying."
"Jenna—"
"You're making this up." I shoot to my feet, my chair scraping against the floor. "You're trying to manipulate me, drive me away from him so you can have me all to yourself."
"Why would I lie about something like this?"
"Because you're obsessed with me. Because you can't stand that I'm married, that I have a life that doesn't revolve around you.
" The words pour out of me, venomous and desperate.
"You hired some sleazy private investigator to dig up dirt on my husband because you can't..." My words trail off, lost in confusion and shock.
His face goes pale. "That's not…”
The weight of my own words crashes down on me like a physical blow, and I suddenly see myself as if from outside—a frantic woman hurling accusations at someone who's only ever shown her kindness.
The shock of this revelation about Reeves has hit me so hard that I've completely lost control, lashing out wildly at the one person who's been nothing but gentle and caring toward me.
My chest tightens with shame as I look at Caine's stricken face, at the hurt I've just inflicted on this amazing, sweet man who only wants what's best for me.
He didn't deserve that verbal assault. He didn't deserve to have his motives questioned so cruelly when all he's done is try to protect me from a truth that's clearly been eating him alive.
The coffee shop seems to spin around me as the full impact of what he's told me begins to sink in. Melissa. Thirty-two. Two years. The numbers arrange themselves in my mind like pieces of a horrible puzzle. My hands are shaking now, and I have to grip the edge of the table to steady myself.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I shouldn't take my anger out on you."
"It's fine… I know it's devastating news."
The pieces of my marriage suddenly rearrange themselves into a horrifying new picture, each memory taking on a sickening clarity that makes my stomach lurch.
All those "work trips" Reeves claimed he had to take—the sudden overnight runs to Boston, the weekend conferences that seemed to pop up out of nowhere, the way he'd come home exhausted and distant, smelling like unfamiliar soap and making excuses about networking events that ran late.
I remember how he'd shower immediately when he got home, how he'd be extra attentive afterward, bringing me flowers or my favorite coffee, as if he was trying to wash away his guilt with small gestures of affection.
The phone calls he'd take outside, claiming they were from suppliers.
The way he'd guard his phone like it contained state secrets, always keeping it face down on the table.
How could I have been so incredibly stupid and naive? How could I have swallowed every lie, every convenient excuse, every deflection? I prided myself on being observant, on reading people well from my years behind the bar, yet I couldn't see what was happening right under my own roof.
The signs were all there, glaring at me like neon warnings I was too trusting—too foolish—to notice.
And he has the absolute nerve to call me a whore? The hypocrisy burns through me like acid, making my hands clench into fists.
He's been living a double life for two years, while I've been struggling to keep our family together, working myself to exhaustion trying to save our failing business and care for our son.
While I've been drowning in guilt over stolen moments with Caine, Reeves has been building an entire secret relationship with much more history than mine.
I slump into my chair. “I’m sorry, Caine, but this is a lot to take in."
He takes my hand in his. "I know… I'm sorry. And if you need to talk about it, I'm here."
The only person I want to talk to about this is Liza. I feel so stupid, and she's the only one who can make me feel better right now.
"I should go."
I grab my purse and walk toward the door, my vision blurring with unshed tears. Behind me, I hear him call my name, and I turn.
The expression on his face nearly stops me in my tracks.
His eyes are filled with sorrow… sorrow for me.
The sight of Caine Hall—this powerful, self-assured man who moves through the world with such quiet confidence—reduced to this state of helpless devastation makes something twist painfully inside me.