Chapter Twenty-Four
Thayer
I’ve been in the kitchen all afternoon, working on perfecting dinner. I’m not particularly renowned for my cooking and typically let our chef handle all of our meals, but I chose to dismiss her for the evening.
It would have been easier to let her handle this bit so I could focus on the upcoming confrontation, but part of me—a foolish, irrational part of me—thought that if I cooked a perfect dinner, then maybe everything would be alright.
I place two plates on the dining room table and sit down, anxiously wringing my hands. Then I wait for my husband to come home to me.
Bile sits heavy and sour in the back of my throat. My heart races and my hands are clammy. I tell myself it’s the heat from the stove causing this reaction in my body, but I know it’s not. I’m shaking, hoping against hope that there’s a good explanation for what I discovered.
That my world isn’t going to be ripped from under me again, like it last was at RCA.
I’m used to sharing my husband. He’s the biggest star in England, the most iconic footballer and cultural icon since David Beckham. He has millions of adoring fans of both sexes throwing themselves at his feet wherever he goes. I’m used to only getting pieces and watching others claim parts of him for themselves.
But not this .
Never this.
The front door opens. It’s immediately followed by indecipherable muttering as Rhys greets our butler, James, and then he’s in the dining room with me.
“Honey, I’m home!” he exclaims, putting on a jovial American accent.
His business trip must have gone very well.
Acid swells once more in my stomach, causing painful cramps.
My back is to the doorway so I don’t get a look at him before he wraps me in a hug from behind and buries his face in my neck.
“I’m so happy to be home, love.” He inhales deeply then grumbles appreciatively. “One hit of your scent and I’m drunk. Love drunk.” I can hear the grin in his voice without turning around.
“How was New York?”
“It was great, minus the fact that I thought about you the entire time.”
If he notices how stiff I am in his arms, he doesn’t comment on it. He sounds like himself. Happy, carefree, easygoing.
My husband, exactly as I know him.
Not a liar.
“It smells amazing. Did Trudy cook?”
“No, I sent her home.” There’s no hiding the hollow note in my voice now. “I cooked tonight. Chickpea curry.”
Rhys stiffens and releases me slowly. I hear him unfold himself to his full height behind me, his hands leaving my body. Then he’s rounding the table to where his plate waits for him, getting his first look at my face when he comes to stand opposite me.
Our gazes connect and his eyes narrow slightly. He rubs his hand across his jaw thoughtfully as he takes in my tight expression and the harsh line of my lips.
“My favorite,” he comments. There’s a reason I chose to make that specific dish tonight; to remind him of what an amazing wife he has at home, even as he betrays me. “What a great welcome home.” His tone is cautious, the lightness from moments earlier now gone. “Where are the kids?”
“They’re sleeping over at Nera’s.” I take a sip from my wine glass, taking a moment to equally savor the dry red and measure my words. “I didn’t want them here for this.”
Rhys swallows thickly. His eyes narrow further, then scrape down the length of me like he’s going to find the answer to an unsolvable riddle in my body language.
“Didn’t want them here for what?” he finally asks. “What’s wrong?”
There’s genuine worry on his face, a promise that he’ll fight whatever battle I need him to etched on his features.
This is my husband.
This man right here.
The same man who rescued me not one month ago when I got stuck in an elevator for the second time in my life.
He and I were meeting our friends at Sinclair Royal to discuss the status of our portfolio, then heading out to lunch. I arrived minutes before him and rode up the elevator alone to the twentieth floor.
Somewhere between the seventeenth and the eighteenth, there was a loud, screeching noise and then the cage came to an abrupt, jolting stop.
The force of the elevator coming to a sudden halt sent me sprawling to my hands and knees.
It took the length of time of pushing my hair out of my face to realize that I was stuck.
It took far less time to realize I was terrified and on the brink of blacking out.
Past experiences hiding from my mother’s many dangerous boyfriends made me petrified of tight spaces. I avoid them with ease so as not to trigger my claustrophobia or the inevitable ensuing panic, but faulty elevators seem drawn to me.
The first time I was stuck in one, I was lucky because Rhys was in the elevator with me.
This time he wasn’t. I cursed myself for being impatient and not waiting those few extra minutes to have him with me.
Being alone while scared out of my mind made the experience that much more terrifying.
I sat on the floor, in the corner, my legs drawn up to my chest, my eyes closed, and my hands pressed tightly over my ears to try to drown out the sensory overload. If I couldn’t see it or hear it, maybe I’d believe the elevator wasn’t there. Maybe I wouldn’t feel like the walls were closing in on me.
Try as I might, I couldn’t shut out the noise, or the lack thereof.
Not the eerie silence, which scared me just as much as the screeching brakes, and not the subsequent sound of screaming metal followed by a loud thunk above my head.
I only had time to look up, lifting my hands a couple of cautious inches off of my ears, before a ceiling panel crashed to the floor at my feet with a decided thump .
My scream of terror was prepped in my throat but I never got a chance to release it. I blinked and suddenly Rhys was in the cage with me.
Convinced the claustrophobia was making me hallucinate my greatest wish, I didn’t react to my husband’s impossible appearance.
Not until he gave me a familiar crooked grin set below a concerned and searching pair of eyes. His hands reached for me in the same breath, wrapping me into his arms as he whispered “hi, love” into my hair.
Later, I’d learn from Bellamy that when he learned I was stuck in the elevator, he raced up the emergency flights of stairs in one go, emerging on the eighteenth floor barely winded and storming towards the elevator, determined to destroy the machine that held me trapped. He’d pried the doors open with his bare hands and, in an impressive feat of athleticism, had jumped down the ten feet that separated where he stood from where the elevator was stuck between the two floors, landing smoothly on top of the cage. He’d kicked in the panel and dropped in next to me like Spider-Man himself.
He knew that when he jumped into the elevator shaft and down into the cage below, he would be trapping himself with me for as long as it took the firefighters to come rescue us. He did it without thinking twice, flinging himself off the landing before Bellamy could even put out a hand to attempt to stop him, and he held me for two hours while we waited, his presence instantly calming.
Once we were free, word of his heroics spread like wildfire. It came as no surprise to find him gracing the cover of the London Times the following morning.
That’s Rhys. That’s my husband.
That was him barely a month ago.
And now we’re here, staring at each other, tipping perilously close to the edge with a much steeper drop below us and no cage there to catch our fall.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“We need to talk.”
“Sounds ominous.” He chuckles as he lowers his big frame into his seat. When I don’t laugh in return, he freezes halfway down, his smile wiping instantly off his face. “Silver?”
There are tears in my eyes but I blink them away. If I start crying now, I’ll lose my nerve. I’ll choose the easier road, the one I hesitated between for days, agonizing over whether to confront him or live in blissful ignorance.
We’re happy. What I don’t know won’t hurt me, right?
Wrong.
I fiddle with the jewelry on my left hand. The massive engagement ring and the wedding band Rhys slid onto my finger ten years ago. He asks me a question but I don’t hear him over the roaring in my ears.
I slide the rings off and set them on the table.
The sound of them quietly touching the wooden surface echoes as loudly as a gunshot in the tense, deafening silence that hangs between us.
The low-ball glass in Rhys’s hand freezes halfway to his mouth. His brows draw together, his gaze remaining fixed unflinchingly on the rings. He’s sitting now, which is good. I couldn’t do this if he loomed over me, intimidating me with his presence.
So slowly it’s almost unbearable, he sets the glass down without taking a drink. The confused look on his face is only overshadowed by the swiftly darkening color of his eyes.
He’s never quick to anger, my husband.
Never.
Not unless he feels like his claim over me is being threatened. There is no clearer indication of that than me taking off my rings, and if his face is anything to go by, he fucking hates it.
Hypocrite.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
The carefully controlled anger in his question weakens my bravery until I feel like I’ll bend beneath the force of his gaze.
I gather my wits about me and steel my spine.
“When you put these rings on my finger, you took a vow. We both did. To be faithful for the rest of our lives.”
The muscle beneath his left eye twitches. “Yeah.”
I push the rings towards him. I don’t mean for them to scrape across the wood, but they do and he flinches. The hand he has laying nonchalantly on the table balls into a tight, brutal fist. Throttled veins bulge from beneath his skin and run down the length of his wrist.
I nod at the rings before meeting his gaze. “Then do I still have a reason to be wearing these?”
An angry hiss whistles sharply past his lips.
He leans forward, eating the distance between us across the table and easily dwarfing me into the back of my seat. This close, I can see the rage in his eyes.
“Put them back on.”
Every word is twisted with fury.
He’s seconds away from a catastrophic explosion when it’s my anger that should be driving this, my heart that’s broken.
I open my mouth to say something since he doesn’t seem inclined to actually answer my question.
Whatever words I was about to utter, they’re cut off by the sound of his fist slamming down viciously hard on the table.
So hard that the plates, cutlery, and even the candlesticks lift an inch off the surface before landing back down in a cluttered mess.
Chickpea curry splatters everywhere.
Unlike him, I don’t flinch.
I didn’t know how Rhys was going to react, but I’d been prepared for anything.
Anger doesn’t surprise me.
“Put the rings back on now, Thayer,” he seethes. “How dare you even ask me that?”
“Did you have a good work trip?” I ask, my tone pleasant. “Did you get everything you needed done?”
He eyes me cautiously. “Yes…”
“Where were you, Rhys?”
“You know where I was. I was in—”
It’s the affected look of confusion on his face like I’m the one lying through my teeth that makes me snap, finally shattering the charade.
“Before you lie to me again, I know you weren’t in New York.”
Rhys’s fist relaxes, the veins disappearing back beneath his skin as before. He deflates, slumping into his chair as if overcome with exhaustion, his face suddenly pale. With the distance reestablished between us, I feel like I can breathe again.
Last week, Rhys had announced that he and Seymour were traveling to New York City for a few days to help recruit a young, very sought after American talent to come play for Arsenal. Using your stars to woo emerging players is pretty commonplace so I believed him without a second thought.
Honestly, even if he’d given me a ludicrous excuse like he was going to New York for a haircut, I would have believed him without question. That’s how much I trusted him.
But he’d lied , and we don’t lie to each other in this family.
Not since RCA.
That’s our golden rule.
“Hayes broke her wrist at school. I tried calling several times but you weren’t answering your cell so I called Seymour to see if he could put you on the phone. Imagine my surprise when I found out he was in London and not New York as you’d made me believe. There was no work trip.” I laugh humorlessly. “He tried his best to cover for you but he was wholly unprepared to lie, poor guy.” Clearing my throat of the tears that are lodged there, I add, “Given this elaborate cover story you concocted and all the lies you’ve told, including since you sat down, I’m assuming you flew somewhere to meet up with another woman.”
It’s my turn to close the distance between us this time. When I lean, my mouth is set in an angry rictus, twisted by anger and betrayal. I turn to humor as my defense mechanism to shield myself from the worst of my emotions as I’ve always done.
“Pro-tip for when you inevitably cheat on your second wife—make sure you let your friend know he’s your alibi before you involve him in your lies. You might actually get away with it next time.”
Rhys holds my gaze after I’m done with my tirade, letting the silence stretch for poisonously long seconds. His eyes are inscrutable, the emotion in them deeply guarded. Where there was anger just moments ago, there’s nothing now.
We sit there with my rage brewing and building between us, and then he abruptly cuts off the eye contact. He may as well have ripped out my heart.
He sighs heavily and his eyes drop to his hands where they rest in his lap.
Like a needle brought to a balloon, my anger explodes into nothingness. It doesn’t erupt out of me, it simply… disappears.
And I wish it would come back because it leaves all the hurt behind, now without the much-needed protection of my fury. I feel alone and vulnerable and scared, except this time Rhys isn’t there to jump into the elevator to save me.
He’s the walls closing in on me.
As angry as I was, part of me—that same foolish, irrational part from before—had hoped there was another explanation.
His averted gaze does away with that futile hope as quickly as wiping marker off a blackboard.
There’s me and my hurt left, and nothing else.
“Oh, god… Rhys…”
The brokenness in my voice is evident to the both of us.
I didn’t think he would actually cheat on me.
I really didn’t.
Since we broke up our senior year, he hasn’t lied to me. Not once. I truly didn’t think he’d ever hurt me like this again.
Stupid, stupid, me .
The tears are back and this time there’s no stopping them. They roll down my face, evidence of my heartbreak.
“How long?” I ask. My voice is brittle. Like hand blown glass easily broken by a passing breeze.
I don’t know why I ask.
I don’t care.
I need to know, but I don’t care. I don’t care .
Maybe if I say it enough times, I’ll believe it.
Maybe I can wish it into existence.
His continued silence is starting to hurt as much as the confirmation of his infidelity. After fifteen years together, I thought he’d at least have the decency to be honest with me if he’d made a mistake.
I wouldn’t forgive him, but I’d have a little more respect for him than I do now.
There’s a violence in my hands as I push back from the table. I stand and my momentum sends my chair crashing to the ground at my feet with a cacophonous bang.
I can’t look at this, this… this stranger I’ve shared my house and bed with for almost half my life. I can’t bear to be in the same room as him.
I don’t know him at all.
I’m halfway to the door when his hand closes around my elbow and he yanks me violently back into his chest. He traps me so tightly against him that I can feel his heart thrashing through his clothes. My head tucks easily under the painfully stiff line of his jaw, even as I try to shove off of him.
“I’m not letting you walk away from me again,” he bites out, irate.
“Let me go!”
James comes to investigate the source of the loud bang, his timing unfortunate.
My husband whirls on him next.
“ Get the fuck out ,” Rhys snarls at him, hand tightening on my elbow as the ugly roar rips from his lips.
James scurries away with a respectful dip of his head, averting his eyes from the scene. Once he’s gone, Rhys’s glare slides from the door and down to me. He stares daggers into me, the blades of his eyes so sharp they cut actual wounds into my body.
The air is so thin between us, it’s unbreathable. Still, his chest heaves furiously, up and down and up and down, managing to drag in oxygen I can’t seem to find.
“How long have you been cheating on me for?”
His jaw grinds so tightly together, I’m surprised he doesn’t come up with a mouthful of crushed teeth. “I’m not cheating on you.”
“Who is she?” I barely recognize my voice. It’s small and shaky with no hint of my usual confidence. “What’s her name?”
“I’m not fucking cheating on you, Silver.”
With one last stern look in my direction, he shakes his head and reaches for the fallen chair. He releases my elbow and traps my wrist in his fist instead. When the chair is back on its legs, he pushes me into it.
I try shaking his hold loose but his hand only tightens around me, an animalistic growl leaving his lips warning me to stay put.
He kneels between my legs and tugs my wrist towards him. Without looking up at me, he opens his other palm, revealing the rings he has clutched in his fist. He must have swiped them off the table before he came after me.
Rhys pushes the wedding band back on my fourth finger, followed immediately by my engagement ring.
“I really don’t like it when you take these off, love,” he warns, voice tight.
His words would be no more obvious a threat than if he’d held an actual gun to my head when he said them. His voice shakes under the strain of his barely controlled temper but he kisses the back of my palm as if to soften the anger in his words.
“You’re right, I wasn’t in New York.” His eyes lift to mine, deep, dark, enticing blue. “I lied.” The remaining air dies a quick death in my lungs at his admission but he doesn’t let it stand. “I was in Chicago.”
I freeze.
My hometown.
“Why?”
“I got a call that your mum relapsed last week. I was there to help her get admitted back into rehab.”
A cold drift washes through my body, robbing me of my words. I can’t even process what he’s just said to me. It’s so far from the truth I’d manufactured in my head and shocking in so many different ways that I find I’m capable of no more eloquent a response than, “What?”
He remains kneeling between my legs, his hand squeezing mine. “I lied to you and I’m sorry. If I’m being honest, I never intended for you to find out. I was going to take this secret to the grave with me.” He brings my hand up to his mouth and kisses the tips of my fingers. “I know how it affects you every time she relapses—how you suffer. I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing you get hurt like that again. I couldn’t let that happen.”
After my mom’s ninth attempt at getting clean since Rhys and I started dating, I had hope that things had changed for the better. This time, she’d been sober for over a year. She had a consistent job in a diner, a new apartment, and she attended meetings. We were in regular contact via FaceTime and she looked well. Better than she had in a long time.
It wasn’t the first time I thought things would be different. It had happened before, countless times. But I felt this time was the time. She’d taken steps she never had before and I was older, wiser, more adept at spotting the lies if they were there, more guarded against the hurt if it came. Or so I thought.
I’d let my guard down and put my trust forward.
She’d made me pay for that gullibility in spectacular fashion by showing up to Ivy’s birthday high as a kite and stinking of cheap vodka.
I’d cried for days afterwards, absolutely shattered by this newest betrayal. Rhys had seen me through that particular heartbreak like he had every other before it, steadfast and loyal as ever. But I’d seen how my pain had hardened him, chiseling his anger to stone inside him.
That was a year ago and I’d barely talked to my mom since. I heard from Nolan that she’d gotten clean again in that time, but I no longer believed it.
Given the context, I can understand why Rhys would seek to distance me from a tenth relapse.
He stares at me with eyes gauging for my reaction and a softness on his features that completely undoes me.
“I didn’t want you carrying that burden anymore. I’ve helped her through every relapse before this one and I’ll continue to do so until it sticks, because one day it will. There’s no reason for you to put yourself through that pain over and over again when I can take it on for you.” He reaches up to cup my face, brushing a fresh tear off my cheek like it was never there. “I was with her for three days making sure her intake was done correctly. She’s well taken care of. She’s safe.”
He pulls out his phone and shows me a picture he took of her room. I can’t help but spot the fresh flowers on the bedside table.
Lilies, her favorite.
It’s not hard to guess whose thoughtful attention resulted in those flowers being in her room.
“We’ve done this before, her and I. We have a bit of a routine. But that was before. She hurt you and she could have hurt our daughters so she needs to change. I didn’t go easy on her. I think this time it’ll be different.” The corners of his eyes tighten. “I’m sorry for lying to you,” he repeats. “You’re loud and you’re funny and you’re joyful and when she makes you quiet and sad and mournful, I see red. I only wanted to take all your pain away, not inadvertently cause you more hurt.” He reaches up and laces my throat in a possessive gesture, his pupils flaring. “What I didn’t lie about is the fact that I thought about you the entire time I was gone. I understand that my lies made me look suspicious, but cheating?” His hand tightens around my throat. “What do you imagine I’d have been looking for when you’ve already given me everything ? I’d sooner cut off a limb than ever touch anybody else. And I’d sooner never make another sound again than laugh with someone else. I’m wholly devoted to you—I have been for the last fifteen years and I will be for the next sixty, until we’re old and wrinkly and watching our great-grandchildren grow up together.”
I dig my palms into my eyes, hoping the pressure will stop the tears from flowing freely like they have been the entire time he’s been speaking. It’s a useless endeavor — they keep streaming down my face no matter how hard I try to stop them.
I can’t see him but I can feel his anxiety. His uncertainty. It ripples off him in thick waves that crash against me.
“Are you angry with me for lying to you?” His hands come down on my thighs and run up and down my flesh soothingly. “You have every right to be. I promised you I would never lie to you again.”
I shake my head vehemently, still crying.
I’ve been so stupid. And the relief is so fucking monumental, I can’t seem to control my emotions.
We don’t have to break up. I don’t have to learn to live without him.
Thank god .
A fresh sob rips from my mouth.
“No.” I hear his breath catch on his lips. “Thank you for always protecting me.” Wiping my eyes with the back of my sleeves, I finally look at him once more. He’s where I left him, kneeling before me like a priest would get on his knees before God, every inch of him attuned to and waiting for my reactions. “I feel foolish for accusing you now. I really thought you were cheating on me. I–I couldn’t believe it, but you lied… and then you said nothing when I confronted you.”
His hands tighten painfully on my thighs. “I didn’t speak because I physically couldn’t. I couldn’t get around the shock jamming my throat closed that you’d believe I would ever cheat on you.” His voice deepens with fresh anger. “And the second wife dig? That was vicious,” he growls. His fingers find my rings, pushing them down until the metal digs painfully into the webbing. “Take these off one more time, Silver, and I’ll be forced to intervene so you can never do it again. I’ll find a doctor who’ll fuse them directly to the bone of your finger for me.” He pulls me towards him until my ass is hanging off the edge of the chair, his hands caressing my skin back and forth in a vaguely threatening fashion. “I’m nice, love, but push me again and we’ll see how much you like my reaction to your provocation.”
The guilt eats at me. I’m the one who fucked up this time, accusing him of the worst betrayal when the whole time he was acting as my biggest protector.
Softening at the expression on my face, he adds, “You’re my family and I love you.”
“How I’ll ever get you to forgive me, I don’t know. I’m s—”
“Forgiven.”
His interruption slices through my words before I can even get the apology out.
“But—”
“You’re forgiven.”
It’s a statement of facts, clearly not up for discussion.
“I don’t deserve—”
“I would have thought the exact same thing.” He gathers me into his arms, pulling me down into his lap on the floor. An arrogant smirk curves his lips, pulling an immensely relieved sigh from me that we’re seemingly getting back to normal so quickly. “All it means is that you love me and that you can’t stand the thought of me being with anyone else. How could I ever be mad about that?”
With a choked sob I throw my arms around his neck and crush my mouth to his. The kiss screams of desperation and wholehearted apologies. It roars of love and loyalty, the kind that most people could only ever dream of.
I’m lucky and I won’t forget it or doubt it again.
Rhys pulls back only just far enough to break the kiss, but his lips remain hovering over mine. “I’m going to fuck you quick and then we’re going to go pick up the girls and bring them back here. I don’t care how late it is, I’m not letting my family be fractured away from me for even one night over this. We’re sleeping together under one roof tonight.” He fists my hair and yanks my head back. I wince at the sting in my scalp but my eyes widen when he shifts his face to loom over mine. The anger is back in his gaze for a moment, just long enough to issue one final warning. “No more talk of leaving me. No more second wife jokes. If you’re no longer my wife, it means I’m already dead. Now lay back on the table and spread your legs.”
***