31. Animals – Dakota
31
ANIMALS
DAKOTA
T he whiskey burns as it slides down my throat, but it's not enough to dull the panic. Lauren's voicemail plays on repeat in my head: "Dakota, it's me. I... I need to talk to you. It's important. Please call me back as soon as you can."
That was days ago. I've called. I've texted. Nothing but radio silence.
My fingers shake as I dial her number again. One ring. Two. Three. I'm about to hang up when?—
"Dakota?" Lauren's voice is hesitant, wary.
"Well, look who finally decided to pick up the fucking phone," I snarl, relief and rage and alcohol all warring for dominance. “Are you guys okay?”
"We’re fine. But Dakota, I?—"
"Wait, what? No, you don't get to talk," I interrupt, my voice rising. "Do you have any fucking idea what I've been going through? I thought something happened to you, or to Roman. I thought… I thought you were fucking leaving me or some shit."
"Dakota, please?—"
"Please what? Please forgive you for fucking ignoring me for days? Please understand why you'd leave a cryptic voicemail and then disappear? What the fuck, Lauren?"
There's a pause, and when Lauren speaks again, her voice is tight. "Are you drunk?"
The question hits me like a slap, momentarily deflating my anger. "I... yeah. Yeah, I am. I'm sorry, Lauren. I'm so fucking sorry. I've been drinking again. I thought... something happened to you. And then I thought you were ghosting me. That I'd screwed everything up somehow."
"Dakota—" she starts, but now that I've begun, I can't stop.
"No, let me finish. I've been a mess. The tour, the pressure... I thought I could handle it. One fucking drink, you know? But it's never just one, is it? And then you called, and you sounded so serious, and then you wouldn't fucking answer, and I thought?—"
"Dakota!" Lauren's sharp tone cuts through my rambling. "Stop. Just... stop. This isn't about you drinking. Well, it wasn’t, but I guess we’ll get to that."
I feel my stomach drop, anger giving way to fear. "What do you mean?"
She takes a deep breath. "Something's happened. Or... I found out something. About Miles. And... and your wife, Chloe."
The world seems to shift under me. "What about them?"
"I... A woman came into the diner. Nikki, Miles' ex. She told me... she said Miles was with a married woman the night he died. That they died together."
The words plow into me. I sink onto the edge of the hotel bed, my mind reeling. "What are you saying, Lauren?"
"I think... I think Miles and Chloe really were together that night, Dakota. The night they both died."
The silence stretches between us, heavy with implication. My drunk brain struggles to process this information. Miles and Chloe? Together?
"That's... that's fucking bullshit," I finally manage, anger flaring again. "You ignored me for days because of some gossip? Some bullshit story from Miles' ex?"
"It's not just gossip, Dakota," Lauren says, her own voice rising. "The timing fits. The circumstances. We talked about the coincidence--"
"Fuck the circumstances!" I shout. "Chloe wouldn't... she couldn't..."
But even as I say it, doubts creep in. The late nights. The secretive phone calls. The way she'd pull away when I tried to talk about starting a family. The sudden coldness in our last months together. I’ve been pretending this whole time that things were fine with us until the end, but I know deep down that I’ve been lying to myself.
"Dakota?" Lauren's voice is soft, uncertain. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know how to tell you. I've been trying to figure out how to?—"
"Is that why you've been ignoring my calls?" I interrupt, fury and hurt tangling in my chest. I have so many fucking emotions running through me at once, and I don’t know where to direct any of it. "You've known this for days, and you didn't fucking tell me? You let me think the worst?"
"I was trying to process it myself," Lauren shoots back. "I even tried to get the police report, but they wouldn't give it to me. Said I wasn't next of kin."
Her words barely register as my mind spirals. Chloe. My wife. The woman I'd promised to love and cherish. Had she really betrayed me like this? Had our entire marriage been a lie?
"Dakota, are you still there?" Lauren's voice cuts through my thoughts.
"Yeah," I manage, my voice hoarse. "I just... I can't fucking believe it. Chloe and I, we had our problems, sure, but this? Cheating on me with your ex? Fucking dying with him? It's too much."
"I know it's a lot to take in," Lauren says softly. "I'm so sorry, Dakota. I never wanted to hurt you like this."
A bitter laugh escapes me. "Hurt me? Lauren, if this is true... God, my whole life with Chloe feels like a fucking lie now. Every memory, every moment... was she thinking of him? Was I just a placeholder?"
"Dakota, you can't think like that?—"
"How else am I supposed to think?" I snap, anger rising again. "My dead wife might have been cheating on me with your dead ex. It's like some sick fucking cosmic joke."
There's a pause, and when Lauren speaks again, her voice is thick with unshed tears. "I don't know what to say, Dakota. I don't know how to make this better."
The fight drains out of me, leaving nothing but a hollow ache. "You can't make it better, Lauren. No one can."
We sit in silence, miles apart but connected by this shared pain. Finally, I clear my throat. "I need to... I need some time to think. To sober up. Can we... can we talk tomorrow? When I'm clear-headed?"
"Yeah," Lauren agrees softly. "That's probably a good idea. Dakota?"
"Yeah?"
"I do love you. Whatever this means, whatever happens... I love you."
The words are both a balm and a knife. "I love you too," I whisper, feeling utterly lost.
As the call ends, I stare at the bottle of whiskey on the nightstand. The guilt and shame of my harsh words with Lauren slice deep into my soul. I was a fucking dick to her, but yet she still said she loved me. What the fuck is wrong with me? How could I do that to her? She didn’t deserve any of that. Fuck, she’s probably going through more pain than I am right now, and I just completely ignored her feelings.
This has to fucking stop.
With a sudden surge of resolve, I grab the bottle and head for the bathroom. As I watch the amber liquid swirl down the drain, one thought echoes in my mind:
What the hell do I do now? And how do I even begin to unravel the truth about Chloe?