chapter 102
This is driving me crazy. Every time I see you with him, I feel a piece of me break.
Now, Tobey and I sat in the first seats of the jet, each new body in the open door causing my heart to skip, my eyes frantic in their game of avoidance and need.
I tried not to look, but I failed. Then, there was the moment of glance and stick—his head ducking through the opening, a hat on his head, his eyes finding mine, the edge of his mouth barely lifting, his chin nodding, his eyes going from me to Tobey, and his mouth flattened.
“Mr. Grant,” he drawled. “Mrs. Grant.” He nodded and moved past, down the aisle.
It took every muscle in my neck to keep my head trained forward, to not turn my head and watch his exit.
I wondered if he turned around. If he glanced up at us when he sat.
I hated sitting next to Tobey. Being on this jet with both of them.
I tried to get Tobey to fly out separately, but he refused.
If he wasn’t here, I’d have your seat leaned back and my face between your thighs.
I saw the email twenty minutes after we took off, the jostle of turbulence covering up my small reactionary gasp, the uncomfortable cross of my legs. I tilted the phone away from Tobey, rereading the email, committing it to memory before I pushed the delete button.
There. Gone. I shifted in my seat, needing some relief from the sudden ache between my legs.
Tobey leaned over, kissing my neck, and the familiar stab of guilt returned.
It’d been haunting me, getting stronger by the day, gaining momentum with every touch of my husband’s hand, every whisper in my ear.
I wished I could hate him. I wished I didn’t feel pity for him.
He was too good for pity. He was too good for any of this.
Three more games.
Five more days.
Then, the lies and the deaths would all be over.