Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
DEVON
Finally, I’ve landed in Los Angeles.
JFK Airport didn’t have any flights going under eight hundred dollars, but I got a red-eye flight from Newark Airport at almost midnight. It still set me back four hundred dollars, but at least I was on my way home.
Here I am, finally in LA at almost three in the morning. My back is in agony from sleeping in that stupid chair in Mila’s room, and the economy seat at the back has made it even worse.
I stretch before grabbing my bag from the ground and wave at my Uber, which has finally shown up.
It took the app fifteen minutes to locate a driver at this hour—what the hell is going on?
I slump into the backseat as the driver navigates the hazy city streets.
Palm trees shimmer under the orange glow of the streetlights, and somewhere in the distance, a siren wails.
I must doze off because the next thing I know, the driver has turned on his interior light, his dark brown eyes staring at me in the rearview mirror.
“Shit, sorry,” I mutter, climbing out of the cab.
Our house stands before me as it always has, but now it seems different.
Accusing, almost.
I’m tired, that’s all this is.
I head to the door and find it locked. No surprise: Jade must be asleep. I hunt around for my keys, cursing when I finally find them at the bottom of my bag. I had six hours on the flight to get them ready—why didn’t I? Because I was too anxious about seeing Jade.
My heart squeezes when the door opens, the scent of home hitting me immediately.
It’s dark, so I flick on some lights and gaze around our home.
Everything looks like it usually does, I guess, but it feels different. I drop my bag on the floor and grab a glass of water, gulping it down before facing the stairs.
I can’t tell Jade about the kiss.
She knows I slept in Mila’s room—I just need to make sure she knows that’s all that happened.
Fuck!
I crack my neck on either side before taking a deep breath, climbing the stairs like I have a million times. It’s dark upstairs too, and Jade isn’t a heavy sleeper. She must’ve heard me come in.
I poke my head into the darkened bedroom, waiting for my eyes to adjust.
“Jade?”
Slowly the bed comes into focus, but it’s empty.
What the fuck?
“Jade?!” I flick on the light, and my fears are confirmed—the bed is empty.
No sign of my wife.
She’s not here.
My heart races as I stride to the spare room, but that’s empty too.
“Jade!” I yell, checking every room and finding nothing.
I feel like my throat is closing, making breathing virtually impossible. I pull the drapes back and scan the street like she’ll miraculously appear.
She’s fucking left me. Nah, she wouldn’t.
Would she?
This situation is a fucking shit show.
I back away from the windows until my legs hit the bed, and I fall onto it.
Jade has gone.
I’ll call her. Fuck what time it is.
But the call goes directly to voicemail, almost like she knew I’d call her, and she didn’t want to hear from me.
“Fuck!” I throw my phone onto the bed and drop my head into my hands, my temples throbbing. She asked me to come home—and I did—but she’s gone, anyway.
Gone where?
My eyelids are scratchy and sore, but I still force myself to check the screen on my phone.
Where are you, Jade?
Forcing myself to think rationally, I realize she’s probably at Katrina’s place. Katrina is her best friend, and it’s more likely for her to go to her than to her parent’s house. I shift uncomfortably at the thought of her telling her parents I’d spent the night in another woman’s hotel room.
Nausea swims in my stomach, but I ignore it, sending Jade a text.
DEVON: I’m home, but you’re not. I know you’re mad, but please come back. I love you.
Then I fall back onto the pillows which smell of my wife and my previous life, and I scrunch up my eyes and hold my palms against them.
What have I done?
The next morning, the typical LA sunshine spills through the blinds, ripping me from my sleep, which was already shit. I groan and twist my body so I’m facing away from it, my arm reaching out for Jade.
But there is no-one beside me.
I squint, studying the empty bed beside me, the sheets still perfectly made up. Then it hits me—my wife isn’t home. She left me because I spent the night in Mila’s hotel room.
“Ugh,” I mutter, moving onto my back. The sun taunts me again, so I throw myself out of bed, my muscles protesting.
I check my phone; nothing from Jade.
Fucking great.
I head to the spare room where my weights are, and start working out, enjoying the burn. I lose track of time counting the reps, then starting again. Sweat stings my eyes, but I don’t stop. I can’t.
Up, down, breathe, stop.
Repeat.
Idiot.
Idiot.
The words fall in sync with the reps, and I scowl.
You did this.
My hands start to tremble, so I stop, finally catching sight of myself in the mirror across the room. I blink at it like it’s just appeared, even though it’s been there the entire time. I barely recognize the man staring back at me like I’ve ruined his life.
Which I have.
My eyes are bloodshot and red, my cheeks flushed, and my hands are still twitching from the weights.
I wasn’t working out; I was punishing myself.
I head for the shower, wanting to at least be clean if Jade turns up. The hot water does nothing to soothe my guilt, though, and pretty soon it’s gone cold.
My body is drained and moves like lead. The house is too quiet, unlike my head, which won’t stop buzzing with thoughts.
Why hasn’t Jade come home? Why is her phone off?
I move around the house like a ghost, unsure of what to do. I try calling her again, but all I get is her voicemail. I’m torn between wanting to drive to Katrina’s and wanting to give her the space she clearly needs. But I need to know what she’s thinking. Is it she thinks I slept with Mila?
I have to tell her that didn’t happen—and at least that’s the truth.
Her voice echoes in my head, and my brows crash together.
“She wanted you the entire time we were together, Devon. She’s a nasty bitch; you just never saw it. Fuck knows why, because you’re not stupid.”
I never saw what?
Was Mila nasty to Jade?
I raid my memories, searching for any examples. But there’s nothing—she was always smiling and kind to Jade. And wouldn’t Jade have told me if that were the case? Maybe Jade just didn’t like her because Mila wanted me.
And she got you.
No, she didn’t.
I close my eyes, irritated. I refuse to argue with myself, but it’s hard.
I kissed Mila.
Being here in our house makes that admission even harder to accept. Everything we built together, every memory and kiss, every time we made love, every laugh…it’s echoing all around me. I drag my hand through my hair and check my socials, wondering if she’s reached out there.
She hasn’t, but Mila has on Instagram from her fitness account.
Mila: Hey, Dev. Just wanted to say I hope you’re okay. I’m sure you and Jade have worked things out, and if I can help at all, just let me know.
Well, she could help by telling Jade that nothing happened.
I scoff. Jade won’t even speak to me, let alone Mila.
I try calling Jade again, but it’s the same as last time. No text messages either—it’s like my wife has disappeared.
I wonder whether to text Katrina, just to see if she’s okay. My thumb hovers over the envelope icon next to her name, and I wince as I press it.
DEVON: Is Jade okay?
I hit send before I can stop myself and then spend the next ten minutes waiting for the blue dots to appear, telling me Katrina is typing, but there’s nothing.
I pour an orange juice and pace the kitchen.
Then I hear a beep. I almost vault myself over the sofa.
KATRINA: No. Leave her alone.
I let out a strangled cry before groaning.
Oh, fuck.