Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
DEVON
The door closes behind her and the house goes silent.
I stand there like a fucking statue, staring at the space where my wife was standing seconds ago.
She’s gone.
Jade is gone.
My legs give out and I sink to the ground, my back sliding against the kitchen cabinets until I'm slumped on the floor. The same floor we picked out together three years ago, arguing over which kind of wood would hide scuff marks better.
I press my palms against my eyes until I see stars, but I can still hear her voice echoing in my skull.
You fucking kissed the woman who laughed at my sunburned skin. Who made constant jokes about my weight.
I didn't know. How did I not know? All those years in high school, Mila smiling at Jade, acting friendly—and behind my back she was tearing my girl apart, the fucking bitch.
My girl.
Is she even mine anymore?
A pitiful sob escapes my throat, and I hate it. I hate how pathetic I am, sitting on my kitchen floor while my marriage falls apart because of my stupid fucking decisions.
I should get in my car, drive to Katrina's and beg Jade to hear me out.
But what would I say? What defense do I have?
I kissed another woman on our anniversary. Then I lied about it. While Jade questioned herself, while she wondered if she was losing her mind, I let her believe she was the problem.
You were protecting yourself.
She's right. That's exactly what I’d been doing.
I drag myself off the floor and stumble to the living room, collapsing onto the couch that still smells like her. Like vanilla and that coconut shampoo she uses. I grab one of the throw pillows and press it against my face, breathing her in, and the pain in my chest owns me.
What have I done?
My phone pings in my pocket, and for one desperate second, I think it's Jade. That she's changed her mind, that she's coming back, that we can fix this—
It's fucking Mila.
UNKNOWN: Are we still on for tomorrow?
Rage flows through me so fast, I nearly throw my phone across the room.
This is her fault. Her fucking texts and insinuations, her voice on the phone planting doubts in my head about what happened that night—
No.
I stop myself, my hand shaking around the phone.
This isn't Mila's fault. Not really. She didn't force me to drink with her or make me follow her to her room. She didn't pry my lips open and kiss me.
I did all of that. Every choice, every lie—that was on me. Shame burns my cheeks.
And here I was, going to meet her for fucking coffee.
I hate myself.
I delete Mila's message, and then I block her number.
It should have been done two fucking weeks ago. The second I landed back in LA; I should have wiped her out of my life completely.
But I didn't, because I’m a fucking prick.
I need to talk to someone. Anyone. But who? Ross doesn't know the full story, and even if he did, he's not exactly equipped for marriage counseling. He’s only a colleague. My mom would be devastated—she loves Jade like a daughter.
I have fucking no one, and it’s my fault. I poured everything into my work and my wife, and now I’m regretting it.
What about Katrina?
I almost dismiss the thought immediately. Katrina fucking hates me right now, and rightfully so. She's Jade's best friend, her fierce protector. She'd sooner cut off my balls than listen to my side.
But she's also the only person who might help.
I pull up her number and call her, my heart thumping like it wants out.
She answers on the third ring.
"What do you want?" Her voice is icy.
"Is Jade there? Is she okay?"
"She's in my guest room crying her eyes out, so no, I wouldn't say she's okay."
Fuck. My poor baby.
"Katrina, please—"
"Please what? Do you want me to feel sorry for you? You lied to her face, Devon. You fucked her while you were lying to her. Do you have any idea how violated she feels right now?"
I close my eyes. "I know."
"Do you? Because from where I'm standing, you don't know shit."
"I fucked up." My voice cracks, and I don't even try to hide it. "I fucked up so badly, Katrina. I know that. But I need—I need to explain. Not to make excuses. I have to tell her everything."
"Everything?" Katrina sounds like she’s gonna blow. "Are you saying there's more? You’re one sick son of a bitch, Devon.”
"No. I mean—" I scrub a hand over my face. "The kiss is all that happened.” I exhale shakily, my cheeks still wet from my tears.
"Then why didn't you tell Jade from the start?"
"Because I'm a fucking coward. Because I thought if she didn't know, we could move past it. I thought I was protecting her."
"You were protecting yourself; you dick.”
"I know." I'm crying again, tears sliding down my cheeks, and I don't give a shit. "You're right. Jade said the same thing. And she's right. I was selfish and scared, and I made everything worse."
Katrina is quiet for a long moment. I can hear her breathing, can picture her standing in her immaculate condo with her arms crossed, deciding whether to hang up on me or hear me out.
"What do you want from me, Devon?"
"I want to talk to her. Face to face when she's ready. But I don't think she'll agree unless you help."
"So, you want me to what—play mediator?"
"I want you to be there. For her. To make sure I don't say the wrong thing, to protect her if I fuck this up again.
" I take a ragged breath. "I love her, Katrina.
I know you probably don't believe me right now, but I love her more than anything in this fucking world.
And I will do whatever it takes to make this right. Even if it means losing her."
The line goes quiet again.
"You should lose her," Katrina finally says. "After what you did, you deserve to lose her."
"I know."
"But she loves you too. God knows why." She sighs, and it’s heavy. "I'll talk to her. If she doesn't want to see you, you back off. Understood?"
"Understood."
"And Devon?"
"Yeah?"
"If you lie to her again—about anything—I will personally make sure you regret it for the rest of your miserable fucking life."
I almost laugh but nothing about this is funny.
"I believe you."
She hangs up without saying goodbye.
I sit in the silence of our empty house, Jade's scent still clinging to everything around me, and I let myself feel it all: the shame, the guilt, the fucking fear, the desperate hope that I haven't destroyed us beyond repair.
All I can do is pray, and I’ve never been a religious man, so even that’s fucking useless.
But still I bow my head and say a prayer to a God I’ve never believed in before, hoping he’s listening.