Chapter 55
“What the hell is this?” I demand, holding the phone up when Sam steps out of the bedroom, his hair still damp.
He stares at the phone. There’s a stiffness to his voice when he says, “You’ll need to be more specific.”
“‘Last night was fun,’” I say, reciting the text message. “‘We should do it again soon.’ Care to explain?”
Sam furrows his brow. He takes the phone from me, then looks down at the screen, which is unlocked because I know his passcode. “I have no idea what this is.”
“That’s convenient.” It’s a local number that isn’t in Sam’s contacts, and I don’t recognize it. “You came in last night really late and smelling of liquor. Who were you with?”
“You know very well who I was with because I told you already. My meeting ran over, and then I went for drinks with the guys from the office. It’s probably from one of them.”
It doesn’t sound like the sort of text that one man would send to another, especially a coworker. It feels too . . . intimate . . . even though there isn’t any overt display of emotion in the message. I say as much.
Sam shrugs, anger dancing in his eyes. “I can’t help that.”
“Don’t you have the phone numbers of everyone you work with in your contacts?”
“I don’t know. Probably.” He looks down at the phone and types a quick message, then turns the screen toward me so that I can see what he wrote.
Don’t recognize the number. Who is this?
For a moment, nothing happens. Then a new message appears.
Sorry. Wrong number.
“Satisfied?”
I nod, because what else can I do? Of course, if the text was from our neighbor, or some other woman he was having a dalliance with, she would probably read between the lines and reply exactly like that.
“Good. How about next time, you don’t jump to conclusions. What did you think? That I was out screwing around?”
“I never said that.” It’s a weak attempt to backpedal, especially since that was exactly what I was thinking. I mean, who wouldn’t?
“Yeah, right.” Sam sees right through my protestations.
“There’s nothing going on between me and Kalina, and I don’t appreciate the insinuation that there is.
” He shakes his head. “I don’t know, maybe this is all just another manifestation of whatever the hell is going on with you, but pushing me away, accusing me of stuff I haven’t done, isn’t going to bring our child back. ”
“That’s a horrible thing to say.” I glare at him, tears welling in my eyes. How dare he go there. It’s heartless. “None of this is about our baby.”
“No, it’s about you thinking I fucked the woman across the hall,” Sam rages. He turns and stomps toward the front door, throwing one last dig over his shoulder as he goes. “This isn’t normal. You need help, Jordan. Like serious, professional help.”
“What?” I can sense the threads of our relationship falling away. I want to catch them, put everything back the way it should be. I just don’t know how. “Where are you going?”
“Out. I need some time alone. Don’t wait up.”