Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
PAIGE
Iwatch, frozen, as Trevor’s mother, along with her best friend and neighbor, Krista’s mother, Monica, march out to his car, their expressions unsurprised at the fact that Trevor and Krista have arrived together.
Kennedy flounces up and directs her son to help Krista from the car like some period drama while Monica practically bounces with glee.
Trevor hesitates at her instructions. It’s almost too small to notice, but he glances at me, his head shaking just slightly.
And even from where I am sitting in the cab of Billy’s truck, I can see the way Kennedy’s shoulders go tight.
But good ol’ Bobby jogs down the front steps, smirking. “I’ll get her.”
Then, Billy calls my name, prompting me to look his way. My dark eyes catch his. “You sure you want to do this? I can take you right now. Save you from it all.”
I pull my lip into my mouth to think. Do I?
“No, no, it’s fine. Jacob is in the house, and I …
” My voice trails off because I don’t have words for the situation I’m walking into.
He shrugs his wide shoulders and reaches out to me, cupping my face just under my chin and tilting it up so he can look into my eyes again.
“Two things, honey. One, I can hit him if you want me to. It won’t hurt my feelings.
” A hiccup that sounds a lot like a sob slips out at his words.
He squeezes his fingers minutely, just a couple of times.
Eyes softening further, he continues. “I’ve never met a man more in love with his woman than that man is in love with you, but that doesn’t give him the right to fuck it all up.
” He releases my face and pats it once—gently, for such a massive man.
His expectant look confuses me for only a second.
“Oh! Oh, no. No, you don’t have to hit him, Billy.
” I offer a wobbly smile before dropping my gaze to my hands, which are strangling the discharge papers from our earlier visit.
I rummage around the cab and find my bag, slip my papers into it, and look back up to my knight in shining mechanic coveralls.
His eyes are once again focused over my shoulder, and I know before I hear the sound of the door unlatching that Trevor is waiting for me.
I let my husband help me out of the truck, flinching slightly at the pressure he unwittingly puts on my bruised side.
He says nothing about the accident, asks nothing about the baby.
The moment my feet are safely on the concrete, I step away and pull my bag into my arms—a clear boundary between our bodies.
I wave at Billy, then enter the house. Everyone else—who, only a moment ago, crowded the entryway—is already seated inside by the time we make it to the dining room.
Laughter nearly bursts from me when I take in the seating arrangement; a clear division of us versus them.
On one end of the table, Krista, Monica, Kennedy, Bobby, and Trevor are seated with Dickwhit at the head. Then, on the other end—the lesser end—Bethany, Jacob, and I are placed together, wholly ignored yet perfectly comfortable in each other’s company.
“It’s something truly special to see our kids working so closely together, isn’t it, Monica?” Kennedy gestures to Krista and Trevor while speaking to her best friend, the glass of wine gripped in her hand barely shifting at the move.
I hide a wince as I grab my elegant glass of water, foregoing the wine. When I told Kennedy that I preferred water with dinner, my mother-in-law had coldly asked her chef to “stop what you’re doing and bring out a carafe of ice water.” Then, with a sharp smile, she returned to her discussion.
I chose to come inside.
Billy had given me an out. I could have skipped the entire ordeal. I know he would’ve gotten me the hell out without any hesitation, and maybe I should have taken him up on it.
Instead, here I sit, fork in hand, remnants of a meal barely touched on my plate, talking to my unusually quiet boy.
I meet Bethany’s understanding gaze and quickly look away before her kindness makes me lose my careful composure.
We’ve both been unwilling observers to the games of these older, powerful, and beautiful women, watching them play matchmaker with my husband and the woman they’ve conveniently sat next to him.
An obnoxious giggle fills the space, and I look to see that it’s Kennedy making that undignified racket—a moniker she loves to give to my laughter.
“Krista told me how accommodating you’ve been the last couple of months, sweetheart,” Monica gushes, a bite dangling at the end of her fork.
“I can’t thank you enough for making sure her lunches aren’t spent alone anymore.
” That gains my attention, but I focus on cutting the dry meat on Jacob’s plate to avoid looking obviously surprised.
A prickle of awareness creeps across my neck, telling me somebody is watching for my reaction.
“Oh, yeah! We have an ongoing lunch date all over town. I doubt there’s anywhere we haven’t been. We’ve even gotten to try a couple of places out of town.” Krista’s sweet voice chirps from the other side of Trevor, and I nearly choke when I watch her hand move to grip his.
You have got to be freaking kidding me right now.
Trevor flinches and pulls his hand away so violently that he nearly spills his drink. “That’s not quite true—”
His oddly shaken words are interrupted by the sugary sweet voice of the woman next to him. “No, remember? Just last night, silly. We talked about it on the way to the concert.”
I’m still in my seat, my eyes take in nothing, and the conversation continues, uncovering the fractures of my shockingly fragile marriage. Krista turns wide, innocent eyes toward Bethany.
“Betty, you remember how Savage Sixty8 was nearby for a show?” I flinch at the nickname I know Beth loathes.
Her face visibly pales as she smiles a brittle smile, and her voice comes out barely above a whisper. “Yeah, I heard something about that.”
“Well, the lead singer and I go way back.” Krista flashes a callous, knowing grin at Beth before continuing.
“And he invited me to come out and see him, and since you were too busy, I convinced Trevor to come.” Her hand finds his on top of the table again, and this time, he allows her to hold it.
I drop my eyes and tighten my grip on the steak knife, but Krista keeps talking.
“The fact that it was the Fourth of July made it extra packed. That’s why Trevor was so late returning to your little get-together, Paige.
” She releases his hand and reaches for mine, but I quickly grab my drink to prevent that unwanted touch.
A hiss of disapproval comes from Trevor’s mother, and he remains silent.
“Trevor assured me he told you when we left the party that night.”
“Since he used your phone, and he is my husband, it only makes sense that he would.” She tries to grab onto his hand again, and he dodges her.
But honestly? Way too little, way too late.
My phone rings in my pocket, earning me another cold look from my mother dearest, but the name on the screen makes me pause.
It takes all of my brain power to avoid meeting my friend and sister-in-law’s eyes.
Beth Calling
I silence the call, thanking my lucky stars for an ally like Bethany, and turn a feigned regretful look to the table. “Jacob and I need to leave and take care of something.” I stand as I speak, quickly gathering the things that are mine and my child’s.
Bethany, bless her, takes my cue immediately.
“I have to go as well. I have prior engagements.” Bobby moves to her for an obligatory kiss goodbye, but she twists her face to the side first, making his lips graze her cheek instead.
She looks ice-cold in a way I’ve never seen her before—until her eyes lock with Jacob’s.
She throws him a wink, and he giggles. The low harrumph from the head of the table gives me the final push I need to walk out of the toxic family gathering.
The sounds of chairs scraping and more huffing, polite protests are followed by a set of footfalls moving in the same direction as the three of us. “Baby, wait. You don’t have your car, for some reason. Let me take you two home.”
“Pass.” I don’t look back and keep walking beside Bethany and Jacob to the front door.
I’m nearly there when a hand grips my wrist from behind.
I whip around and meet the familiar, confused face of my husband.
“What.” It doesn’t come out as a question as much as an accusation, but a small flinch from beside me makes me backtrack immediately.
I turn back to Jacob and drop down to his height, barely shorter than me anymore.
“Do I still get to go ice cream with Aunt Beth?” he asks, fully aware of what his sad face does to me. I swallow down a groan and pull on my meager acting skills to paste on a reassuring expression.
“Of course, bud. You two have fun, okay?” My answer results in the expected quick nod and radiant grin of my sweet angel baby, and he hustles after Bethany. His loving aunt is making her own quiet escape, yet her hand is already stretched out for his when he reaches her side.
Standing, I hit my stride once again, and I’m out the door directly behind them, turning left to Trevor’s Camaro, while Bethany and Jacob climb into her car.
I’m by my husband’s sleek car in the blink of an eye.
I reach to open the passenger door, but the moment I feel the cool, smooth handle along the tips of my fingers, a hand snakes out and opens it for me.
The move sends a waft of the sickening scent of Krista.
The nauseating scent prompts me to start the car and immediately roll the window down.
Trevor climbs into the driver’s seat next to me and opens his stupid mouth, but I try to stop him before he can utter a single word.
“No.”
“I just want to—”
“No. Just. Drive.” My voice is hard, my words clipped. I watch him recoil behind the wheel, his face paling at what he sees on my own, at what he can hear in my voice. Not even a momentary flutter of guilt infiltrates the walls built up around me. He made his choices.
I lean back in the seat and tap my fingers on my thighs, avoiding looking at him, but also at the road.
I am exhausted. My entire body hurts. I feel it all, from the follicles on my head pulled too tight in my messy bun, down to the aching pads of my feet, squeezed into the flats I rushed to grab on my way to this shit show.
I am aware of each uncomfortable inch of my skin.
My hand moves subtly over the place where my seat belt caught my baby and me only hours before.
My soul is drained from the adrenaline of my accident and from the stress of simply existing around Trevor’s family.
My head drops back to the headrest, and I close my eyes against the discomfort.
I need to rest—truly rest—but that has to wait until after I talk to my husband.
I brush some errant curls out of my face, then decide to take my hair down and tie it a little looser to ease some of that tension.
Unfortunately, the hair tie slips out of my uncoordinated fingers and drops into the tight space between the seat and the door.
From the corner of my eye, I see Trevor navigating the evening traffic, moving across our lively town in this uncomfortable silence.
I’d almost think he was fine, if it weren’t for the white lining his knuckles where he’s gripping the wheel and the pulsing of his sharp jaw as he clenches his teeth.
I look away before he takes my observation as an invitation to speak to me.
Instead, I turn back to my issue at hand and reach beside me to blindly search for my hair tie.
My hand hits some trash, and I reflexively try to grab it, but accidentally knock it farther out of reach.
The window is cool along my cheek as I smash my face into it to see if I can get into the small space, but I can’t get over enough to get the correct angle.
I pull my phone out and smoosh myself to the wind again, now desperately focusing on this annoying piece of trash rather than everything else falling down around me.
That light illuminates far more than I could ever have imagined. From my awkward, squashed vantage point against the windows, I take in the very familiar wrapper.
Square. Black and gold—something my husband and I haven’t used since before we were married. I blink to try to erase the image in front of me. Once. Twice. Still there.
I reach down again, flattening my hand as much as possible to pinch the edge of the packet between my pointer and middle fingers and slowly drag it up to where I can clearly see it. Where I can clearly see that it’s open. And empty.
My eyes close as my stomach rolls, and I slowly drop the hand holding the evidence of the decimation of my marriage.
Did my heart stop?
Am I supposed to know what I’m meant to do next? With this?
I’m sitting in the passenger seat of my husband’s car.
The one they took last night, while he was out until two o’clock in the morning …
while I was at home. The night he came home, covered in her scent and reeking of guilt.
For a moment, my mind convinces me we’re getting into another accident.
The excruciating pain that rockets through my body is uncontainable.
All of the details of the last month that I didn’t even consider as issues suddenly slam to the forefront of my thoughts, and I’m hit with an unexpected and uncontrollable bout of nausea.
I take in the profile of my husband, the cause of this agony. I lean toward him, not sure what I’m going to say, going to do, and then I lose my dinner directly on his lap.