5. Rae
RAE
The airline's parking lot was half-empty.
I pulled the truck into a visitor's spot near the entrance and cut the engine.
The building sat in front of me, all glass and steel, three stories of windows reflecting the late afternoon sun.
Nash's building. The airline he'd built from nothing, the world he disappeared into every morning and didn't come home from until late at night.
The place that mattered more than the little house in Cibolo Heights, more than the promises he'd made, maybe more than me.
Stop it.
I yanked the keys from the ignition and shoved the door open before I could second-guess myself.
Enid had said to stop waiting and put myself into his world, and she was right.
I'd been sitting in that house alone for too long, hoping Nash would notice I was fading.
He wasn't going to notice unless I made him.
Unless I showed up and reminded him I existed outside of the penthouse he came home to after midnight when I was already asleep.
My boots hit the pavement and I slammed the truck door harder than I needed to. The sound echoed across the lot. Nobody looked. The few cars scattered near the building were empty, their owners inside doing the work that kept the airline running. The work Nash cared about more than anything else.
The lobby was quiet when I pushed through the glass doors.
A receptionist I didn't recognize glanced up from her desk, smiled politely, and went back to her computer.
She didn't ask who I was or what I wanted.
I'd been here maybe three times in seven years.
Nash didn't bring me to the airline. He kept this part of his life separate, walled off, and I'd let him because I didn't want to be the kind of wife who showed up at her husband's office demanding attention.
Except that's exactly what I was doing.
My stomach twisted. I didn't have a plan. I didn't have a speech prepared. I'd just driven forty minutes on Enid's push and now I was standing in Nash's lobby like an idiot, hoping he'd be happy to see me instead of annoyed that I'd interrupted his day.
The elevator was across the lobby. I made myself walk to it, my boots clicking against the tile, too loud in the quiet space.
I pressed the button for the third floor.
Executive offices. Nash's office was up there, the corner one with the view of the runway.
I'd seen it once, years ago, when the building was still being finished.
The elevator doors slid open on the third floor. I stepped out.
The hallway stretched in front of me, carpeted and clean, with offices on either side.
Most of the doors were closed. A few were open, showing empty desks and dark computer screens.
It was late enough that people had started going home.
I didn't know if that made this better or worse.
Fewer people to see me if Nash told me to leave.
Fewer people to witness me falling apart if he didn't want me here.
Voices drifted from around the corner ahead.
I slowed, my pulse picking up, and recognized Nash's low rumble immediately.
My heart kicked against my ribs. God, I was nervous.
It vibrated beneath my skin, making my hands shake and my breath come too fast. What was I going to say to him?
Hi, I drove up because you've been ignoring me and I thought maybe if I showed up unannounced you'd remember I exist?
That sounded pathetic even in my own head.
I pressed my palm against my stomach and made myself keep walking.
One foot in front of the other. I could do this.
I could walk around the corner and find Nash and tell him I wanted to be part of his world, that I wanted him to let me in, that I was tired of sitting at home waiting for him to come back to me.
I rounded the corner and stopped.
Nash stood near the window at the end of the hall, his back to me.
He wore the charcoal shirt I'd ironed for him this morning before he left, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and his shoulders were tight the way they always were when he was working through something.
The late sun slanted through the window behind him, turning his hair gold at the edges.
He looked good. He always looked good. Strong and solid and completely focused on whatever he was doing.
Adriana Moreau stood in front of him.
My stomach dropped.
She was close. Too close. Her hand rested on his chest, fingers spread against the charcoal fabric, and she was saying something I couldn't hear from where I stood frozen in the middle of the hallway.
She laughed, soft and easy, the kind of laugh that said she was comfortable there.
The kind of laugh I used to have with him, back when he still looked at me like I mattered.
Nash said something back, his voice quieter now, and Adriana tipped her head like she was listening to a secret meant only for her.
I couldn't move. My throat went tight, my chest squeezing so hard it hurt to breathe.
They didn't see me. They were too wrapped up in whatever conversation they were having, standing close enough that Adriana's shoulder almost brushed his when she shifted her weight.
She was beautiful. She'd always been beautiful.
Tall and polished in a way I'd never managed, her dark hair swept up in a twist that probably took her five minutes but looked effortless, her blouse crisp and perfect even at the end of a long day.
Adriana's gaze flicked toward me. Our eyes met.
For a second I thought she'd step back. Pull her hand away.
Acknowledge that I was standing there watching them.
But she didn't. She smiled instead, a small curve of her mouth that didn't reach her eyes, and then she moved closer to Nash.
Her fingers slid up from his chest to the collar of his shirt, smoothing the fabric where it had folded under, adjusting it with the kind of careful attention that made my stomach turn over.
She took her time with it. Her thumb brushed the edge of the collar, her palm pressing against the side of his neck just above the fabric.
The touch lingered, deliberate and intimate, like she'd done it a hundred times before. Like she had every right.
Nash didn't move. He just stood there and let her.
My pulse hammered in my ears. I thought I might throw up.
Adriana's hand stayed on his collar, her fingers resting against his neck, and Nash didn't pull away.
He didn't step back. He didn't tell her to stop.
He let her touch him like it was nothing, like it was normal, like it didn't mean anything.
Except it did.
God, it did.
It doesn't mean anything, I told myself, desperate and frantic.
She was straightening his collar. That was all.
He probably had a meeting with the FAA inspectors downstairs and she'd noticed it was crooked and fixed it because that's what people do when they work together.
It was professional. Practical. Just a coworker making sure the CEO looked put-together before an important meeting. It didn't mean anything.
But the way her hand lingered said otherwise.
The way her fingers trailed just slightly when she finally pulled away, dragging against the fabric like she didn't want to let go.
The way she stayed close, her body angled toward his, her shoulder still almost touching him.
She wanted me to see. She'd looked right at me before she did it, and then she'd put her hands on my husband anyway, claiming him right in front of me.
And Nash had let her.
My vision blurred. I blinked hard, my eyes burning, and pressed my hand against the wall to steady myself.
The hallway felt like it was tilting. My chest was caving in, my lungs too tight to pull in enough air.
This was what I'd driven forty minutes to find.
This was Nash's world. Him and Adriana, standing too close, her hands on him, touching him in ways that were supposed to be mine.
And me on the outside looking in like I'd always been, like I'd always be, no matter how hard I tried to fit into the life he'd built without me.
I stepped back, my boot catching on the carpet.
Nash turned his head, frowning at something Adriana said, and I moved before he could see me.
I spun and walked fast toward the stairwell at the other end of the hall, my hand shaking as I shoved the door open.
The stairwell was concrete and cold, echoing when the door swung shut behind me.
I grabbed the rail and pressed my back against the wall, trying to breathe, trying to get a grip, trying not to completely fall apart.
Don't cry. Don't you dare cry.
I wasn't going to cry. I wasn't going to stand here in Nash's building and lose it over something that was probably innocent.
Nash didn't cheat. He wouldn't. We'd been married seven years and he'd never so much as looked at another woman the wrong way, and Adriana straightening his collar before a meeting didn't change that. It was nothing. It had to be nothing.
But my hands wouldn't stop shaking, and my chest still felt like someone had reached in and squeezed until there was nothing left.
I looked down at my left hand gripping the stair rail.
My wedding ring caught the light from the narrow window above, the small diamond Nash had saved for three months to buy me when we got engaged.
He'd been so proud when he gave it to me, nervous and hopeful and absolutely sure we were going to build something good together.
I'd worn it every day since. I'd never taken it off, not once, not even when things got hard after the miscarriage and Nash started staying late at the airline and I started wondering if he regretted choosing me.
I twisted the ring with my thumb. It turned easily on my finger, looser than it used to be. I'd lost weight. I hadn't noticed until now.
The band slid over my knuckle without resistance.
I pulled it off and held it in my palm, staring at the diamond and gold band that was supposed to mean something.
It was supposed to mean he was mine and I was his and we were in this together, building a life and a future and everything we'd promised each other the day we stood in front of Ruben and Enid and a handful of friends and said our vows.
But Nash was upstairs with Adriana, letting her touch him, and I was hiding in a stairwell with my wedding ring in my hand because I couldn't stand to watch it anymore.
I closed my fist around the ring. My hand looked wrong without it. Bare and pale where the band had been, like I'd lost something I couldn't get back.
I shoved the ring into the front pocket of my jeans and pushed off the wall. The metal was warm against my hip through the denim. I could feel it there, a small hard reminder of what I'd just done, but I didn't put it back on.
I wasn't going to go upstairs and confront Nash.
I wasn't going to ask him what Adriana's hand on his collar meant or why he let her stand that close or why he never let me into this part of his life.
I wasn't going to cry or yell or make a scene in the middle of his pristine airline where everyone would hear and know that his wife was falling apart.
He didn't even know I was here. He was too busy with Adriana and the FAA inspection and the airline that mattered more than anything else to notice I'd driven all this way just to see him.
The stairwell door opened onto the first-floor hallway near the back of the building.
I walked through without looking at anyone, my head down, my hands shoved in my pockets.
The lobby was still quiet when I crossed it.
The receptionist didn't look up. Nobody stopped me.
I pushed through the glass doors and out into the parking lot, and the heat slammed into me like I'd walked into a wall.
The sun was lower now, angling harsh across the pavement, turning everything orange and gold. Beautiful. It made me want to scream.
I got in the truck and sat there with my hands on the wheel. My left hand felt too light. Wrong. I touched the bare spot where the ring used to be with my thumb, that automatic little motion I'd done a thousand times to make sure it was still there.
It wasn't.
I'd taken it off, and Nash had no idea, and I was about to drive away without telling him I'd ever come.
I started the engine. The truck rumbled to life, familiar and loud, drowning out the silence that had been pressing in on me since I walked into that hallway and saw Adriana's hand on Nash's collar.
I backed out of the spot without looking at the building.
I didn't let myself look. If I looked I'd see the third-floor windows and I'd wonder if Nash was still standing there with her, and I couldn't do that.
I couldn't think about it. I just needed to drive.
The exit led me back to the highway, empty and straight.
Cibolo Heights was forty minutes south. The little house was there, the one Nash had bought back and promised we'd move into.
The one we were supposed to fill with the family we were supposed to have.
It was sitting empty while we lived in a penthouse I hated, forty-three floors above a city that didn't feel like home, and Nash worked late every night with a woman who looked at him like he was hers.
I pressed the gas pedal down and the truck picked up speed. The engine roared. The wind through the cracked window whipped my hair around my face, stinging my eyes.
I touched the bare spot on my finger again. It was already a habit, that little check, that unconscious reach to make sure the ring was still there.
Except it wasn't there. I'd taken it off and shoved it in my pocket, and Nash didn't know, and I was driving away from him without saying a word about what I'd seen or how much it hurt or how scared I was that I was losing him.
My throat ached. My eyes burned. I blinked hard and kept my hands on the wheel and didn't let myself cry.
The airline disappeared in the rearview mirror.