Chapter 6
Clayton
She'd come back.
That's what I told myself the first night, sitting in the dark living room with a bottle of scotch and the weight of Jennifer's wedding ring burning a hole in my pocket.
She was angry, and she had every right to be, but she'd cool down.
She'd realize that throwing away eight years of marriage over a few secrets was an overreaction.
She'd come back, and we'd talk, and I'd promise to do better.
She didn't come back.
The first morning, I woke up on the couch with a splitting headache and a mouth that tasted like death. The house was silent. Not peaceful silent, but empty silent. The kind of silence that pressed against your eardrums and made you feel like you were going insane.
I checked my phone obsessively. No texts. No missed calls. Nothing.
I told myself she needed space. I could give her space.
By the third day, I was losing my mind.
I couldn't sleep in our bedroom. The sheets still smelled like her, that soft vanilla and amber scent that had been embedded in my brain for eight years.
Every time I tried to close my eyes, I saw her face at the top of the stairs, the devastating calm in her expression as she told me she'd left her ring on my desk.
I'd looked at that ring for hours. Held it in my palm until the metal warmed from my skin. Put it on my pinky finger where it barely fit past the first knuckle, just so I could feel something that had touched her.
Pathetic. I was fucking pathetic.
Work was a disaster. I sat through meetings without hearing a word, signed documents without reading them, stared at my computer screen until the numbers blurred into meaningless shapes. My assistant asked if I was feeling okay three separate times before she stopped asking altogether.
My father called twice. I let it go to voicemail both times.
I couldn't deal with Marcel right now. Couldn't deal with his disappointment and his demands and his thinly veiled threats about the waterfront project. I was barely holding myself together, and one conversation with my father would shatter whatever was left.
On the fourth night, I broke down and drove past Jennifer's new loft.
I didn't plan to stop. I just wanted to see where she was living, make sure she was okay, maybe catch a glimpse of her through the window. Like a stalker. Like a desperate, lovesick fool who couldn't accept that his wife had walked out on him.
The building was a converted warehouse in the arts district, all exposed brick and industrial windows. Her studio was on the same block, which made sense. Jennifer had always loved this neighborhood, always talked about how inspiring she found the energy here. I'd never paid much attention.
I should have paid attention to a lot of things.
Her car was parked out front. The lights were on in what I assumed was her unit, warm yellow glow spilling through the tall windows. I sat in my car across the street like a creep, watching shadows move behind the glass, wondering if she was alone or if someone was with her.
The thought made my stomach lurch.
She wouldn't. Not this soon. Jennifer wasn't like that.
But what did I know about my wife, really? Apparently fucking nothing.
I went home and drank until I passed out.
The fifth day, my brother showed up at my office unannounced.
Corey walked through my door without knocking, took one look at me, and stopped dead in his tracks. "Jesus Christ. You look like hammered shit."
"Thanks." I didn't bother lifting my head from my hands. "That's exactly what I needed to hear right now."
"Clearly someone needs to say something, because you look like you haven't slept or showered in a week." Corey dropped into the chair across from my desk, his expensive suit a sharp contrast to my wrinkled shirt and loosened tie. "I heard Jennifer moved out."
News traveled fast. Of course it did. This was exactly the kind of gossip that spread through our social circle like wildfire. Clayton Mayer's wife left him. Did you hear? Wonder what he did.
"Who told you?"
"Mom." Corey's expression softened slightly. "She's worried about you. We all are."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're falling apart." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Talk to me, Clay. What happened?"
I laughed bitterly. "You want the short version or the long version?"
"Whichever one explains why your wife walked out after eight years of marriage."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I'd been avoiding thinking about it in those terms, avoiding the reality that Jennifer hadn't just left for a few days to cool off. She'd walked out. Taken her clothes, left her jewelry and her wedding ring and left me.
"I fucked up," I said quietly. "I fucked up in ways I didn't even realize I was fucking up, and by the time I figured it out, it was too late."
"That's cryptic as hell." Corey frowned. "Did you cheat on her?"
"No." The denial came out sharp, defensive. "I never touched another woman. I never even thought about it."
"Then what?"
I stared at my brother for a long moment, weighing how much to tell him.
Corey and I had never been particularly close.
He was four years younger, and our father had pitted us against each other since childhood, fostering competition instead of connection.
But right now, he was the only person who might understand.
"You know Grace Shields?" I asked finally.
"Your friend from college? The PR consultant?" Corey's frown deepened. "What about her?"
"Jennifer thinks I've been having an emotional affair with her."
The words hung in the air between us, ugly and damning. Corey was quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
"Have you?" he asked finally.
"No." But even as I said it, I heard how hollow the denial sounded. "I don't know. Maybe. I didn't think I was, but..."
"But what?"
I rubbed my hands over my face, exhaustion pressing down on me like a physical weight. "I told Grace things I should have told Jennifer. About the company. About Dad. About the panic attacks."
"Wait." Corey held up his hand. "You've been having panic attacks?"
"For months." I couldn't look at him. "Started after the Iverson shit hit the fan. I thought I was having a heart attack the first time. Called Grace in the middle of the night because I didn't want to scare Jennifer."
"And you didn't think to maybe call a doctor? Or, I don't know, tell your wife?"
"I know it sounds stupid." My voice came out hoarse, wrecked. "I know it was wrong. But I was trying to protect her. She worries, Corey. About everything. I didn't want to add to that."
"So instead you confided in another woman." Corey's tone was flat, unimpressed. "A woman who, let's be honest, has been circling you like a shark since undergrad."
I looked up sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means Grace Shields has always wanted what she can't have, and you've always been too oblivious to see it." Corey shook his head slowly. "Mom's been saying it for years. Dad too, actually, though he thought it was funny. The only person who didn't notice was you."
The realization settled over me like a wet blanket.
Grace. My friend. My confidante. The person I'd trusted with my deepest fears and failures while my wife slept alone in our bed.
Had she been playing me this whole time?
"She came to the gala," I said slowly, the pieces clicking into place. "Sat at our table. Started talking about my panic attacks and the offshore accounts, things Jennifer didn't know about. It was like she was..." I trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
"Marking her territory?" Corey suggested grimly. "Yeah. That sounds about right."
"Fuck." I slammed my palm against the desk, making the pen cup rattle. "I'm such an idiot."
"You're not an idiot. You're emotionally stunted.
" Corey's voice was matter-of-fact, not cruel.
"Dad raised us to believe that feelings were weakness.
That real men handle their problems alone and don't burden anyone with their shit.
You internalized that more than I did, probably because you were always trying so hard to earn his approval. "
The assessment was brutal and accurate.
"So what do I do?" I hated how desperate I sounded. "How do I fix this?"
"I don't know if you can fix it." Corey met my eyes steadily.
"Jennifer's been dealing with your emotional unavailability for years.
This thing with Grace might have been the final straw, but it's not the whole problem.
You need to figure out why you couldn't let your own wife in.
Why you'd rather confide in anyone except the woman you married. "
"I was scared," I admitted quietly. "I was scared that if she saw how fucked up I really was, she'd leave."
"And how'd that work out for you?"
The question hit me like a knife between the ribs.
She'd left anyway. I'd spent eight years protecting Jennifer from the messy, broken parts of myself, and she'd left anyway. All that hiding, all that deflecting, all that emotional distance, and I'd ended up exactly where I was afraid of being.
Alone.
"There's something else you should know," Corey said after a moment. "About Grace."
"What?"
"She's been telling people you're separated. Showing up at industry events, making comments about how she's 'supporting you through a difficult time.'" Corey's jaw tightened. "Basically acting like she's your girlfriend now that Jennifer's out of the picture."
The anger that surged through me was white-hot and immediate. "She's what?"
"Mom heard about it from one of her friends. Apparently Grace was at the Architectural Society dinner last night, hanging on some developer's arm but talking about you the whole time. Saying Jennifer was never right for you. That she never understood your world."
I was going to kill her.
No. First I was going to get my wife back. Then I was going to kill her.
"I need to talk to Jennifer," I said, standing abruptly. "I need to explain, to make her understand that Grace was manipulating both of us."
"Slow down." Corey held up his hand. "Showing up at Jennifer's door right now is not the move. She asked for space. If you push her before she's ready, you'll just drive her further away."
"So what am I supposed to do? Sit here and let Grace destroy what's left of my marriage?"
"You're supposed to get your shit together.
" Corey stood, straightening his jacket.
"Go to therapy. Figure out why you're so terrified of being vulnerable with the people who actually love you.
Cut Grace out of your life completely. And then, when you've done the work, when you can actually show Jennifer that you've changed, then you reach out. "
It sounded impossible. It sounded like it would take forever, and I didn't have forever. Every day that passed was another day Jennifer spent alone in her loft, convincing herself she'd made the right decision.
But Corey was right. I'd spent eight years trying to fix my marriage with empty promises and physical affection. That hadn't worked.
Maybe it was time to try something different.
"Okay," I said quietly. "Okay."
Corey clapped me on the shoulder, his grip firm and grounding. "For what it's worth, I think Jennifer still loves you. But love isn't enough if you can't give her what she needs. Figure out what that is, and maybe you'll have a chance."
He left me standing in my office, staring out the window at the city skyline, Jennifer's wedding ring heavy in my pocket.
She'd ripped my foundation out from under me.
Now I had to figure out how to rebuild.