“I’m not looking at you in any way.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Like how?”
I let my gaze drift up to him, not caring that my eyes have misted over, and I can no longer hide the ache that makes my chest feel like it’s going to cave in on itself. “Like you feel sorry for me.”
“Teeny,” he says, his voice cracking. “I’m looking at you because I shouldn’t be the one walking you to your couch. I shouldn’t be inside another man’s home making sure his wife is safe and fed after a night out with her friends. Your husband should be doing that. He should’ve met us at the door and felt threatened by me bringing you home.”
A tear trickles down my cheek. “This isn’t his home anymore,” I say through the enormous knot still stuck in my throat. “At least, it officially won’t be. Just as soon as I find a good lawyer.”
“You’re getting divorced?”
I nod. “He cheated on me.” Another tear trickles down my cheek and drops off the edge of my chin, hitting my bare thigh with a quiet splat. “I found out about three weeks ago. Though, if I had cared enough to do some digging, I’m sure I would’ve found out last year when it started.”
“Does Josh know?”
“No,” I answer. “James does. And my—Grace. But that’s it. I haven’t really told anyone yet.”
The inner corners of his eyebrows turn up, and those wrinkles between his brows and forehead deepen, showing how not only I, but he too, has aged. “You told me.”
I smirk. “Call it repayment for bringing me home. A little secret intel on my personal life.”
I expect a sad smile or something of the less desolate nature but instead, he ducks his head low. “I’m sorry,” he says, turning to face me with a look of pure regret.
My brow pinches together. “About what?”
“Your…marriage. Just, everything.”
“Why? You didn’t cheat on me.”
A flash of a grimace passes through his face. “I can’t imagine…” he says. He whispers it so softly that I don’t even know if I heard him right.
“What?”
“How could he cheat on you?”
The tightness in my throat returns, and my eyes start to mist over again. I look away, peering at my toes painted cotton candy pink to avoid his gaze. “I don’t know, Everett,” I say sardonically, like I’m humoring his rhetorical question with an actual answer. “Men just do shitty things sometimes.” I look back at him through the constant wave of tears.
So many unsaid things float in the air around us. Our past, our lives for the last twenty years that happened without either one witnessing it. And suddenly, I want to know all of it. What he’s been doing since he left. If he’s been in love, if he loves what he does for a living, whatever it may be. If he missed me. If he missedus.
I sink into the deep couch cushions, remembering why Leo picked this exact couch. It was because when we leaned our backs against it, it felt like we found a big squishy marshmallow to doze off in instead of just a simple piece of furniture we could lounge on.
“What about you?” I ask lazily, shifting the mood to something lighter. I turn with my shoulder wedged into the cushions and face him. He mirrors my movement, sliding off his shoes before resting his feet on the couch.
“What about me?”
“Are you married? Single? Swore off all women because relationships suck and being single is better than getting your heart broken again and again and ag?—”
“I’m not,” he interrupts.
My brow shoots up, impatiently urging him to clarify.
“Married. Or dating. Or anything, really.”
I nod.
“You remember when you came over to my house and we fell asleep on the couch?” he asks, his voice turning sweet and nostalgic.
