Page 82 of The Silver Fox Brother

My body aches like I've been in a physical fight. My head pounds with a dull, persistent throb. My eyes feel swollen and tender from hours of crying.

I push myself up to sitting, the blanket falling away from my shoulders. I'm still wearing the sleep shirt from last night, wrinkled and twisted around my body, and for a moment, I just sit there trying to orient myself to this new reality.

I swing my legs out of bed and stand on unsteady legs. There's a mirror on the wall near the closet, and I catch my reflection as I move past it.

I look terrible.

My face is puffy and swollen from crying, my eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. The mascara I didn't fully wash off last night has smudged beneath my lashes, and my hair is a tangled mess falling around my shoulders from the braid that came loose while I slept.

I turn away from the mirror and head to the bathroom. The shower is exactly what I need. I turn the water as hot as I can stand and step under the spray, closing my eyes as the heat hits my skin. Steam fills the bathroom, surrounding me in warmth and white noise that drowns out everything else.

The tears come again without warning. I didn't think I had any left after last night, but they stream down my face anyway, mixing with the shower water. My shoulders shake with sobs I try to keep quiet, not wanting Kate and Amy to hear me falling apart again.

I cry for the year I wasted believing Rowan's lies. For the apartment in Greenwich Village I gave up to move in with him. For the life I thought we were building together that turned out to be nothing but a performance on my part while he was living an entirely different reality.

When the crying finally subsides, I grab the soap and scrub my skin until it's red and stinging. I'm trying to wash away everything from last night, the feeling of his hands on me just hours before I found out the truth, the memory of his voice calling Madeleine easier than me, the weight of two years collapsing in the span of a single conversation.

I wash my hair twice, working the shampoo through until my scalp tingles, letting the water rinse everything away. I stay under the spray until it starts to run lukewarm, my skin pruning and the steam so thick I can barely see the shower walls.

Finally, I turn off the water and step out, wrapping myself in the soft towel Kate left folded on the counter. The mirror is completely fogged over from the steam. I wipe a hand across it, clearing a small section, and look at my reflection.

My eyes are still red, but my face is clean. I don't look quite as destroyed as I did when I first woke up. It'll have to be enough for now.

Back in the guest room, I dig through the suitcase I packed in a frantic rush last night, pulling out black lounge pants and a matching top. They're comfortable and soft, exactly what I need when I can barely think about getting dressed.

I pull them on, grateful for clothes that don't demand anything from me.

Kate left a pair of slippers by the door. They're a size too big, but I slide my feet into them anyway because the hardwood floors are cool and I need something between me and the ground.

I gather my damp hair and twist it into a high bun on top of my head, securing it with an elastic from my bag. A few wet strands escape and fall around my face, but I don't have the energy to fix them.

I stand there for a moment, hand on the doorknob, and take a deep breath.

From beyond the door, I can hear Kate and Amy's voices in the kitchen. They're trying to be quiet, but their conversation carries down the hallway in low murmurs punctuated by the occasional sound of movement.

I can smell coffee, rich and strong. I take another breath, steadying myself, and open the door. Time to face the day.

I walk down the hallway toward the kitchen, following the smell of coffee and the sound of voices.

Kate and Amy are sitting at the kitchen table with their laptops open, coffee mugs in hand, clearly trying to look like they're working but fooling no one. They both look up when I appear in the doorway.

Amy sets her mug down. "How are you feeling?"

I lean against the doorframe. "Like I got hit by a truck."

Kate stands immediately. "Coffee?"

"Please."

I cross to the table and sink into one of the empty chairs. Kate moves to the counter and pours coffee from the French press into a clean mug, then sets it in front of me along with the cream and sugar.

I wave away the cream and sugar. "Black is fine."

The coffee is strong and hot, exactly what I need. I wrap both hands around the mug, grounding myself in the warmth and the familiar ritual of morning caffeine.

Amy closes her laptop and looks at me across the table.

"Did you sleep at all?"