"I deserve it," I whisper.
"No." Her voice is fierce. "You don't. Even cheating doesn't give him the right to hit you. Ever."
Two days have dragged by like molasses since I confessed everything to Reeves. Every second feels heavy with dread and worry. I haven't seen him at the house or heard his voice, just tense silence filling the spaces where he used to be.
My mind spins with terrible scenarios—him at the poker table with nothing to lose, drowning in booze, or worse, tracking Caine down, fueled by rage.
Dropping Liam at his school, I force a smile as he waves goodbye. His trusting eyes are a painful reminder of everything at stake. Once he's inside, I rush to my car, ignoring the tears threatening to spill. I need answers.
The pool hall is quiet as I enter, the familiar scent of oak and beer hanging in the air. Greg is behind the bar, absently wiping glasses. His gaze lifts as I approach, his brow furrowing.
"Hey, Jenna," he greets cautiously, taking in the worry etched across my face.
"Greg," I blurt, heart pounding. "Have you seen Reeves?"
He shakes his head. "Not since the other night. What happened the other night?"
My stomach twists. The space between us feels like an endless void. "I don't know where he is."
Greg frowns, setting the glass down. "You want me to ask around? Maybe he's just blowing off steam."
Blowing off steam. The phrase feels like a euphemism too light for the darkness I'm imagining. "He wouldn't just leave us, though. Not without telling me. Not without taking Liam into account."
Greg sighs, his eyes a mix of concern and something I can't quite place. "It's Reeves’s way, you know? He struggles to deal with shit sometimes."
My heart aches at the truth in his words. "I'm worried," I confess, voice dropping. "Worried he's gambling, or... or worse."
His expression softens. "I'll keep an eye out, Jenna. And I'll call if I hear anything."
I nod, though it's little comfort when the reality is so uncertain. "Thanks, Greg. I appreciate it."
Greg nods again, a faint shadow of pity in his eyes that I can't bear. I turn away, the aching void of Reeves’s absence pounding in my chest. Where are you, Reeves?
I head to the back office. It used to be my quiet sanctuary, a reprieve from the constant buzz of the hall. Now it's forever changed, stained by memories of that heinous slap. The silence rings in my ears, louder than the bustle I left behind. I lean over the desk, blowing a shaky breath, trying to collect the fractured pieces of my composure.
Reeves out there somewhere, perhaps in trouble orsearching for Caine, feeds my fears. Liam's future, our family's... Everything hangs in a precarious balance.
My phone buzzes against the kitchen counter as I'm cleaning dinner dishes, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of the evening.
Liam is upstairs, finally asleep after asking for the hundredth time when Daddy is coming home.
I dry my hands on the dish towel, heart already racing before I even see Caine's name on the screen.
"Hello?"
"Jenna." His voice is tight, strained in a way I've never heard before. "We need to talk."
My knees buckle slightly, and I grip the counter. "What happened?"
"Reeves showed up at my office today. Security had to escort him out."
The dish towel slips from my fingers. "Oh God. Was he... did he hurt you?"
"He tried to get past the front desk, but Marco and his team handled it." Caine pauses, and I hear him exhale slowly. "Jenna, he was drunk. Really drunk. Screaming about what I’ve done to his family."
Shame burns through my chest like acid. "I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Caine."
"Did you tell him?" His words hang in the air between us, each syllable weighted with dread. "About us? About what we've been doing?"
