It beeps repeatedly—so many text messages from Devon.
I know what he’s like usually—I can imagine his pinched expression and maybe his anxiety—but we’ve never beenherebefore. Not in this situation, surrounded by uncertainty on a massive level. I chew on my lip as Katrina rises, leaving the room to no doubt give me privacy.
I’m grateful because I don’t know what I’m going to say to my husband.
He answers on the first ring.
“Baby!”
I close my eyes at his familiar voice, feeling the sting of fresh tears.
“Hey.” My voice is flat. Barely there. I focus again on the swaying palm trees.
Swish. Swish.
“Are you okay?” Devon blurts. “Can you come home? Please. I miss you.”
He’s home. I squint as the sun beams suddenly through the window, and I wonder if it’s a sign.Everything is going to be alright, perhaps?
“I need to know what happened, Devon.”
Time seems to freeze as he sucks in a breath before saying, “Yeah, I know. I get that. You wanna do this over the phone? Now?”
Do I?
I probably need to see him face to face to see if he’s telling the truth.Because if he lies to me, I won’t forgive him. He wouldn’t lie to me though, would he?
God, I don’t know.
It’s strange: you spend years with someone, thinking you know them, then something like this happens, and you’re completely screwed. You wonder who they are, if they’re lying, can you trust them…when all along that was a given. Taken for granted.
I’d do anything to trust him right now.
I don’t have a choice. I have to see him.
“I’ll come home.”
We used to spend hours on the phone before we lived together, I remember as I drive home. When did we stop that? Probably when it became routine to sit beside one another, scrolling through our phones, drained from life. I glance out the window, barely noticing the sun-drenched canyons I usually enjoy looking at. The drive should only take thirty minutes, but Laurel Canyon is busier than usual for this time of day. I frown—I don’t even know what time it is. My eyes fall on my dash, and I see it’s nearly two in the afternoon.
How did the time pass so quickly?
I drive mostly on autopilot, muscle memory guiding me home. My knuckles are white as I pull onto our road, my heart hammering in my mouth. This is it—the moment I find out the truth—or that my husband is lying to me.
Please don’t lie to me. Even if I hate the truth.
I suck in a sharp breath when I pull onto our driveway, and Devon is waiting for me at the door.
My heart aches, physically aches, causing pain deep within my chest. Seeing Devon is like coming home; not the house we share, or the life we made together—he is my home.
He is my world.
My lower lip wobbles as I unplug the seatbelt, but I summon my inner bitch and force myself to avoid his gaze. My hands tremble as I open the door, and he strides over to me, pulling me into his arms.
And it feels so good.
Just for a second, I allow myself to inhale his scent; the one that only he can wear. It’s our laundry powder and his cologne, mixed with the faint smell of coffee. His large arms encircle me, and I let him comfort me, his face buried in my neck.
“I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, his breath hot on my skin.
