I stare at him, forcing myself to pay attention to everything. This is my husband; I’ll know if he’s lying.
He shakes his head, his gaze locked on mine.
“Nothing happened.”
I’m holding my breath, searching for tells that he’s lying to me. But there’s nothing. No touching his mouth or giving too many details. He’s maintaining eye contact with me too, which he normally can’t do if he’s lying.
My heart soars for a second, but then I remember he still spent the night in her room.
But at least I know nothing happened.
He’s not lying.Relief floods through me, a welcome coolness spreading over my body.
Devon strokes my arms and whispers my name.
“It was ouranniversary, Devon.”
“I know. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
Despite myself, I nod stiffly, still not sure how to feel. So what if he did nothing? He still spent the fucking night in her room—that’s not something I can just forget.
Suddenly, I’m exhausted, and by the look of him, so is Devon.
He reads my mind, like he always does. “Shall we go to bed?”
“We?” I throw over my shoulder as I march toward the stairs. “I’m still so angry with you right now. You can stay down here or in the spare room.”
Devon nods, his shoulders deflating. “Right. But Jade, you believe me, don’t you?”
I stop on the second step, turning once more to look at my husband. His gaze flickers away for a brief second, and he curses.
“Jade?”
I shrug. “I guess I do. Thank you for not cheating on me with the girl who wanted you all the way through high school. Thanks for just spending the night with her and waking up with her on our anniversary. I’m so grateful.”
Then I quietly head upstairs, tears streaming down my cheeks.
Why, if he’s not done anything with her, do I still feel like he has? It’s betrayal, rotten, stinking betrayal, at its core.
I never thought he’d hurt me like this. Too drunk to go home to his own bed.
What else is he capable of?
Chapter Eleven
DEVON
The gym is comfortingly familiar. I rack the barbell after my last set, my muscles burning in a good way, a way that makes me feel like I'm in control of something.
Because I'm not in control of anything else.
It's been three days since Jade came home. Three days of sleeping in the spare room, of awkward conversations over coffee, of watching her move through our house like I don’t exist.
I deserve it. I know I do.
"Locke! You good?" Ray, one of my regulars, waves at me from across the floor. I paste on a grin and give him a thumbs up, even though nothing about me is good.
This is what I do now. I go to work and train clients, then I come home and cook dinner—actual meals, not the frozen shit we used to resort to when we were both too tired. Last night I made Jade’s favorite: lemon garlic chicken with roasted vegetables. She ate it without comment, her eyes on her phone the whole time.
