I'm still at Katrina's the next morning, curled up on the guest bed with a cold cup of coffee on the nightstand, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers. It's been three weeks since I found out about the kiss, and it’s not getting any easier. I just can’t stop imagining the two of them together, and it’s destroying me.
I answer on the fourth ring.
"Can you come home?" His voice sounds weird. "I need to tell you something."
Fuck.
“What now?!”
"Please. I can't do this over the phone."
I want to refuse and stay in this guest room where nothing can hurt me, where I can borrow confidence from Katrina's Chanel No. 5.
But something in his voice won't let me.
"I'll be there in thirty minutes."
Devon is pacing when I walk through the door.
He looks wrecked—more wrecked than I've seen him since New York. His hair is a mess, like he's been running his hands through it for hours. His eyes are red-rimmed and wild.
"Sit down," he says, and his voice cracks on the second word.
“Devon, you're scaring me."
"I know. I'm sorry. Please—sit."
I lower myself onto the couch, my legs unsteady beneath me. Devon doesn't sit though—he keeps moving, his sneakers squeaking against the wood floor we picked out together, and I watch him with a dry mouth.
"Mila is working at my gym now," he finally states.
The fuck?
"What?" I snarl, jumping to my feet.
"She rented studio space for yoga classes. I found out yesterday."
My hands curl into fists against my thighs. "And you didn't tell me?"
"I was going to. I swear I was going to, but then she texted me this morning and—" He stops pacing and faces me, and instantly I know something awful has happened.
Part of me doesn’t even want to know.
"Andwhat, Devon?"
He closes his eyes. Then he ruins our world, as if it could get any worse.
“She says she's pregnant."
Pregnant. Mila.Pregnant.
"She says it might be mine, but I didn’t sleep with her, Jade.” He sounds exhausted, like he’s drained. Like he’s tired of her.
I hear the words, but they come from very far away. Like Devon is speaking through a wall of cement, or thick glass, through years of distance that have suddenly opened between us.
Pregnant. Withhisbaby. Myhusband’sbaby.
"No." The word breaks out of me. "No, you said you didn't—you swore to me nothing?—"
