Page 40 of Married to Lies

18 Rei

When I needed answers, I took to the internet, where every problem that had ever existed already had an answer. Preferably in a short-form video so I didn’t have to read a super long article. Problem was, the answers I needed couldn’t be found by typing words into a search bar. (I tried.)

So after I changed out of my golf outfit and stress-cleaned my already-clean closet, I drove to Jada’s house for the second time that day. No matter how long I had to wait or how much whispering we did, I needed an explanation for what had just happened with Quentin and what it meant for her and Bryce.

When I reached the end of the driveway, I saw Bryce sitting on the front steps. His elbows rested on his knees, hands clasped around an insulated tumbler. His breath lifted in puffs of fog, disappearing into the gray air.

When I parked the car, he met my gaze through the windshield. His eyes conveyed a weariness that looked soul-deep instead of purely physical.

I turned off my car, got out, and took a few steps toward him, waiting at the bottom of the steps.

“He told you,” Bryce said with a weary tone to match his expression.

There were a million words I wanted to say, but all I seemed able to manage was a nod.

“And you want to know if Jada and I share the same agreement Quentin proposed,” he said, sadness on his face.

“Do you?” I asked, though I could sense the answer. I wrapped my arms around myself, the chill in the air seeming even more intense. I was shaking from the cold or the situation or some combination of the two.

“Come on inside,” Bryce said, getting up and walking back to the front door. “The girls are awake, so we don’t need to be quiet.”

I followed him past their threshold into their beautiful home built on a heap of secrets. At first glance, it seemed like the perfect place. Soft music played from the living room, a garlicky smell filled the air from the slow cooker on the white quartz countertop. A photo of the three of them at the hospital was on display above the fireplace mantel.

Going farther into the living room, I saw what the couch had been hiding. Jada sat on the floor leaning against the base of the couch. Twyla lay in front of her on a quilted blanket. Jada was bicycling the infant’s legs while Twyla burbled her sweet baby coos. I felt like an intruder in their house, and yet I couldn’t leave until I had answers.

Bryce gestured toward the chair. “Have a seat.”

My legs felt numb as I did.

“So you know,” Jada said, still looking at Twyla.

I nodded.

Bryce said, “I’ll let you two talk.”

“Hell no,” I piped up. “You’re not getting out of this.”

He pressed his lips together but nodded, going to sit on the sofa behind Jada. His knee nudged her shoulder, like her touch was a comfort to him.

My eyes tracked the spot. “When did this wedding stuff start?” I asked, figuring we should get this over with.

They exchanged a glance, and Jada finally said, “Bryce told me about the contract in September.”

I quickly did the math, staring from her to Bryce, and then to my goddaughter. “September?”

They exchanged another glance, answering the question for me.

I covered my mouth. “Oh my God.”

Jada said firmly, “Bryce is Twyla’s father.”

But as an adoptee, I knew that word held so many meanings.

She said, “Bryce and I may not have gotten together for all the right reasons, but we’ve stayed together for the right reason.”

“Why stay together?” I only half-joked. “You barely know the guy, and according to Quentin, you stand to get a lot of money if you divorce.”

Bryce scratched his neck awkwardly. “Quentin’s net worth is higher than mine. He’s good with numbers, investments.”