Page 26 of Good Intentions, Vol. 2

Chapter Eight

Heather

“Are you trying to destroy my marriage?” Nick’s words are pure venom and like a broken glass are thrown at me with one intention only.

To hurt me.

To kill me.

To destroy me.

“What are you talking about?” I have no idea what’s going on. Why is he acting like this? Why does he want to hurt me so much?

“The text you sent me last night,” he snarls.

I lasted three days after I got the selfie with his son and last night, I sent him a text. I knew what I had to do, I was finally coming to terms with it. I just wanted to give him something sweet for the last time.

“Yeah, and?”

“It was too late to send it. I was already in bed. What if Claire picked up my phone and seen it? She even asked me who was texting me, but I managed to cover it up.” He runs his hand through his hair roughly, only for it to stop and fist it at the back of his head all the while his eyes are fixated on the papers across his desk.

I’ve never seen him like this. Sure, I’ve seen him angry, ready to tear someone up.

But, this… this fury he’s trying to contain, I’ve never seen.

I didn’t even know he’s capable of something like this.

When my silence is the only response I give him, he puts his hands on his hips and leans to me.

“Answer me,” he roars as he’s swipes his hand across his desk sending the papers and pens and whatnot to crash on the floor.

“I… I,” I can’t even form a simple sentence he’s scaring me that bad.

“I, I,” he repeats after me. Mocking me. Making fun of me. “I can’t believe you would be so stupid to send me a text that late in the evening. Did you not think at all of what could happen? Who could see it? Did you not think of repercussions at all?” He looks at me waiting for an answer. His hands planted on his hips, his chest expanding with each labored breath he takes. His once beautiful eyes, which used to look at me with nothing but love in them, are now looking at me like I’m repulsive.

“I don’t understand Nick,” I whisper taking a step back. And I don’t.

I don’t understand how my text could pull up this kind of reaction from him.

Better yet, how could his wife have been anywhere close to see it.

It was late, I knew he was probably in bed.

And he doesn’t share a room with her.

So, it could only be if he was with her.

If he was….

Oh, God.

It could only be if he was in bed with her.

“How could your wife see my text?” As soon as I voice my question, his face changes. I can actually see the anger draining out of it. And on its tail comes in the remorse. “Have you…? Was she…?” I can’t even finish my questions. I don’t want to know. I made my choice. Shifting from foot to foot, I look at the paper in my hand, trying to remind myself what I came in to do. Still, I need to know.

Only thing is, I don’t know if I’m strong enough to survive his answer.

“I’m sorry Heather,” the look on his face… God, he’s a picture of a tortured man.