Page 29

I pull my hand away. “I said no. We came here. We paid. I’m not going to leave.”

Noah sits up straighter. “I know you don’t want to, but this isn’t going to work. He can’t be our mentor.”

Beck clears his throat. “I don’t want to agree with him, but—”

“Then don’t,” I snap.

He sighs and points between him and Noah. “There’s history here. I don’t think—”

“Last night,” I start, moving to the edge of the couch. “Last night, you said you became friends with the couples you mentor.”

“I did say that, but—”

“We’re not friends,” Noah interjects.

Beck swallows, his wide stubbled throat tight with emotion. “He’s right.”

“But you were,” I say. It’s been a long time since Noah told me about Beck, the boy he was with during his high school years. I knew they were close and that they shared firsts, but apparently, there was more to what Noah told me. Add that to the bank of things my husband doesn’t talk about, even if it makes sense given he keeps his feelings from me. Clearly, this man makes him feel things.

The silence in the air becomes thick and choking, the two men glaring at each other with hard expressions. The longer no words are spoken, and the more I study them, the more my rational brain tells me we should leave. What woman in their right mind would want their husband’s ex-not-ex to be their mentor at an intimacy retreat meant to rekindle their spark and connection? Apparently me.

“But you were,” I repeat.

Beck’s anger cracks, his features softening. “Even if that’s true, Noah isn’t going to consent to me being your mentor. He doesn’t want to be here.”

“I see you haven’t changed.” Noah huffs.

“What are you talking about?” Beck shoots back.

“Still assuming what I do and don’t want.”

“I’m stating exactly what you said.”

Noah stands, fists clenched at his sides. “I don’t need you to speak for me. I can talk just fine.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It just seems that you still have old habits—running from your problems, from talking things out, even if that means running away from them on the treadmill.”

Noah’s face is red at Beck’s barb, a barb that surprises me, too. Even if it’s true.

Noah grits his teeth and looks down at me. “What did you two talk about last night?”

My head pounds as I experience the effects of last night’s drinking in full force now with all the conflict and emotions coursing through my body.

“We talked about a lot,” I say.

“About me?”

“Yes.”

Noah runs his hand through his hair and looks to the ceiling like he’s asking God for strength.

“Did something happen between you two?” he asks after a long moment.

I stand, shaking my head. “Don’t do that, Noah; you know nothing did.”