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The grunting, the moaning, the breathless words.
What the fuck?
Wiping the tears from my face with the back of my hand, I walk down the long hallway, my steps silent against the plush cream carpet. With a hand on the doorknob of my former bedroom, I open the door slowly.
The first thing I see is the bare back of a petite naked redhead on top of him. Her hair is fire hydrant red; clearly, it's not natural.
Declan lies on his back, his hands gripping the woman's hips as he digs his heels into our mattress, thrusting into her body. He grunts as his eyes meet mine, his eyes widening in complete shock at the sight.
Sure, I wish that I had a camera right now to capture his deer in the fucking headlights expression.
The fake redhead is too busy riding my husband's cock to realize they're not alone in the room anymore.
Without a word, I close the door and walk back down the hallway and into the new kitchen we'd remodeled just weeks before the accident.
How fucked up is it that I don't even care about what I just saw? I’ve just found my husband with his dick in someone else and I’m not even angry. I only hope that, for his sake, he's wearing a condom.
Even if I could muster a feeling, it wouldn't be hurt. I have no right to feel betrayed when I've been doing the same thing. We’re separated, and I’m also sleeping with someone else.
Removing my coat, I hang it over a barstool in front of the island and remove my heels. I tie my black hair back into a ponytail and scavenge the fridge for the items I need to make a sandwich. I haven't eaten since last night and I’m starving; my growling stomach proves that.
I've just taken my first bite when the redhead comes running from the hallway toward the elevator, Declan hot on her heels, cursing under his breath. She looks at me, her eyes just as wide as his, and thankfully she doesn't say anything. She steps into the elevator and leaves silently.
It took them long enough to dress and get out here.
I wonder if they finished or not.
Declan's remorseful brown eyes meet mine, his dark brows pulling together, clearly surprised to see me sitting on the island eating a bologna sandwich.
"Oh my God, Camille, baby girl, I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."
"Sorry that you got caught, or sorry for moving on so quickly?" I ask, genuinely curious about what his answer will be. With a sigh, I swallow the remainder of my sandwich and chew it. "Is she the first you’ve been with since our separation?"
He nods. "Yes, I swear it.” His head hangs in shame. I know he's telling me the truth. With a sigh, I hold out my second sandwich to him.
"Eat. I bet you're hungry." His head snaps up, and his eyes look ready to pop out of his head. "What?" I feign innocence, shrugging my shoulders.
"Why aren't you yelling?"
"Is that what you want? Me to get angry?"
"I want a fucking reaction from you!" he yells, throwing his arms in the air. He may want me to get angry, but I can't give him the reaction he's looking for. I'd be a hypocrite if I were to be mad over something I'm also guilty of.
Instead of saying anything else, I offer him the sandwich again. Of course, he doesn't attempt to take it, so I shrug my shoulders as if to say your loss and bite into it.
"Say something!" he snaps.
"Sit down, Declan. We can discuss this without getting into a screaming match."
He stares at me, his brown eyes becoming black as darkness takes over his features. The look that passes over his handsome face is a look that I know all too well. His anger is taking over, and he's getting upset that I'm not reacting as he wants me to.
"Fucking say something, Camille!" he screams like a child throwing a tantrum. In a flash, he grabs the island barstool and throws it against the wall, the wood shattering into pieces and falling to the floor with a thump.
Declan stands in front of me with a storm brewing in his eyes and his chest rising and falling rapidly with his heavy breathing. Neither of us moves right away; we remain staring at each other as if we're strangers and unsure how to respond after his outburst.
Except we're not strangers, and this isn't his first outburst. It's Declan, and I know how to handle him. Regardless of why I came here and how I feel about being married to him, he's still my best friend, and I love him, and I hate seeing him battling himself the way he does.
"Dec," I whisper, hopping off the counter and taking a step toward him. He's stiff but doesn't stop me when I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him so tight that I wish it were enough to fix all his broken pieces and glue them back together.
