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Jordyn’s boisterous hoot from behind has us slowly coming back to our surroundings. Mick eases his mouth away. His lips are damp and reddened from the fervor of our kiss. His gaze on me is tender, his anger and panic tempered by my reassurance. “I love you,” he says.
“I love you too.”
Mick smiles and puts on his game face. With his hand at the small of my back, he turns to address the manager, who’d tried to stop him, and the handful of women that have gathered. “Ladies, I apologize for barging into your gym like this. It wasn’t my finest hour. But the claim of an affair is an outright lie and making sure my wife heard that from me was my priority.”
They could think whatever they wanted about my husband’s faithfulness but judging by the number of fan-girl grins, they are not immune to his charms.
“Ready to go home, beauty?” Mick asks.
“I just need to get my bag.”
“Holy shit! That was hot.” Jordyn fans her face when we’re back in the change room. “Anyone can see the man is totally into you. Mick wouldn’t screw around. But making it look like he did right after he announces his marriage is taking the Internet by storm.”
“Exactly,” Lexie says, tapping on her smartphone. “So, let this go viral.”
“What did you just post?” I gape at her.
“Nothing yet. I sent a pic to Asher. He’ll make sure it’s strategically released to the press and on social media. Don’t worry, it’s good.” She turns her phone to me, smiling wide.
Oh wow. That is good. I won’t lie. I’m relieved it’s not a full-body shot of me in leggings. Rather, it’s zoomed on our faces. Lexie had captured us in a steamy, all-consuming kiss. It says, let the world talk, we don’t give a damn. We know what we have.
I return to the common area to find Mick being chatted up by several of the women. He seems cool and collected. But my man is far from. His brain must be going a million miles an hour. His character had been slandered, his fidelity publicly challenged. His wife, humiliated. Mick will never stand for that.
He excuses himself and takes my bag in one hand, my palm in the other. He tells Jordyn and Lexie that Stiles is waiting to drive them when they’re ready. My friends give him hugs as a show of their support. I love them for that.
The short trip from the gym to our house is usually less than ten minutes. This evening, with reporters shoving microphones at us and shouting out salacious questions that insinuate Mick’s guilt, doubles the time. The idol-worship and popularity of Micah Peters in Chicago rivals that of Michael Jordan. Yet it had all been cast aside because the rumors make for better news. I can see that it takes Herculean effort for my husband to keep forging ahead without stopping to defend himself and our marriage. Mick knows the damage an impulsive response can cause.
His phone rings after we enter the house. From his end of the conversation I gather it’s not Asher this time. During the drive home, they’d spoken for most of it about a press release while I assured Mama T and Victor that we’re managing…all things considered. Like me, they had dismissed the rumors out of hand. Still, it hurts to have them out there.
Inside the kitchen, I find uncooked food and pots left on the counter. Mick must have been preparing dinner when he’d gotten the news from Asher and rushed out. His reaction would have been—murderous. The same way he sounds in the foyer.
“Goddammit, don’t give me the worst-case scenario. A subpoena will take too long. Do your fucking job and get me a copy of the security surveillance ASAP or I’ll find another lawyer who can.”
Mick disconnects with a curse and slaps his phone down on the hall table. He comes to me, standing close in the narrow space. I can see the burn of anger rimming around the edges of his coffee-brown irises. He wants so badly to prove the video isn’t recent or as it appears. I want that too. Not because I need proof of his innocence but because he does.
“I’m going to fix this, Dee.”
“Do what you need to do to clear your name, but not because you think I have doubts. I don’t. There’s nothing to fix with us.”
“When I got to the gym, you’d been crying,” he says, his voice worn.
“I hated seeing you in a suggestive position with another woman.” And not just any woman. But Lisa. Toned and lean without dimples on her butt or lines on her stomach. “It took me back to a bad place. To feeling rejected and unwanted. To seeing you with Tamara on your deck.”
“Christ.” He makes a pained sound of remorse. “I’m so sorry for what you saw and for what it did to you.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.” I touch his forearm where the muscles are corded and stretched tight. “I don’t blame you for something that happened before us.”
His head drops. His breaths roughen. Then he looks back up. His features are overcome by a volatile emotion that scares me.
“What is it, Mick?”
“I said that what you saw in the video was before you.”
I still, my heart thudding like a fist against my ribs. “When…when was it?”
“The same day that I came to your office.” He swallows. “Later that night.”
I process the timing. Our first encounter after fifteen years. We had lashed out at each other. Emotionally, physically.
