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“Answer my question.” Aggravation is in his voice again. “Do you love him?”
“Obviously. I wouldn’t have married someone I didn’t love.”
“Do you love him or the idea of him?”
“This is ridiculous. Take me home. I have better things to do than defend my marriage.”
“You’d better not defend it after today.”
“Please, stop talking in code … or circles … or whatever the hell you’re doing. I’m getting pretty dizzy over here. Did I tell you about my motion sickness? Blue Beech Fair 1999, the Tilt-A-Whirl had me puking up pink cotton candy all night.”
“You want straight up?” he grinds out in a raised voice. “Your husband was partying last night at a bar. I saw him there.”
His response doesn’t bother me and isn’t what I expected.
“I’m well aware he was at a bachelor party,” I deadpan.
His irritation grows. “Are you alsowell awarehe was fucking another woman at that bachelor party?”
Disbelief rushes through me. I struggle to breathe, struggle to think … hell, I even struggle to remember my own name.
No way.I open my mouth to protest, but fear constricts me from speaking.
Our relationship isn’t perfect, but since our wedding, Devin has been the model husband. I’ve never doubted my trust in him. There have been no signs of an affair—no whispering in the other room or a passcode on his phone, none of the signs my friends have busted their husbands with.
“You’re lying,” I accuse when I manage to gather words.
He isn’t.
Maliki wouldn’t drag me through this torture if it wasn’t true, no matter how tattered our friendship is.
He winces in frustration, appearing almost pained at me doubting him. “Do you think I’d do this for shits and giggles? I was there last night and witnessed it.”
I shake my head as a tear trickles down my cheek. “No.”
“Good, but I want you to see it for yourself, so the little cocksucker can’t lie his way out of it.”
“What do you mean, see it?” I gape at him, horrified. “Jesus, please tell me there’s not a sex tape or something like that, and that’s how you know about this.”
“A sex tape? I hope the fuck not.” His face twists into a line of disgust. “Do I have proof without seeing his weasel dick? Affirmative.”
I’m so lost.
My stomach tightens at his failure to elaborate, and I’m afraid to ask for details. I snatch my phone with sweaty hands, unlock it, and scroll to my husband’s name. Him not coming home last night didn’t worry me. He’d rented a hotel room for him and his friends the night of his party. I’d expected it. Hell, I’dhelpedhim pack his overnight bag.
I shake my head, powering off my phone, and toss it into my bag. I’ll ask his side of the story after seeing thisevidence.
We don’t speak the rest of the ride, and twenty minutes later, Maliki pulls into the parking lot of the Twisted Fox Bar. It’s a newer establishment in the surrounding county and tends to drag in the younger crowd. Devin comes here to hang out with friends … and this is where the bachelor party was last night.
Maliki picks up his phone from a cupholder and calls someone. “Hey, man. We’re here.” He nods a few times and ends the call.
We step out of the car, and he leads me to the entrance of the building. The door is unlocked. A man behind the bar is the only person here. He looks around the same age as Maliki and was here the few times I came with Devin.
He circles the bar and comes our way. He has light-brown hair, and even though he’s on the slimmer side, he’s hot.
Maliki lifts his chin. “Yo, Cohen.” He jerks his head toward me. “This is Sierra.”
I politely wave at Cohen, and he responds with a sympathetic smile before telling us to follow him.
