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“I know,” he whispers. “That was wrong of me to say.”
“So you lied.” I raise my voice as I go on. “And now she’s in your house, for fuck’s sake. Worse yet, I have a feeling I know exactly where that bitch is.”
I’m done.
It’s show time.
I jump out of the car and head straight to the door, where I unlock it and go in, because I have a fucking key too.
As I punch in the code to disarm the alarm, Arden catches up to me. “Willow, hold up. Before you do anything, can we just stop and talk about this for a minute?”
“I think we’ve said enough,” I snap as I start up the stairs.
He doesn’t stop me, but he’s on my ass, following me up and down the hall to the master bedroom.
When I reach the door—which is closed, not the way we left it this morning—I finally come to a halt.
Spinning to face him, I jam my index finger in his hard chest and warn, “If that bitch is in there, then we are fucking done, Arden. There’s a reason why I swore off men, and now I remember why. You fuckers are not to be trusted.”
He protests, “Willow, it’s not like I invited her over. Even if she is in there, I’m not cheating like Liam was.”
I hold up my hand. “It doesn’t matter. You lied. Don’t you get that? You broke my trust by withholding vital information I should know.”
He’s about to say something more, surely something in his own defense, but I’m not having it.
Turning away, I swing open the bedroom door.
And there she is—the “random fan” in the flesh. And by flesh, I mean she is freaking naked in his bed.
No, wait, it’s worse—she’s in the bedweshare, the one he makes love to me in, the one we were just in this morning.
I feel sick.
“Who areyou?” she whines as she frowns at me and pouts her pillowy lips.
I don’t even justify her question with an answer. She doesn’t deserve one. I owe her nothing.
What I do instead is turn and walk away, tossing the key to the house at Arden, who’s now on his cell phone, talking with what sounds like 9-1-1.
That’s great that he’s doing the right thing now.
Too bad he didn’t think to do it with me.
Arden
Man, did I fuck up big-time.
The police come and remove Lydia. They write up a report, and then they’re gone. I immediately call my lawyer to file for a restraining order.
I then try to call Willow.
Not surprisingly, she doesn’t pick up.
Nor does she answer any of my many texts, pleading and begging for her to talk to me and let me explain.
I guess I’ve done enough damage. I should have told her who Lydia was right from the start that night at the fair. I could have explained the situation on the way home, even.
But no, I blew it off.
