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Grabbing me, he grips my arms. “Bailey, please. Don’t. You said you’d give us another chance.”
“I said no such thing, and if you don’t let go of me, I’m going to fucking punch you,” I say calmly, looking into his eyes. It’s been years since I’ve punched anyone, but I still remember the basics of making a fist. My arms are tingling with repressed fury, and I’m a hair trigger away from making good on my threat. That blessed numbness I’ve been living in this week has dissipated like mist on a sunny morning.
My eyes must convey my seriousness because he drops his arms, his fists clenched by his sides.
“I realized something while we were waiting for the hostess to seat us. She greeted you like she knew you. Which means you’ve gone there often. And the way she looked at me as if I was your side piece? She must have thought Justine was your wife and you were cheating on her.” My laugh is scratchy. “That was our restaurant. Our special place. And you took her there.”
His face blanches, confirming my words. Not that I needed it.
“So that got me thinking. That night when you fucked me up against the door, that wasn’t about me at all. That was because of her. I knew it was different, that you were different, but I chalked it up to you wanting me so much you couldn’t keep your hands off me. The next time you touched me was when you got home late from work. I’m guessing you came home after being with her. You wouldn’t let me switch on the light. It was so you could pretend I was her, wasn’t it?”
My hands are shaking, and it’s taking all the strength I have to stay calm while listing all the realizations I came to during the last week.
“The last two times my husband fucked me wasn’t about me at all.”
“The Sunday we argued and you came home late. You said you already had something to eat. You went and spent the day with her. I spent the day worrying about you, waiting for you at home like I’ve always done. Oh, and the conference. You didn’t ask me to go… God, I’m so stupid. She was there with you, wasn’t she? That’s why you didn’t ask me to go along. It was so that the two of you could spend time together. Boy’s night and Iris and Violet’s birthday party. All lies so you could be with her.”
All these realizations are painting a map in my head of the timeline of his affair, and it’s sickening. I take a breath, swallowing down the sob bubbling up in my throat.
I wait for something from him—anything—to make this nightmare end. To tell me I’m wrong and delusional, but he’s silent and pale, his eyes blue pools reflecting my misery back at me.
*****
The extent of his dishonesty, his consistent deceit, is so utterly astounding, making it hard for me to fathom that the Quinn I believed I knew could actually be capable of such behavior. How suddenly this person I’ve known my whole life—loved my whole life—could become a complete and utter stranger. Saliva rushes into my mouth, and I force down my nausea. I feel so damn used, dirty, and humiliated, and it’s taking all my strength just to keep standing. How could I have been so blind?
“The two of you must have had a few good laughs at my expense,” I whisper. “Poor, naive Bailey, waiting around like a well-trained dog for her husband to come home.”
He flinches, clamping his hands over his ears, the sound ripping from him bordering on anguished. But I’m too lost in my own devastation to pay his any heed.
I can feel myself beginning to tremble. I’m about to lose it completely. I can sense myself standing on that precipice, ready to fall headfirst into my sorrow. A choked sob slips from me, and I press the back of my hand to my mouth.
Dropping down on the edge of the bed, I lean forward, closing my eyes and putting my head in my hands, trying to focus on just breathing. A breath in, a breath out. A normal function that feels beyond my reach right now.
I feel him, his warmth pressing against me. His face against my legs, his hands clamped around my calves. His body’s shaking its distress, but I don’t know why. He did this. He must have known that all his lies and all his actions would eventually lead to this. And he did it anyway.
“Bailey, please don’t leave me,” he begs, his voice hoarse, his grip tightening, as if he holds on tight enough, I’ll stay.
“You left me first,” I whisper.
“No, I didn’t. I’m right here. I made a mistake. God, so many mistakes, but I can fix this. We made vows to each other. For better, for worse. Till death do us part. Please don’t give up on us. Give me a chance to fix this.”
His words are a frantic, jumbled mess. He’s pleading, begging, but I can’t take any satisfaction in it. I never wanted Quinn on his knees. I never wanted to be in a position where he’d be begging for a second chance. I just wanted him to love me. Only me. We were each other’s firsts for everything. I thought we’d be each other’s last, and the knowledge that we’re not—that I’m not is sickening.
Jumping up, I tear myself from his grip, backing up a few steps, my chest heaving.
“You’re a fucking liar and a coward, Quinn Foster. A coward who didn’t have the balls to tell me he stopped loving me and instead chose to destroy me.”
Getting up, he takes a step towards me but stops when I take a step back.
“I have hurt you. I have lied to you about things. And I’m so fucking sorry I did that. But what I’ve never lied about is loving you. I lost my way for a bit, but I’ve never stopped loving you.”
“Liar!” I scream. “It’s impossible to love someone and hurt them like this.”
“Okay, okay,” he says, holding up his hands as if he’s placating a wild animal. “Let’s take a step back and cool off. Then, once we’re both calm, we can hash this out and find our way forward.”
“You don’t get it, Quinn. Being calm won’t change a thing. What you’ve done is unforgivable. I’m done. We’re done.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
