The next day, Brent had to go back to work. It felt wrong leaving Jess, but she told him it was fine.
It wasn’t. By the time he got home, he knew he had to look into how often the Wardham and Essex fire departments had hiring campaigns.
He looked up their websites, put some dates in his phone calendar, then fired off a message to Evan.
Brent: Jess is worried about you, man. What’s with the disappearing act?
It took two days for Evan to reply.
Evan: I needed a breather.
Brent: Where’d you go?
Evan: Away.
That was it. No further explanation.
Not until later that night, when his phone lit up again, unexpectedly.
Evan: I’m sorry that I got in between you and Jess. I thought I could be an outside third to your relationship without hurting it, but I was wrong.
The pit of his stomach lurched. Slices of their lust-fuelled shower flashed through his mind. He’d said some dumb shit, and Evan had taken every single word literally.
Didn’t he know that Brent was struggling with all of this, including the right words to use? God damn it.
Fingers shaking, he called his wife. “Jess, I fucked up.”
* * *
Jess didn’t knowwhere to go, where to look for Evan.
She was furious with Brent for not putting the pieces together sooner and yet she knew that anger was futile. She couldn’t change who either of them were, and she loved them anyway.
Brent got someone to take the rest of his shift, then drove straight to her, which mollified her somewhat. It was a horrible night out, an early summer storm raging over the lake, and the drive couldn’t have been good.
Even though it was late, as soon as Brent arrived, she insisted they go to Evan’s house. But of course it was dark. Wherever Evan was, it wasn’t here.
“We should have raised hell sooner,” Jess said, turning on Brent.
His cheeks stained dark red. “I’m sorry.”
“You knew he had doubts about us, and you blew them off.”
“We’ll fix this.”
She tried the door again, but it was no use. The house was definitely locked up tight.
In the next moment, she remembered a throwaway comment he’d made about the sliders. If she got inside, she might find a clue as to where he’d gone.
She turned and ran.
“Where are you going?” Brent hollered.
She didn’t answer.
It didn’t matter. He followed a split-second later, his footsteps faster than hers. Which meant they arrived on the back patio at the same time.
Instead of trying the door, though, all of her attention was fixed on the lakeshore, and the man silhouetted in the light of the early moon.
