“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “It meant absolutely nothing.”
Dennis watches our exchange with undisguised satisfaction, casually accepting a drink from a passing server as if he’s enjoying a show. “Connor, from one man to another, I don’t you think you deserve someone who will lie to your face for weeks.”
“Shut up,” I snap at him before turning back to Connor. “Please, can we go somewhere private to talk about this?”
Connor looks between Dennis and me, his expression unreadable as the music shifts to a slow love ballad. Couples around us move closer together in painful counterpoint to the distance growing between us.
Antonio and Carmen appear in my peripheral vision, concern etched on their faces as they move in our direction.
“Oui,” he finally says. “We need to talk. But not here.”
As he leads me toward the exit, his hand no longer rests at the small of my back. The distance between our bodies, normally nonexistent, now stretches.
Connor
I grip the steeringwheel so tightly my knuckles turn white, focusing on the road ahead to avoid looking at Meesha. Her quiet sobs fill the car, each one twisting deeper into my chest. Ten years together, and I never imagined we’d be here.
The windshield wipers beat a steady rhythm against the light drizzle, matching the pounding in my temples. Another man. She kissed another man and kept it from me for weeks. The thought repeats like a broken record, each iteration stoking the fire burning in my gut.
Tabarnac. I’ve spent my adult life believing I know this woman’s fears, dreams and the rhythm of her breathing when she sleeps. But tonight, she’s become a stranger.
As we approach a red light, the glow illuminates the interior of the car. From the corner of my eye, I see her wipe her tears with shaking hands.
“Babe, I’m so sorry,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “Please say something.”
Her makeup is smeared, eyes swollen, shoulders hunched forward. Even devastated, she’s beautiful. Even as she breaks my heart, I want to comfort her. It’s maddening.
I swallow hard against the tightness in my throat, clenching my jaw to keep the tremor from my voice. “What do you want me to say, Meesha, là? That it’s okay? That I understand?”
“No, I just—”
“Je comprends pas, là,” I say, cutting her off as the light turns green. “Ten years together, two weeks from our wedding, and you keep something like this from me?”
My phone rings through the car’s Bluetooth system, Fréd’s name appearing on the dashboard display. I press the answer button on the steering wheel.
“Allô?” I say.
“Connor, it’s your mother.” Fréd’s voice sounds through the speakers, tight with worry. “She fell getting out of the shower. We’re at Winter Bay Memorial now.”
My stomach drops. “Is she conscious? How bad is it?”
“She’s awake and arguing with me to return home, which is a good sign. But with her recent surgery...”
“I’m on my way.” I end the call and turn left at the next intersection.
Of course this would happen tonight, of all nights. The universe has impeccable timing.
“What’s wrong?” Meesha asks alarmed.
“Maman fell. Fréd’s taken her to the hospital,” I explain since the conversation with Fréd had been in French.
Twenty minutes later, we stride through the emergency department doors, scanning for Fréd. I spot her pacing near the nurses’ station, wearing her pajamas under her coat.
“Where is she?” I ask without preamble.
Fréd turns, relief washing over her features. “Exam room three. They’re checking her now.” She nods at Meesha.
“What happened exactly?” Meesha asks.
