"No," I choke out, stumbling back and fumbling with my pants. "No, I can't."
I don't wait for a response. I don't look back. I just turn and flee, bursting out of the bathroom and through the bar. There are barely any people here, but shame still follows me as I stumble out, listening to someone shout behind me, but I pretend it's not at me.
I practically run home. Austin after midnight is a ghost town. The streetlights cast long, lonely shadows, and every sound echoes in the silence.
My dress blues feel like a costume, a lie. The crisp fabric, the polished buttons, the silver pin on my chest, it all feels like a mockery of the man I'm supposed to be.
I run until my lungs burn and my legs ache, I was pissed at Lorelie for the past while I just committed the biggest sin I could’ve.
When I finally reach our street, I see the porch light is on. It's a beacon of hope, a symbol of the life I've almost thrown away. I slow to a walk, my heart pounding in my ears, and approach the front door with a sense of dread.
I don't know what I'm going to say. I know she's going to apologize for before, but how the fuck do I let her when, all I wanna do is throw myself at her feet and beg for forgiveness myself?
When I get to our bedroom, Lore is asleep on her stomach. She's not going to be able to do this soon. Her face is turned towardmy side, with her hand resting partially on my pillow. Guilt sits heavy on my stomach. I never should have stayed at the bar after everyone had left.
God, why didn't I just come home?
Swallowing, I stare at my wife. She's sleeping the same way our son does, peaceful and trusting. When she finds out... if she finds out.
Two wrongs don't make a right.
Her confession about Brick felt like a sledgehammer to the foundation of our world. But what I almost did, what I was about to do in that filthy bathroom with a woman whose name I never even asked… that wasn’t about getting even.
It was about destruction.
It was about taking a torch to the entire goddamn house because I found one crack in the wall.
I drop my phone and wallet on the bedside table and move silently to the bathroom. Steam fills the space as I step under the spray, water pounding against my skin. I stay there long past the point of comfort, long past the point of heat.
But no matter how long I shower…
the disgust won’t scrub away.
Chapter Four
Lorelie
I take the overnight oatmeal out of the refrigerator, sprinkle berries on top, and slide the bowl toward Milo. He’s sitting on the table itself instead of the chair, legs crossed, curls sticking up in every direction. I fight the motherly urge to fix his hair. He’s going to kindergarten, not the office.
I smile as he takes an appreciative bite, then smooth my hand over his head anyway, taming a few wayward curls. His hair shines in the morning light.
We don’t have a formal dining room. Never saw the point.
But the kitchen is huge, with sunlight spilling through the back door every morning, so we put a small wooden table there. It only has three seats for now, though we’ll need to add another one soon.
Milo swings his legs, his feet nowhere near the floor. He insists on eating at the table like a “responsible adult,” which in his mind means less mess. In reality, it just means he uses fewer spoons to catapult berries.
He scoops a bite of oatmeal, then pauses with the spoon halfway to his mouth.
“Mommy?” he asks softly.
I straighten a little. “Yeah, baby?”
His eyes stay on the oatmeal. “Where’s Daddy?”
I smile gently. “Daddy is sleeping.”
“Because he partied?” Milo asks, sayingpartiedlike a miniature rocker.
