Patrick
The night finally ends about an hour later. We file out of the restaurant into the cool air. My parents wait by the valet stand while my siblings and I head toward the parking lot.
I lift Milo into his seat and help him buckle in, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion and too much spaghetti. Lore hugs everyone goodbye. I just wave and get in the car, shutting the door harder than I mean to.
Lore slides into the passenger seat a minute later. We drive out of the lot and immediately hit traffic. Perfect.
Some idiot on a bike cuts me off at the light. I hit the steering wheel. “Unbelievable!”
“Calm down,” Lore says, clutching the seatbelt with one hand.
“Iamcalm.” My teeth grind together.
She lets out a long, tired sigh. “Why are you being like this?”
“Like what?”
She looks over her shoulder at Milo, makes sure he’s distracted with his little plastic police car, then faces forward and says nothing.
“No,” I whisper, low enough not to disturb him. “What? I’m a little upset after meeting the man my wife screwedwhilebeing withme, sorry.”
Her jaw clenches hard. “I wasn’t with you. Remember? We weren’t exclusive. And it’s not like you didn’t date your barrage of women.”
“I didn’t.” The words come out immediately and they’re true.
She laughs, not believing me. “Patrick, I saw you. Going out with women dressed like hookers.”
Realization hits me like a punch.
“Theywerehookers,” I say flatly. “I was working on a prostitution racket.”
Lore’s mouth drops open. “Oh.”
She sinks back into the seat, staring out the window, as if new information suddenly rearranges old memories.
Wait.
I made detective over that case. The night I busted it, that was the moment everything clicked for me. Getting ahead in the force didn’t mean anything without being able to tell Lore about it, I took it as a sign.
So, I asked her to be mine. For real. No more nonexclusive bullshit.
My voice drops, darker than I intend. “When did you screw him?”
“Patrick…” she whispers.
“When,” I repeat.
She licks her lips, eyes fixed on the blur of headlights outside. “The party we had for celebrating the end of residency.”
I freeze.
Then I laugh.
Not because it’s funny. Because it’s unbelievable.
“The night before I told you I loved you.” It isn’t a question.
“Patrick,” she whispers, tears spilling now.
