“Tell me.”
Sighing, Lauren says, “Fine. Remember the night of the blizzard? When he didn’t come home and I traced his phone to the Four Seasons?”
“Yeah?” A sense of foreboding hits me.
“Well, he was late again the next night, so I traced his phone again. Same thing. He was at the Four Seasons.”
“Why? What was he doing there?”
She looks at me with a raised eyebrow.
“No. He’d never cheat on you!” I exclaim.
“Never say never, honey. I went to the hotel, pretending to be his assistant. The front desk guy told me where he was after I literally cried. I told them I’d get fired if I didn’t bring him some bogus contract.”
“They believed you?”
“I was crying. Guys hate that shit.”
“So you went to his room? What happened?” Do I really want to know this?
“I did. I knocked, saying, ‘Room service.’ I disguised my voice. When he opened the door, he was only wearing his boxers. Boxers thatIpressed for him that morning.”
Shepressedhis boxers? “Oh, no, honey. I’m sorry. Who…?”
“His assistant.”
“Gerard? His assistant, Gerard?”
“Yep. Turns out he’s bisexual. Well, he’s gay. He was just faking it with me. He was attracted to my money, and so was Gerard. I think Gerard was more upset about me finding out than Blake. Thankfully, he signed a prenuptial agreement, so now, because he cheated, he gets nothing. That means an end to Gerard’s free trips and the lavish gifts Blake showered on him.”
“No,” I say with a gasp. It’s shocking—literally shocking.
“Yep. Honestly, I think Blake wanted to be discovered. He loves Gerard, evidently. They’ve been together for years. I had no idea. None. What kind of wife doesn’t realize her husband is gay?” she says, looking down at her hands. I can tell she’s holding back. She looks so sad. My best friend is going through a tough time, and I’m absolutely no help.
I reach my good arm out to her to hold her hand. “I’m so sorry, sis. I really am.”
I hear her sniffle. “I know. Me, too. I just thought it was normal for couples to only have sex once a month. I assumed our marriage was typical. But I was very, very wrong.” She wipes away a tear and smiles. “I’m sorry. This is all about you. I’ll talk to you more about this later. Right now, we need to get you better so we can go get drunk somewhere.”
I smile at my bestie even while my heart hurts for her. It hurts a lot.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
THE CHICAGO SLASHER
By the timethey’ve moved me into a private room at Sam’s insistence. But, now I’m alone again. It seems like hours since I was admitted. Sam and Lauren have been in and out all night. Now, little bit of moon that glowed out my window has been replaced by the sunrise. The whirring and beeping of my monitors and machines are still annoyingly loud, but this room has a television and a couch that looks hard as a rock. A recliner sits next to the bed. They’ve brought me food. At least that’s what they called it. A cup of clear liquid, a bowl containing some type of broth, and applesauce. Everything is beige and liquidy. I’m hungry, so I won’t turn my nose up at the stuff. I reach over and grab the spoon and dip it into the broth. I touch my tongue to the liquid. Chicken broth? It’s hard to tell. It’s pretty tasteless.
“How you feelin’ now, darlin’? Need something for pain?”
I startle when I hear the voice. I didn’t see my nurse enter.
I hurt all over. “Yeah. I’m pretty sore. Why am I still hooked up to machines?”
“Well, you’ve got an IV going so you don’t get dehydrated and so we can give you antibiotics through the IV—we don’t want those cuts to get infected. The other machine is a heart monitor. You got a little agitated downstairs, so they want to keep an eyeon your heart rate.” She chuckles. “My name is Delores, honey. I’m going to take your vitals, and then I’ll skedaddle. Hit that little red button if you need anything. All right?”
I nod. My stomach takes the opportunity to growl like a hungry bear. “Can I have real food?” I’m starving.
She chuckles again. “I’ll check with the doc and see if you can eat ‘real food.’”
