There hadn’t been a meeting. Devil hadn’t called Church. There was no emergency. That was a lie I fed her because I couldn’t bring myself to say the truth out loud.
I’d found the note by accident, folded small and tucked into her jacket pocket. It had fallen out when I moved it.
Meet me tonight. Don’t tell anyone. Z.
No name. Didn’t need one.
That alone should’ve told me everything.
I didn’t wake her, didn’t confront her, didn’t ask who she was meetin’ or why she felt the need to lie straight to my face. I told myself I’d watch instead, that I’d see for myself before I said somethin’ I couldn’t take back.
But the truth?
I followed her because some part of me already knew. Because I’d seen that distance in her eyes this last week, the way she’d pulled just a little outta my reach like she was already halfway gone. I followed her because I’d let her in.
That was the mistake.
I had slowed my bike a block from the Day’s Inn, engine quietin’ as I eased into the shadows. I watched her walk back out of High Voltage, shoulders tucked in, steps quick and sure like she’d done this before. Like this wasn’t some sudden decision eatin’ her alive, but somethin’ she’d already made peace with.
That thought twisted the knife deeper.
I waited, because part of me still wanted to be wrong. Still wanted her to walk back out alone, look around like she was second-guessin’ herself, then turn around and come back to me.
When that door opened and I saw him with his hands on her, whatever mercy I had left burned clean to dust.
I didn’t see confusion. I didn’t see a woman trapped.
I saw betrayal.
I saw her sneakin’ off while I was sittin’ in my office worryin’ about her. I saw myself givin’ her space, trustin’ her, believin’ the quiet meant she just needed time. I saw a man who’d let himself want somethin’ real for the first time in his life.
And a woman who played him false.
The ride after that blurred together. Streets streaked past, lights bleedin’ into one another, the engine screamin’ like it was tryin’ to outrun the rage boilin’ up my spine. Every mile fed the story formin’ in my head, hardenin’ it into somethin’ solid and ugly.
Of course she lied. Of course she went behind my back. Of course she didn’t tell me about him. I laughed once, sharp and bitter, the sound ripped straight outta me.
I’d let her in.
That was the sin.
I’d let her sleep in my bed, wear my shirts, meet my family. I’d stood in my own damn bar and watched her move like she belonged there, like she was choosin’ me. I’d started imaginin’ mornings. Permanence. A future with a house, kids, the whole damn thing.
And all that time, she was sneakin’ around to meet the man she really loved.
Zach.
The name burned.
The dead man who wasn’t dead at all. The first love. The one who came before me and, apparently, still came after.
I pulled over somewhere I didn’t recognize and killed the engine, the sudden silence roarin’ in my ears. My hands shook asI braced ’em on the tank, breath finally catchin’ up to the damage sittin’ heavy in my chest.
I wasn’t hurt because she’d loved someone before me. I was hurt because she chose him again. Because she went to that motel knowin’ damn well what it looked like. Knowin’ damn well what it meant. Because she crawled into his arms while I was out there believin’ in her.
Believin’ in us.
That realization cracked somethin’ open inside me. Somethin’ dark.
