I scramble for an answer. “It’s my dad’s. Was my dad’s. He gave it to me for protection.” Something my actual father would never do, because protection was a security detail, not a metal baseball bat. “I just thought…late at night, someone might see the light on in the kitchen. And I was sort of, uh, spooked, by being all alone.” It feels mean, pressing on Brayden’s sympathy like that.
Brayden’s face softens. “Sorry for not being here.”
“It’s okay. It was nice, fixing something for myself.” The first thing I’ve said to him as part of this conversation that wasn’t mostly a lie.
“If you need anything, you should tell me.”
I blink. Asher had said the same thing, more or less.If you didn’t hate each other, you might get along.“I promise I will.”
“Good.” Brayden looks, if not sober, at least definite, like he’s committing this discussion to memory.
I want to reach for him—to hug him, maybe, if I didn’t think he’d flinch back. So I settle for stifling a yawn with the back of my hand. “We should probably go to bed.” A couple-ish thing to say.
Brayden seems to realize how late it is. That we’re standing in the dim hallway between the kitchen and laundry room, that I’min short pajama shorts and a stretched-out T-shirt with no bra. “Bed—yeah, that’s a good idea.”
There’s no good way to bypass the kitchen stairs in favor of checking the front to see if Asher has left.Please let this have been enough time. I walk up the stairs, mindful of Brayden at my back, mindful that when we get to the top of the stairs, that might be the end of my (fake) marriage. I listen. Nothing from my room or Brayden’s. “Well”—I exaggerate a yawn—“good night.”
I go into my room: empty, save the crumpled bedspread. Dash to the window and look out. Asher’s car is gone, the only sign he was here the motion-activated streetlight still illuminating the pavement.
That and my necklace laid out on the windowsill, chain glinting in the reflected light. Beside it a note in blockish handwriting.Call me next time you want someone to take this off, princess.
Next time…There can’t be a next time, not with Brayden so obviously suspicious. Not with regret already sticking to my skin. I reach for the note about to crumple it or tear it to shreds. Then carefully, I fold it, and slip it into my nightstand drawer, and climb into my bed—alone.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Savannah
The next day,Brayden comes home early. Early for him anyway. They played an afternoon game, which usually just means more time out. But the front door opens at 10 p.m. and Brayden comes walking—not stumbling—through. I’m on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, sort of watching TV, sort of replaying the night before as a highlight reel. The club. The sink breaking. Asher stalking into the kitchen with a bat. Standing in my own bedroom, shedding that towel. Asher… My skin goes hot at the memory. Then the panic of Brayden coming home and everything after.
He's home now.Early. Not drunk, seemingly. I sit up. I’m not wearing a bra, and I realize I’m just in a thin tank top. The same thing he saw me in last night, more or less, which feels different now, fully awake and mostly sober. “Hey,” I say as Brayden shuts the door.
“Sav, hey.” He kicks off his shoes, then comes into the living room, eyeing the couch and armchair before settling on the latter. “What’re you watching?” he asks after a minute.
I don’t even know. I glance at the screen. “Stable of Love.” A dating show with a wild conceit. Or would be wild if I wasn’t fake-married to a husband and fucking his teammate. Not fucking.Fucked, once, past tense. And not again. “I can change it.”
Brayden settles in the armchair, or settles for him, his hands positioned on his knees. “Nah, keep watching if you’re into it.”
I wasn’t really. But that’s impossible to explain given…everything. So I watch the people on screen. Everyone is beautiful and dramatic and very into sleeping with everyone else. They’re doing some kind of challenge, but people keep sneaking off to hook up in various rooms of a sprawling ranch house. Without my permission, my face starts heating again.
Brayden doesn’t say anything. He hasn’t said why he’s back. Maybe he’s just tired, the way I am—and I didn’t have to play a baseball game today. Five minutes into the show, he leans in and points to the woman on screen. “Wasn’t she just fucking—” He cuts himself off, then corrects, “Sleeping with that other guy?”
My skin tightens. “Yeah.”
“Huh. Okay.”
What do you think about cheaters?I don’t want to know the answer to that. He gave me a necklace in the shape of a lock, a proposal in very specific terms. “This show is kinda messy.”
He relaxes back. “I wouldn’t have thought this would be your thing.”
I gulp down my surprise. “No?”
“Just, you know, I thought you’d be like, reading or something. I don’t really know. You seem too smart for this kinda stuff.”
My heart rate relaxes slightly. Being able to pass tests—not that I’ve been doing a lot of that lately—doesn’t make me smart. Look at last night. “Nope.”
For some reason, Brayden laughs. “Yeah, me neither.”
“Not into school?”
