She pressed her lips tightly together as she parked the SUV, then mumbled, “I’m aware.”
When she immediately reached for her door handle, I grasped her forearm to keep her there and demanded, “What’d you mean earlier? When you said, ‘Just tell me why?’”
A bitter sound left her as she spared the briefest glance my way. “If you think it has anything to do with younot being therewhen my mom died, I assure you, it doesn’t.”
Keeping one hand on her arm, I caught the seatbelt when she released it and growled, “Thenwhat?”
That time, she shot a cold glare my way and held my stare. “The fact that you have to ask says everything.”
“Why wouldn’t I have to ask?” I nearly yelled. “You’ve done everything to avoid talking to me like this for three months. I didn’t even hear that your mom died fromyou. I found out from Rushdaysafter you’d already left for California.”
“Then take a hint,” she softly raged.
“What hint exactly?” I asked in the same tone. “The one where you refuse to really talk to me? Or the one where you haven’t done anything to end our marriage?”
Her blue eyes flared before narrowing. At the sight, I wondered when we’d gotten so close—if I’d been the first one to lean in, or if it’d been her.
But there we were, leaning toward each other, faces inches apart. And it had my ruined heart racing as I took in her features—strikingly beautiful, even twisted up with anger and determination like they were then.
My Princess Peach.
“For the life of me, I can’t figure out why you’re punishing me for somethingwedid,” I continued softly.
“Wedidn’t do anything,” she argued. “You? That...that’s a different story.”
When she pulled away, I let her go.
Not that I would’ve kept her there had she tried to leave anyway, but the crack in her voice on the wordyou, and her barely-leashed emotion following, threw me enough that my hands had loosened before she even tried.
And then I was alone in the car, trying to figure out what she’d meant. My stomach twisted as I worried over all the possibilities of that claim.
Each possibility seemed more outrageous than the next, but then again, I’d never done anything to make Mallory dothis.
I sank back against the seat and dragged a hand over my face as I tried blocking out the thoughts coming too quickly now. I wouldn’t have hurt her. IknowI wouldn’t have. And we’d been dressed when we woke that morning.
Right?
Then again, I thought I’d known I would’ve never drunk enough to forget an entire night.
I was suddenly second guessing everything I’d known about Aruba—what little that’d been—and it felt like I was going to die under thewhat ifs.
Grabbing the keys Mallory left in the cupholder, I got out of the car and locked it as I went. Stride unsteady and chest tight as I tried thinking about each of my next steps: make it to the box where we stored the keys. Make it to my truck. Make it to my apartment.Anythingother than the nightmarish visions plaguing me now.
I was so caught up in my warring thoughts, I didn’t notice Thatch leaning against the side of my truck until he spoke.
“Ready to talk?”
“What?” My head moved sluggishly in response to the question, unable to make sense of it or him for far too long. “Oh...no.” I swung my arm in the direction of the SUV I’d just left. “Other than everyone thinking I did something to Monroe, there’s nothing.”
He was silent as I continued to my driver’s side door. Just as I reached it, he said, “You know, not that long ago, I would’ve sworn none of us had secrets from each other.” I glanced at him in time to see the sad smile tugging at his mouth. “Seems like everyone has secrets now.”
I deflated a little at that. “Thatch?—”
“You’re my best friend, Gray,” he continued over me. “You were my best man at my wedding. I’ve known you for over a dozen years, and I know people.” He gave me a meaningful look. “You think I don’t know you’re keeping something from me? You think I don’t know something happened between you and Monroe?”
I lifted my hands before letting them fall because, technically, nothinghadhappened.
That I know of . . .
