“We want to help,” June supplies.
“We need to know,” Viola says.
I hold up my hands. “All right. Enough with the tag team.” Leaning back in my chair, I sigh heavily. “I was always planning on confiding in you,” I truthfully admit, looking both my friends in the eyes. “I just needed some time to process first, and I was hoping to tell you when I could finally control my tear ducts.” Moisture stings my eyes, but I rub them, shoving the tears back down inside. I have cried enough tears this week because of that prick. Anger comes and goes, but the overriding feelings are hurt, sadness, disappointment, embarrassment, and regret.
Viola glances over her shoulder, checking no one is outside, before swinging her gaze to me. “He’s cheating again, isn’t he?” she softly asks. I shared my suspicions with my friend a couple of weeks ago, so I’m not surprised she’s made the correct assumption.
I nod, gulping over the lump in my throat.
“That fucking asshole!” June hisses, reaching over to take my hand. She squeezes it. “He has never been good enough for you, and you deserve so much better.”
“You do,” Viola agrees, nodding. Coming around my desk, she pulls me to my feet and hugs me. A sob rips from my throat as I cling to my childhood bestie. Viola squeezes me harder before easing back. “You can tell us everything, and we’ll help you to figure this out. We’re getting takeout at my house, and I already stocked up on wine and vodka.”
“I can’t,” I say, tidying the papers on my desk. “I’ve got to get home to Ridge. West has a date with Hazel, and Stella is going out with her friends.” I don’t mention the prick I’m married to won’t be home because he’ll be out fucking his girlfriend.
“Ruthie has agreed to watch Ridge and the twins,” Viola says. “I talked to her earlier, and she said she didn’t have any plans for tonight. She’s cool to stay home with Ridge and my two hellions.”
“You’re sure?” I inquire, as I put my coat on, because I don’t usually ask my cleaning lady to babysit, but she has helped me out with emergencies in the past.
“Positive. I think she was happy to be asked, and you know she’s trustworthy. The kids will be fine with her.” She circles her arm around my shoulders. “It’s covered. You’re ours for the night. Let’s go.”
* * *
“Okay. Tell us everything,” June says ninety minutes later, handing me a large wineglass, in the comfort of Viola’s cozy living room. Viola got the house in the divorce five years ago, and her ex-husband lives four miles away with his new partner, Brian. They share joint custody of their thirteen-year-old son and daughter, and if there was a poster child for the perfect divorce and co-parenting model, it would be Viola Johnson. Not that it was smooth sailing initially, but they did what was best for the kids and manage to keep things amicable by putting their best interests first.
June drops down beside me on the couch while Viola is curled up in her leather recliner in front of a roaring fire. The room is toasty warm unlike the chill emanating from my soul. “It’s all been a lie,” I admit before gulping back a large mouthful of white wine. “Every fucking moment of my marriage has been fraudulent,” I say, staring at Viola. She was there for the entire thing, and I need to know if she was as taken in as I was.
“What exactly does that mean?” Her brow creases as she sips her wine.
“It means he’s been cheating on me since I was seventeen.” I proceed to tell June and Viola everything, and they listen attentively, drinking their wine, their faces growing redder, their expressions angrier, the more I talk, but they don’t interrupt. They let me get it out, and it spews from my mouth like projectile vomit. I didn’t realize how badly I needed to confide in my friends until now.
“Oh my God, Kendall.” Viola rubs a hand over her mouth and sighs. “I cannot believe he’s done that or what he expects of you now.”
“Did you ever notice?”
She shakes her head. “Never. He always seemed so in love with you.”
“He’s a motherfucking psychopath,” June seethes. “How dare he treat you like that!” Of the two, June is the more free-spirited, hotheaded one, so I’m not surprised she’s reacting in anger.
“That’s not even the worst of it. He was having phone sex with her the other night,” I admit, digging my nails into the palms of my hand. I’m still shocked, enraged, and devastated anytime I think about it. “He knew I was in the en suite bathroom, and he still jerked off while talking dirty to her over the phone.”
June hops up, steam practically billowing from her ears. “That motherfucking bastard, asshole, jerk, douche, shithead, pissant, dickwad, prick, son of a bitch, ass maggot, Tiger Woods wannabe, lying, cheating piece of goddamn shit!” she roars, letting loose a string of colorful insults, which impresses me. She stops only to draw a deep breath. “I want to kill him with my bare hands. I want to beat the ever-loving shit out of that good-for-nothing cheating scumbag.” Her face looks murderous as she continues. “No, that’s not torturous enough. I want to chop him up into tiny pieces and feed them to the slut he’s currently fucking. Then I’ll set her on fire and cackle my head off while I curse them both and wish them a long and painful afterlife in hell.”
“Creative. I like it.” I have had a lot of similar thoughts, but she’s more imaginative than me. Must be the marketing part of her brain.
She’s not done though. “I hope his tiny disease-ridden dick falls off and he gets scabies and has itchy pubes.” She stomps across the floor, clenching her fists and snarling. “Oh, oh, I know!” Her eyes light up, and her gaze dances between me and Viola. “You need payback, Ken, and we need to start a list.” She jabs her finger in Viola’s direction. “We can have some real fun with this.” Her eyes glow with mischief. “I read this post on social media one time about a woman who suspected her husband was cheating after she found a half-empty box of condoms in his car.”
She gleefully rubs her hands. “She poked holes in the wrapper of each condom and soaked each one in habanero pepper juice before putting them back in the box. The next day, her husband left saying he was running an errand or something. Then a few hours later—wait for it—she got a call from her best friend saying she’d just had sex with her new man and now she was on fire down below. Can you believe it?”
Her eyes pop wide and she shakes her head. “Imagine calling your lover’s wife asking for advice?” Her eyes narrow. “I’d have cut the bitch. Anyway, then her hubby came home and ran straight to ice his dick, creating some elaborate story to try to excuse it, but she knew the truth.” She sinks onto the couch and grabs my hands, her face alight with excitement. “That’s what you should do! Give his current slut a nasty itch she’ll feel for days.”
A giggle bubbles up my throat as I stare at her hopeful face, and I set it free. Perhaps thatiswhat I need to do. Make Curtis’s life hell while outwardly he has to keep pretending with me. We’re all laughing; it’s a great tension reliever, and it feels great.
Until it doesn’t.
My laughter quickly transforms to sobs as I fall apart in front of my friends.
Viola joins us on the couch, and I cling to my friends as I sob onto their shoulders. A tsunami of emotions lays siege to my insides, and I give in to them as it all comes crashing down. My chest is wracked with pain as I unleash everything, emitting deep body-encompassing sobs, my insides twisted in agony, as I purge the emotion stripping me raw. They hold me, without speaking, letting me expunge it, as I cry my heart out.
