“Go!” I urge her. “Go tell him now, in person. This isn’t phone news.”
Blair hesitates. “But your crisis?—”
“Will still be here tomorrow,” I assure her. “Go tell your husband he’s going to be a dad.”
As Blair gathers her things, practically vibrating with excitement, she pauses to give me a quick hug. “For what it’s worth, Jess,” she says quietly, “trust Lucas with the truth. All of it.”
After Blair leaves, Stella stays to help clean up, both of us still buzzing with the happy news.
“You’ll tell him soon?” Stella asks, gathering wine glasses.
“Yes,” I promise.
When they’re both gone, I take the coward’s way out and decide to spend the night at my place. I scroll to see if I missed any texts from Lucas before sending my own.
JESS
Staying at my apartment tonight. Blair and Stella came by with some good news to celebrate. Will fill you in tomorrow.
His response comes a moment later.
LUCAS
Sure. See you tomorrow.
Brief. To the point. Not the usual warmth I’ve grown accustomed to. But it’s been a long day for both of us, and I’m probably reading too much into it.
As I get ready for bed in the apartment that no longer quite feels like home, I replay Blair’s parting advice:Trust Lucas with the truth. The irony doesn’t escape me that what started as a convenient arrangement has somehow become the most real relationship I’ve ever had. And now I’m risking it all for my commitment to the truth.
thirty-six
. . .
Lucas
The icein my glass has long since melted, diluting what remains of the expensive bourbon I’ve been nursing for the past hour. It’s my third glass. Or maybe fourth? I lost count as night settled over the apartment, leaving me sitting in an almost-dark room, with only the city lights filtering through the windows.
I didn’t bother turning on a lamp. The darkness suits my mood.
Each time I close my eyes, I see the footage from yesterday of Jess and Dylan hunched over that folder.I promised Lucas I wouldn’t dig into his father’s affairs…but journalistically, I have an obligation to pursue this story.
The betrayal burns worse than the alcohol.
The sound of keys in the door snaps me from my thoughts. The door opens, casting a rectangle of light from the hallway that stretches across the floor. Jess steps in, silhouetted for a moment before she flips on the light.
She jumps, and her hand flies to her chest. “Jesus!Lucas, you scared me.” Her expression shifts from surprise to concern as she takes me in, disheveled, drink in hand, sitting in the dark. “What’s wrong?”
I raise my glass in a mock toast. “Waiting for my wife to come home.”
Something in my tone makes her pause. She sets her bag down slowly, studying me. “Sorry I didn’t make it back here last night. Blair and Stella came over with some news and?—”
“Spare me.” My voice comes out harder than I intended, but I can’t seem to modulate it. The alcohol has loosened something bitter inside me.
“What’s going on with you?” She approaches cautiously, like I’m a wounded animal that might strike. Perhaps I am.
“Why don’t you tell me, Jess? Isn’t that what you do best? Dig up stories? Uncover secrets?” I stand, unsteady for a moment before finding my balance. “Or do you only share those discoveries with Dylan?”
Her face scrunches in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
