“I don’t lie. I’ve never lied to you.”
She gestures to me. “Well then?”
I take a deep breath not quite ready for the turd sandwich that’s about to go down. “I wired your place with cameras after you moved in.”
“Cameras,” she says to herself, waiting a beat, to add, “After I moved in.”
I don’t turn away. I don’t flinch. I watch her face as the anger ripples over the surface and the shutters come down.
The silence stretches for minutes that feel like hours. A lone tear tracks down her face, and she walks to the back door. “Of all the things that could hurt me, the last thing I ever would expect is being betrayed by you.”
If she had yelled it, it would’ve been easier. If she’d screamed and beat my chest, I could’ve dealt with that blow. But the quiet resignation is what cuts me to the quick.
“Lorien,” I start, but I know I have no leg to stand on.
The door snicks closed in my face.
33
kaboom
Lorien
I never have the presence of mind to plan ahead.
In school, yes. In research, of course. In the lab, it’s second nature.
In life, I’m the girl whose head was so stuck in a book, I missed the basics of being street smart.
Until June, when two men took advantage of my naïveté and I vowed nothing like that would ever happen again. So I have my phone. I’ve already called a rideshare, and my bag is packed.
I’m one hundred percent certain I’m missing something I need for my weekend at home. Whether that’s a dress or sleepwear or panties, I don’t know. And I do not care.
Liam pounds on my back door and calls my name.
I need sixty seconds. I need sixty freaking seconds as I watch the app. The Tesla that pulls in front of my unit barely makes it to a stop before I’m in the backseat and we’re heading out.
“DIA please.” Nutter Butter. He already knows that. He knew that when he accepted the fare.
I play on my phone, knowing this plan is terrible, that more can go wrong than right, and that I’ll need my game face in place before I land.
That shouldn’t be a problem. My flight doesn’t leave until the morning. Fourteen hours sitting in the airport should allow meenough time to run the gamut of emotions and place the worst week of my life firmly behind me.
The light of the sun setting warms my head and neck, and I drop my head back onto the seat. All too soon, we’re at the airport and I’m faced with hour upon hour of wandering, trying to sleep in public, and needing a charger, now that I think about it.
The TSA people must feel sorry for me, because they wave me through with next to no time in line. I reach my concourse and stand at the top of the up escalators realizing my first mistake. It’s too early to even know which gate is mine. They haven’t been assigned yet. My stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten and what I did have is sprayed in the grass somewhere in Morrison.
I pick a restaurant with the least boring menu and take a seat near the window. I order a glass of wine and a salad with grilled shrimp and eat while I watch the baggage handlers fumble and toss people’s luggage from cart to cart.
The waiter has just set down my second glass of wine when a huge presence taps a tatted hand on my table. Looking up, I see the man I ran from take the seat across from me. “I’ll have whatever she had, except bourbon instead of wine,” he tells the waiter as he approaches. “And two waters please.”
The man who betrayed me before he even knew me, the one I felt safe with, even with no logical reason, dips his head to find my eyes that had been studiously examining the coaster.
“You ran away.” His voice is quiet but firm.
The waiter sets his drink down, along with two waters. “Another wine, miss?”
“Sure,” I offer sweetly, all the while staring at my husband whose face shows disapproval.
