My eyes snapped to his. “Don’t do what?”
“You can’t expect me to sit around waiting while you go home to your husband every night,” he said, looking at me like I had a clown nose on.
“I told you I was married!” I shouted.
“I know,” he replied. “Which means you should also know I wasn’t about to keep begging for your time like I’m some fantasy you run to when home ain’t hitting right.”
That hurt because it was true. But it still hurt.
“So this an every weekend thing?” I asked bitterly. “She’s here while your son is here. Is it that serious?”
He sighed. “Khloe… don’t do this.”
“Why not?” I laughed brokenly. “I was honest with you. You weren’t honest with me.”
“You never asked!” he snapped.
I stared at him in disbelief that he really said that.
“Look,” he said, tired. “Call me tomorrow. You can’t just pop up at my house.”
I laughed. “Oh… so now I can’t pop up?”
“No,” he said firmly. “Because I can’t just pop up at yours.”
That shut me up instantly because he was right. God, I wanted to slap him.
I turned to walk away, then stopped because I had one last question burning in my chest.
“And why did you lie about being a day trader? I heard all you do is run quick schemes and sell drugs.”
He shook his head like he was exhausted. “I didn’t lie. I do day trade.”
He paused. “I trade drugs for money in the daytime.”
I stared at him, waiting for the joke, but it never came. Embarrassment washed over me. I felt stupid, naive, played, used. Everything at once.
“Fuck you, Stacks!” I yelled, turning away before he could see me completely fall apart.
I walked back to my truck feeling like I had just lost everything. My marriage. My escape. My illusion. And most importantly… myself.
The hallway outside Coffee’s hotel room felt endless. Every step toward her door felt heavier than the last, like my body finally understood what my mind had been refusing to accept all night.
I stood there for a second, staring at the number on the door, my hand trembling before I knocked. The door swung open almost immediately.
Coffee took one look at my face and didn’t ask a single question. “Oh, baby…” she whispered.
Her arms wrapped around me before I could even speak, pulling me into her chest like she was trying to hold me together. And the moment she touched me, I broke. A loud, ugly sob tore out of me as she guided me inside, kicking the door shut behind us.
“I got you,” she kept saying softly. “I got you.”
She walked me to the bed, but my knees gave out halfway there. I collapsed onto it, curling into myself while the tears just kept coming. I was grateful she got a hotel and didn’t stay with one of her parents’ home or mine because I needed somewhere to fall apart without witnesses, judgment, anyone seeing how stupid I felt, how embarrassed I was, and how badly I hated myself in that moment.
I buried my face into the pillow, crying so hard. On the drive over, I had called her, barely able to breathe, words tumbling out between sobs while she kept repeating:
“Calm down. Focus on the road. Just get here safe.”
But I couldn’t stop talking, crying, or replaying everything.
