A trickling of raindrops break through the clouds. I tip my face to the sky, watching as the treetops shimmy when a sharp breeze rolls through. Rain pelts my cheeks and eyes, and I blink away the droplets, a chill settling in my bones.
Letting out a shaky breath, I reach for Alex’s hand and squeeze.
“I promise,” I whisper.
And I meant it.
God, I meant it.
***
Silence greets me as I enter the condo.
The same silence from the woods, right before the snap of a branch. Right before Alex tackled me. But this time, there’s no laugh at the end. No hands pulling mine apart. No twinkling eyes or promises steeped in childhood innocence.
Just the sound of my heart giving out.
I drop my purse in the entryway and slip out of my wet shoes. My face is streaked with rain and tears, my body shivering with regret.
“Annalise?” Alex’s voice seeps from the main bedroom, followed by the sound of footsteps. He pokes his head out from the hallway, his eyes raking over me. “Hey.”
I can’t find words. Can’t smile. Can’t move.
Alex knows me well enough to know something is off.
Irreparably wrong.
The condo still lingers with the scent of salmon and veggies after I gulped down dinner, moments before running out the door and into the arms of another man.
The smell congeals in my gut.
Cautiously, he steps forward, meeting me in the center of the living room. His eyes slant with suspicion. “You’re soaking wet.”
A clipped nod.
“You’ve been crying.”
Another nod.
His nostrils flare. A long pause.
And then: “What did you do?”
The question slices through me. Everything inside me stumbles, my pulse thudding in my ears. The air between us stretches thin, as if the walls themselves are holding their breath.
We stare at each other.
The silence grows heavier, unbearable.
Then the words burst out of me. “I kissed him.”
While I planned to confess, I hadn’t wanted to like this. This is an ambush. But I can’t hold it in, can’t go another second with this secret locked inside me, hollowing out my heart.
“I kissed him, Alex.”
He blinks like he didn’t hear me correctly. But he did. The way the color drains from his face tells me he registered every word.
“I’m so sorry.” Nausea wobbles in the pit of my stomach, a boat fighting storm-charged waves. This guilt is no less than a death sentence. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I just…” My voice grows small.
