Her car is at the curb when I storm up the street. I don’t bother ringing the bell or knocking—first of all, it would wake Conner, and second of all, it’s my fucking house. I use the key I still have and open the door.
The front entry is dark. I clench my keys tightly in my hand and head for the back of the house. The kitchen is straight ahead and the family room is attached to it. I can see light coming from that direction. I enter the kitchen and hear her before I see her. She’s laughing quietly. It’s a throaty, sexy, soft sound and it makes my blood run cold—because the only person I’ve ever heard her make that sound for before is me.
Our big chocolate-brown leather couch is positioned facing the fireplace with its back to the kitchen, where I’m standing. I see her feet hanging off the side of the couch. She’s wearing her favorite monkey slipper socks.
“I really needed that laugh,” she says with a smile in her voice. “But I should go…Of course I miss you but…”
I drop my keys loudly on the granite countertop of our kitchen island. She jumps and her head pops up over the back of the couch, her cell phone falling from her ear.
“Who are you talking to?” I ask, my voice so low and menacing, I know why she looks terrified. She picks up the phone again as she stands up.
“I have to call you later. Devin is here. Talk to you later, Kayleigh.” She ends the call and actually has the nerve to place her hands on her hips and try to look indignant. “What the hell?! You can’t just barge in here in the middle of the night!”
“It’s my fucking house. I can do whatever I want,” I growl back. I grip the granite countertop in order to stop the rage from making my hands tremble.
Ashleigh walks into the kitchen and stands on the other side of the island, her back against the sink.
“Who was that?”
“Kayleigh.”
I swallow hard. “So if I look in your call log and hit redial, Kayleigh will answer the fucking phone?”
“Devin, are you drunk?” she accuses. I can’t help but notice she’s clutching the phone tightly. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Are you fucking someone else?”
Her eyes narrow angrily. “Get out.”
“No.”
“Devin. Get. Out.” She’s furious—and still clutching her phone.
I take a step toward her and extend my hand. “Give me your phone.”
“Get out. Now!” She raises her voice as high as she can without waking Conner.
“When I see your sister’s phone number in your fucking call log, I will leave,” I promise and we stare at each other for a long silent second.
Her long, narrow fingers are still wrapped tightly around her fucking iPhone. I slam my hand down on the island. The crystal bowl Jessie sent us for our wedding, which Ashleigh keeps filled with apples, jiggles from the force. Ashleigh jumps and lets out a fearful squeak.
“Give me your motherfucking phone.”
“Stop!” she all but screams, tears swimming in her eyes. “You’re scaring me. You’ll scare Conner if he wakes up. Devin, please!”
“Do you bring him here with my son?” I snarl, leaning toward her over the island. “Do you fuck him in my bed with my son down the hall?”
“I would never do that to Conner!” she blurts out and then her hand flies to her mouth. I feel like someone just stuck a serrated knife through my heart. It’s a weird pain, though. It’s not heartbreak so much as betrayal slicing through me. I was forcing myself to make things work and she was fucking someone else. Tears roll down her pale cheeks. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
“You didn’t mean forwhatto happen? Destroy our fucking marriage? Rip our family apart?” I want to throw things. I want to ram my fist through the wall. I want to throw myself into traffic. “Who is he?”
She shudders and sobs. “It doesn’t matter.”
I grab my keys off the counter and storm around the island to stand in front of her. She actually cowers, like she really thinks I would physically hurt her. Like she thinksI’mthe monster here. I roughly grab her phone and wrench it from her hand. I spin and hurl it as fast and hard as I can. It sails across the kitchen, into the family room, and slams into the wall beside the flat screen. The force knocks one of our framed family photos off the wall and it lands on the floor on top of the destroyed iPhone, glass shattering.
“You’re a fucking whore,” I growl and stalk out of the house.
She chases after me yelling something, but my head is screaming and I hear nothing. Luc’s rental car is pulling up as I’m marching down the street. I don’t even stop. I just continue straight ahead down the idyllic street that just became my living nightmare.
