Even though I asked the question, I don’t give her time to answer. “Why would you say that?”
She frowns, scanning my face. “Because the girl Tyler fucked last night had a butterfly stamped on her lower back.”
“What kind of butterfly tattoo?” My mind is racing and I can’t sort through my thoughts fast enough.
“I don’t know.” She drops her chin and picks at an invisible speck on the sheet between us. “Why does it matter?”
“Because,” I say slowly, “Hayden has a butterfly tattoo.”
“Lots of people do.” She peeks up at me, nibbling on herbottom lip. “It’s not very original. Does shealsohave blond hair and wear a fucking pearl necklace?”
My entire body stiffens; only my hands tremble, and Joey’s mouth falls open.
“Shit.”
Is it possible this is all just a misunderstanding? A coincidence? Hayden would never cheat on me. Especially not with someone like Tyler. From what I’ve seen of him in the media, he’s way too messy. Hayden is classy, and the people she surrounds herself with reflect that, even if I don’t fall under the stereotypical country club couture type. I certainly don’t wear polos and plaid.
And again, lots of women have butterfly tattoos stamped on their lower backs. But how many of those women are on the same cruise?
I snag my phone from the nightstand and call Hayden again, but it goes straight to voicemail like it has all evening.
Letting out a long breath, I assure myself that it wasn’t her.
No way.
But still…
My stomach twists. She did look awful this morning. I assumed she’d gotten too much sun or maybe ate questionable food from the buffet.
“Is this her?” Joey shoves her phone in my face.
Bile rises in my throat, and all the blood drains from my face. Joey has gone ashen too. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping that when I open them, the image will have changed, but I’m shit out of luck.
It’s Hayden.
She’s in profile, but it’s definitely her. Blond hair pulled back in a short, perky ponytail. Pearls wrapped snugly around her neck. A guy—clearly Tyler—clenching his fist around the back of her shirt, revealing a blue and purple butterfly just above herskirt; the one she got the day she moved out of her parents’ house at eighteen. Her small act of rebellion. The white pleated skirt she was wearing when I parted with her at the club last night.
“That—”
“Bitch,” Joey assumes for me. “I’m so sorry.”
Following her hands to where she tucks the phone between her legs, my gaze burns a hole in the sheets.
I shoot off the bed and pace, clenching my fists and my jaw. “I don’t fucking believe it,” I pant.
“I’m so sorry,” Joey says again. She hops off the mattress and rounds the foot of it. When she’s close, she reaches for me, but she pulls back quickly before she can make contact.
“How? Why? How could she do this to me?” I knead at the tingling in my chest and pace across the cramped space like a tiger locked in its cage. “Why would she fucking do that?”
Wait. Maybe this is a misunderstanding. Maybe it just looks like Hayden’s in a compromising position because of the angle from which the picture was taken. Those things can happen.
As if she can read my mind, Joey takes a small step closer, licking her lips. “I saw it with my own eyes. It’s real. It happened.”
I continue to pace back and forth, my heart pounding so hard against my ribs I worry it’ll make its way right out of my chest.How is this happening?
“Cam.”
“What the fuck?” Sure, we broke up this morning, but this happened last night. She cheated.
