Heather flinched but didn’t answer. Her lips trembled.
“Say it, Heather,” I growled, struggling to stand on wobbly legs. I had to grab the side of her bed to keep from falling over. “What did you give me?’
Her arms tightened around her chest.
“Just something to help you calm down,” she whispered. “You were spiraling, and I didn’t think you’d take it if I told you what it really was.”
“What. Was. It.” My voice dropped to a dangerous octave.
“GHB,” she said quietly. “The date rape drug. It was just… it was supposed to help. I swear, Max, I swear.”
The room spun. Not just the room—my thoughts. My memories.
“You drugged me?” I snapped, stepping forward. She recoiled. “You gave me that shit? Why?”
“I… I just wanted to know what it was like to be with you.”
I stared at her like she was something rotten.
Images tried to push their way into my head. Memories of her hand on my chest, her breath on my neck, her body pressed against mine, rolled to the front of my brain. But they kept slipping, cutting in and out like a bad signal. Every time I reached for one, it broke apart.
“You fucking bitch.” The words came out hoarse. Something flickered at the edge of my mind: her touching me, her kissing me, her trying to climb on top of me. My stomach rolled.
“You knew exactly what you were doing,” I said through clenched teeth. “You touched me when I couldn’t even think straight.”
I paced the room, my hands pulling at my hair like a madman. The cabin felt too small, the walls too close, like they were inching in. The floor seemed to tilt under my feet, then snap back.
“You’ve been fucking waiting for this moment all summer, huh, Heather?”
Heather’s eyes welled with tears, but it didn’t move me.
“Did we fuck?” I asked.
If she said yes, I’d probably kill her.
“No,” she said quietly. “You told me no.”
At least I knew that even in my drugged-fueled state, I wasn’t a complete fuck-up, and was still faithful to Mackenzie. It was always going to be her.
A jagged flash hit me, the memory of me shoving Heather off, slapping her hand away, my voice slurred, saying no, crying, telling herI love my wife.
“So you tried to rape me then,” I said flatly. The words hung in the air like a guillotine.
She got up, legs unsteady.
“Please, Max, please don’t say that.”
“Why not?” I asked. “Because if I had done this to you, I’d be in jail already. If I had drugged you and tried to rape you, everyone would burn me alive. Why is it okay for you to do it?”
Heather was crying now, messy, choked sobs. She collapsed onto the mattress and curled in on herself.
I shoved my duffel bag onto my shoulder. It felt lighter than it should have. Or maybe I was going numb.
“Now, where the fuck is she, by the way?”
“Who?” Heather asked, voice thin.
“My wife.” The word scraped my throat. “Mackenzie.”
