Marissa pauses for a beat, searching Sophie’s face intensely. Then she leans back on her stool and rubs the crest of her belly. “Nope.”
A door clicks open in the front hall and thunks closed. There’sthe sound of keys being hung on a hook, and then a man tosses out a distracted, “Hey.” The sound of it snaps Sophie’s taut nerves about Marissa’s questions in half. She knows that voice.
When he walks into the room, Sophie feels herself drifting out of her body. The man is stocky with blond hair and a square jaw slashed through with a scar, with some pockmarks on his cheeks—shadows of his youth. She recognizes him instantly.
His eyes find hers, and he shows surprise, at first, that someone who is not his wife is sitting in his kitchen. Then, his surprise turns to something else. He knows who she is. He leans in and gives Marissa a kiss, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Sophie.
She shoves her stool back and mutters something about having to go to the bathroom. Marissa, apparently oblivious, points her down the hall to the right.
Tanner McGrath. Marissa is married to Tanner McGrath.Her thoughts spin and whirl as she flushes, washes her hands, looks at herself in the mirror. She’s thrown back to that night. His demands were clouded by alcohol.“Take off your bra now. Just one more. You like it, don’t you?”
She tries to steady her breathing, but it’s coming too fast. She is lightheaded, swelling with the acute need to leave this house. She shouldn’t have come inside. She should have known.
The hall is dark when she turns off the bathroom light. She takes one step in the direction of the kitchen and bumps into someone. He’s as thick as a brick wall and smells of sweat. Her senses fire with alarm.
“Sophie Stringer,” he says. “I heard you were in town.” She can’t look at him, even though she feels his gaze on her. She wants to push past him, but she finds she’s rooted to the spot, just trying to catch her breath. “It’s nice to see you again.” His voice is like claws scratching at the insides of her ears. It sends bile bubbling up her esophagus.
“Get out of my way,” she says. She’s suddenly shaking.
“What’s wrong?”
Sophie can’t believe it. Beneath her panic about what happened a million years ago in that room, what he did to her, how he made her feel as small as an insect—beneath all that, Sophie can feel it. He’s still a predator. He might have a baby on the way, but she knows who he is at the core. He leans in toward her, and she wants to scream. She wants to vomit. She wants to leave. Above all, she wants to fucking leave.
Tanner reaches above her right shoulder, toward her hair, and she holds her breath. The light above them blinks on.
Then, a voice. “What are you doing?” Marissa stands at the end of the hall, staring at them. Sophie feels like a teenager caught doing something she isn’t supposed to. And Marissa is all shock and reprimand now, glaring at her like the devil incarnate has cursed her home.
“Babe.” Tanner slides away from Sophie. “I was just turning on the light.”
Marissa looks at him, hard, and then she nods, like she believes him. She looks like she always believes him. Her next movement is a jerk of the head. Her eyes find Sophie’s, and they bore into her.
“You should go.”
“I’m sorry.” It’s not what Sophie means, not even close, but here she is, apologizing for existing like she always does because it doesn’t matter what she says. Her body is insisting:Leave. Leave. Go now.
“Marissa, don’t be rude to our guest.” Tanner looks down at Sophie’s lips and reaches for her arm. Her stomach lurches. “Stay,” he whispers.
She clocks the distance between her bag on the stool in the kitchen and the front door, and then she wrenches free of him. She thinks she hears her name on the way out, but she does not stop.
40Joey
Joey is at River’s door at six thirty the next morning.
“It’s Saturday, Joey.” He’s puffy with sleep and looks worn-out, even hungover.
Inside, it’s early-morning quiet. Her red bra, the one she said she thought was missing, sits neatly folded on the small table to her left. “I came to tell you it’s over.” She says it just like this, right where they are, before the front door is even closed behind her.
“Good morning to you too,” he says, running a hand through his hair. There’s a silence. “Do you want to talk? There’s coffee.”
She shakes her head.
He seems unsure, wary, like she’s a bomb that might go off at any moment. “Is this about last night? Listen, I was just shocked that you’d think—”
“I can’t do this anymore.”
He looks away, as if searching for some way to convince her she’s making a mistake. She knows what is going through his mind. He’s relentlessly rational, and her ending a two-year-long relationship with no explanation is likely killing him.
“I didn’t hurt Quinn. You know that,” he says.
