Page 3 of Heavy Crown

Any time I’ve tried to raise the issue with him, he’s said we have to “prove our worth” and “earn our keep” and someday the whole empire will be ours.

Though, he hasn’t made the “ours” argument in a while.

Since it’s my birthday, they let me off my shift early. But that almost didn’t happen when a bartender called in sick. Another thing about becoming part of an extended family business—your life is no longer your own.

I’m the pastry chef, but they slot me into other roles in the restaurant when they’re short, and I haven’t managed to escape the building. In the year since we moved here, I’ve covered every imaginable position.

Our apartment is a wide-open, high-ceilinged room on the top floor that has incredible views of the marina. And a sky-high rental price tag to match. The only walls are at the back, and they box in the bathroom and one closet. Our bed lays against the far wall, and it’s the first thing anyone sees when they walk in the door. When I suggested to Derrick that we rearrange the layout so our bed wasn’t so in your face, he said he liked having the spot where we’d be fucking so accessible. Seemed romantic at the time.

But Derrick has never been much of a true romantic, so when I slot my key into the lock on our apartment door, I’m hoping he’s at least remembered today is my birthday. His parents did. They won’t remind him because they believe he’s highly organized and very efficient. Neither is true.

The door is hard to open, and I grunt as I push against it. Did he drop his shoes in front of the door again? How many times do I have to tell him they get stuck on the mat and make opening the door impossible?

Music blares from the sound system, so he won’t even hear me if I shout for help.

With another concerted effort, I get the door to swing wide enough to slip in. On the floor are a pair of heels I’ve scuffed by forcing the door.

I tilt my head. Heels? Not my heels.

Then my gaze is drawn to the line of discarded clothes leading to the bed. The trail is familiar—usually one I wake up to after Derrick and I have stumbled home drunk and barely made it in the door before stripping each other naked.

The clothes are a tangle of dress pants, shirts, a skirt, panties…

My heart thumps. Reluctantly, I glance at the bed, and sure enough, Derrick’s bare ass is pumping away between some other woman’s legs. They’re both so focused on getting off, they didn’t even hear the door open.

“Harder,” the woman moans above the music. “Harder!”

“I’m going to come all over your tits,” Derrick cries.

My gut twists, and a sinking sensation settles over me. I could turn around and leave, and they’d probably never know. The me from ten minutes ago might have, but there’s something about coming home on my birthday to find my live-in boyfriend committing adultery that hardens a piece of me I didn’t realize was soft.

Instead of leaving, I turn off the device on the kitchen island that’s playing the music.

“Happy birthday to me!” I call out. No point in being subtle. It’s safe to say Derrick and I are done. I should be gutted, but I’m numb.

Whoever is underneath him screams, and he jumps away from her like she’s on fire.

“Rory!” He snags a sheet off the bed and wraps it around his middle, stumbling toward me. As if I’m not well acquainted with what’s under the sheet. “You’re home early.”

I glance behind him and realize it’s his ex-girlfriend from high school he’s plowing. A lump forms in my throat. She and I couldn’t be more different, from the color of our hair—hers dark and mine blond—to the curve of our hips—she has them and I don’t. Not to mention our personalities. I’m usually a pleaser, and she is distinctly not.

I have a feeling my pleasing days are over.

How many times have I asked him about her? At every turn he denied what my eyes and heart were telling me. Within months of us moving back to Bellerive, the two of them were magnets at every bar, at every social event, and apparently, even in our shared apartment.

“It’s my birthday,” I say. “As birthday surprises go, this is a new one.” I keep my voice light, but inside I’m dying. We’ve been together for two years—a year in college and a year here. How long has he been screwing her behind my back?

Derrick runs a hand through his short blond hair and glances over his shoulder at Janessa before turning back to me. “We weren’t—I didn’t—happy birthday?” He winces.

No apology. No groveling. No regret stamped on his face whatsoever. I don’t even bother to drop the mail on the kitchen island before spinning on my heel and racing down the stairs.

“Rory! Wait! We should talk. Come on, babe.” Derrick’s voice floats along the stairs behind me.

Babe? He has the nerve to call me fucking babe when he was just dick-deep in another woman? I toss my purse and the mail on the passenger seat of my compact and roar out of my parking space and down the narrow street.

Where am I going? I have no idea. The only friends I’ve managed to make are also Derrick’s friends or relatives. My life is so intrinsically connected to him that I don’t even have anyone to drown my sorrows with.

My parents are back in Canada, but we haven’t spoken in almost a year. If I knew for sure my mother would answer the phone, I’d call. Who else could I try? My younger brother is in the military and notoriously hard to reach. With the time change, the few friends I’ve kept in contact with over the last year will be sleeping.