A Twisted Love Story(46)

The knowledge came slowly, one drop at a time, each one more painful than the last. Like a special kind of torture designed for people who had married the wrong person.

The first time he accused her of cheating, she laughed, because it had to be a joke. It wasn’t. And he kept on doing it. If she looked at a waiter for too long, laughed at a bartender’s joke, or even thought about having a drink with her partner, it meant she must be cheating. Or that she wanted to.

The first time he threatened to kill himself if she left him, Karen assumed he was just being dramatic. She left anyway. He called her and claimed he was holding his service weapon, ready to blow off his head. Rather than call the police—and potentially make him lose his job—she went back home.

The first time he threatened to kill her if she left him, he also said he would find her. Wherever she went, whatever she did, he would be there. Karen woke up, took a hard look at her life, and realized she was exactly where he wanted her to be.

Trapped.





39




It takes Ivy less than a minute to learn that the man with the beard is named Milo.

Milo.

She hates the name, and hates the way it sounds with her own. Ivy and Milo. Doesn’t work. It also doesn’t matter, because she isn’t looking for a new life partner tonight.

At least he is polite and asks all the right questions: what she does, who she knows, how she spends her free time. Heath fades into the background, burying himself in his phone, leaving Ivy alone with Milo. She doesn’t dare look over at Wes, who is still talking to the group of girls in the middle of the bar. But he is paying attention. And she is paying attention to him.

Milo, oblivious, goes on and on about his podcast. “My friends and I started it for fun, something to do because it didn’t really cost anything. We recorded our conversations about pop culture and current events, stuff like that, and loaded them on YouTube. Then it kind of took off.”

“What’s it called?”

He smiles, looking a bit sheepish. “Promise you won’t judge me by the name.”

“Promise.”

“It’s called Broken Men.”

Good thing she isn’t genuinely interested in Milo, because he is waving a big red flag right in her face.

She laughs. “That’s quite a name.”

“Like I said, it started as a joke. It wasn’t like we planned it.”

“So is that what you are?” she says. “A broken man?”

“My therapist doesn’t think so.”

A nice save, mentioning his therapist, but she still doesn’t care. Milo will have to be some other woman’s problem. But she continues talking and flirting, and accepts the drink he offers to buy her.

“So if I say the wrong thing,” she says, “am I going to end up a story on your podcast?”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

She doesn’t believe him, but the question does make him recount the stories he tells on the show. He keeps talking until a burst of laughter from the middle of the bar interrupts the conversation. Ivy knows it’s coming from the table where Wes is sitting and forces herself not to look over there. She glances at Heath and gives him a tiny nod. He discreetly holds up his phone.

In the mirror, she sees that the group of girls is leaving. So is Wes. They all walk out of the bar together.

“It was really nice talking to you,” she says to Milo, “but I’ve got to meet some friends for dinner.”

Milo asks for her number. She gives it to him, though she can’t imagine dating a self-described broken man. It somehow seems preferable when a man is clueless about how damaged he is. Milo is the type who tells women in advance how screwed up he is so he can use it as an excuse later.

Heath walks out before she does, and they meet outside. He holds up his phone, showing her the pictures he took. Her and Milo, together at the bar. Talking. Laughing. Smiling.

Perfect.



* * *



—

Farrah unlocks the door to her place and holds it open. “Come on in.”

Wes does as he’s told.

She lives in a tiny apartment, basically a studio with a curtain walling off the bed. She has fabric on the walls, too, and a crystal-looking chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It feels like he has walked into a music box.

Not a bad thing.

“I have wine,” she says. “Pinot grigio?”

“That’s perfect.”

He sits down on the overstuffed couch, which feels as comfortable as it looks. It’s still a little shocking he’s here. When he and Marcus first approached that table full of girls, he never expected to end up at the brunette’s house.

It didn’t happen right away. They left Liver in a big group, and the night continued over several hours, multiple locations, and a lot of drinks and food. Wes and Farrah live relatively close together, and she had asked if he wanted to share an Uber. He did.

“That last bar was so loud, wasn’t it?” Farrah says. She returns from her tiny kitchen—more like a kitchenette—with two glasses.

“It was loud.” He takes a sip. Cheap wine. Doesn’t matter.

“So you were telling me about disc golf.”

Right. Disc golf. She’s never played before, and he was trying to explain the game to her. He finishes describing it, watching the way she listens, nods, comments without interrupting. She really is cute, and not just because he’s been drinking.