I cringe, automatically reaching up to rub my chest. There’s a sting there, but it feels more like betrayal than loss now. “You want me to reopen that wound, huh?”
“Okay, maybe let’s skip that question. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
The odd thing is, though, I don’t mind. I tap Beau’s forearm to cut off his apologies and then smile. “Well, you already know the condensed version. I caught him red-handed, smashed his laptop, and took off out of Boston before he was done teaching for the day.”
“And now the real version?”
The real version is something I’ve been trying to forget, but Beau asking doesn’t feel weird. It doesn’t make me angry or embarrassed, only resigned.
“The real reason is I was sent a link to his OnlyFans page and found two years’ worth of video evidence of him cheating on me.”
Beau’s eyes shoot wide and make me feel vindicated. “Two … years?”
“Yup. Who knows how much longer it was happening though.” And for some reason, I’m hit with this stupid, reckless urge. The same urge that slams me in the face late at night when I pull up his page and force myself through one of the damn videos. “Can I show you?”
Beau’s clearly surprised, probably because of how closed off I’ve been about it all, and now I suddenly want to drag him into it.
“Porn?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Starring your ex-husband?”
I screw up my face. “You’re right, that’s weird.”
“No. It’s … yes. Show me. As long as you’re, you know, okay with it.”
“Truthfully, the day I found out isn’t the only time I’ve seen it.”
He tilts his head. “What, you watch it?”
“Whenever I’m scared I might go back.”
“Don’t.” The word is soft and hesitant, but I catch it in the quiet.
“It’s not like I want to. I’m … weak.”
“Excuse me?”
I rub my jaw, not used to talking about feelings like this. “Sometimes. It’s been a big change, you know?”
“Okay, I hated him before, and then I hated him again for doing this to you, and now I hate him a bit more for making you doubt that you’re a strong, badass motherfucker. Where’s this porn?”
I blink at Beau, hardly prepared for that little outburst. Instead of commenting on how much I appreciate it, I pull out my phone. Then I navigate to the account I’m still subscribed to and try to ignore how the number of subscribers has only increased since I posted my video.
I like to pretend that doesn’t hurt.
Beau takes my phone, and before he clicks on the first video, he glances at me. “You sure about this?”
“It’s fine. I’ve watched that one enough times I’ve desensitized myself to it.”
His thumb hovers over it a couple of seconds more. “Fine.” He hits Play.
I try not to hurl.
It’s one thing to watch this privately and feel humiliated, it’s another to watch Beau’s face as he watches it and see the horrified expressions play out. He looks disgusted. Shocked. Angry. When the sound of skin slapping together as they fuck plays out through the speakers, Beau closes the video and sets my phone on the table in front of us.
To my surprise, his eyes are glassy. He swallows, frown deep, eye contact unwavering.
“That is so completely fucking unacceptable. I—” He growls, and then he grabs me and yanks me into a hug. His arms close tight around my shoulders, and something inside me snaps.
Lizzy and Marty have both hugged me since, and so have the girls, but none of them felt like this. Like Beau’s trying to force my shattered pieces back together.
I don’t cry, but I want to.
Instead, I grip him to me, not wanting to let go.
All the anger and embarrassment I’ve been living with loses hold on me, and for the first time since, I have … hope. Like things can actually get better.
“You deserve so much more than that loser could ever give you,” he says.
I drop my forehead to his shoulder. “Thanks.”
He clears his throat, and when he pulls back, I force myself to release him.
“I think you should unsubscribe,” he says.
A few minutes ago, I would have argued, even though I know he’s right. Instead, I pick up my phone.
“I think I should too.”
“Go on, then.”
I unlock my phone, then stop, surprised at how hard this is. I could give it to Beau and make him do it, but I want to be the one to take that step. I peek over at him. “I know you just said a bunch of awesome things about me, but I need some help here.”
“What can I do?”
I wriggle closer to him until I’m leaning against his body. “Another one, please.”
He laughs as he wraps an arm around my shoulders, and then we both watch as I follow through.
“There, feel better?” he asks.
“I do.” And it’s probably not for the reason he thinks.
8
Beau
Since our dinner last night, Payne seems better. I’m trying to pretend it has nothing to do with me, but I can’t stamp down that twinge of pride at being the one who got to support him like that.
Seeing Kyle with another man though … I saw red.
I’m not a violent guy, but if he’d been right in front of me, I would have punched him. The guy he was with had nothing on Payne.
Stupid, horrible, dumb loser.
Words have been coming easily, practically pouring out of me, but still not on what I’m supposed to be writing about. They’re nonsensical snippets of pining and loss and betrayal, and while none of it is anything I’d ever publish, it feels good to follow the muse.
I’m keenly aware of Payne behind me, watching TV, volume down so low it’s a hum of noise. And even with him doing his best not to distract me, I can’t stop the weird feeling of needing to say something. To make it clear I’m not ignoring him.
I open my mouth to suggest we get lunch when he cuts me off.
“Don’t.”
I slump. “I wasn’t going to say anything.” It’s not my fault his presence is so big.
He angles his head so he can smile at me over his shoulder. “Yeah, you were. I swear you have the loudest inhale in history. Not to mention I can practically hear you thinking about it from here. You need to get used to working with people around since you want me here and I’m not hiding out in my room every day.”
“You’re going to stay?” My voice hitches with excitement.
“You’re doing it again …” he sings.
“It was a legitimate question!”
“Legitimate procrastination, maybe.”
I turn back to my computer with the biggest grin on my face. Maybe he only means short term, who knows?
I’ll take it though.
And if I’m really, really lucky, I’ll get the chance to hold him again.
My fingers fly across the keyboard.
And as I write, I zone out. The room around me disappears as I’m transported into the world beneath my fingertips.
When I blink back into reality, my hands are cramped, and it’s darker than it was earlier. I glance over my shoulder and find the TV off and Payne gone.