Quinn rolls her eyes. “Always such a doctor.”
“I can’t let you forget,” Archer tells her matter-of-factly. “You’re leaving?” he asks, seeing the to-go containers in my hands.
“Yeah. Kara’s been working hard and is probably hungry.”
Quinn, who’s annoyingly perceptive, narrows her eyes and opens her mouth to question me, but the baby kicks her hard again and she winces. Thank you, little guy, for having my back. I grab the cheesecake and say a quick goodbye to the rest of my family and then head out.
I pick up my phone once I’m in my truck, set on calling Kara to tell her I’m on my way home. I drop it on the passenger seat, thinking it’ll be better to surprise her with the food, an apology, and a vow that from this day forward, I’m going to try harder.
That we can be happy again.
We can stop the fall. Turn it around. Fall back in love instead of out.
We were happy once. We can be again.
I turn up the radio, singing along to Tom Petty, and make the fifteen-minute drive from my parents’ farmhouse to our house in the downtown area of Eastwood.
There’s a car in our driveway, parked right in the middle, blocking me from pulling into my spot. Kara has had a few friends from her master’s class come over lately, but the ones she usually studies with live in Newport, which is a bit of a drive. She didn’t mention having any over tonight, but I don’t mind. It’ll give me time to look up vacation details while she finishes up her schoolwork.
I park on the street and go in through the garage, stepping into the mud room that’s attached to the kitchen. Two empty glasses of wine are on the counter…along with a pair of pants.
Men’s pants.
I set the food on the counter and swallow hard. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know what’s going on.
But my brain won’t let it come to the surface.
Blinking, my feet move on their own accord, following the trail of clothing.
Kara’s shirt is on the stairs.
Her bra is hanging off the bannister.
Blue striped boxers are at the stop of the landing.
Everything echoes around me, and I think the meatloaf and potatoes I had for dinner are going to come up. I mentally check out as I keep walking, going down the hall to the master bedroom.
The door is cracked, and the closer I get, the sicker I feel. Kara is talking to someone. And that someone is talking back. I’m not fully aware of what I’m doing as I pause in the doorway and push the door open.
“Dean!” Kara exclaims, pulling the sheets up over her…and him. “It’s…it’s not what you think!”
The shock wears off and I’m pissed as fuck. All I want to do is pound my fists into that guy’s face, but I know—even through my anger—that won’t solve the issue.
My wife is in bed with another man.
In our bed.
Balling my fingers into a fist, I turn, and punch the wall. My hand goes through the drywall and gets sliced open by a nail. The pain doesn’t even register.
“Dean!” Kara calls again and starts to get out of the bed. I don’t want to hear whatever fucking excuse she’s going to give me.
I thought we could fix things.
Be happy again.
But we can’t.Chapter 2RoryPresent day…Everything is fine.
I grip the steering wheel and squeeze my eyes closed, allowing myself a few seconds to feel—to let it actually sink in.
And I know it’s not going to be fine.
My stomach flip-flops with worry, and my mind plays out a record-setting game of worst-case scenario. The car behind me honks, and I jerk my head up, blinking back the tears as I slowly step on the gas, accelerating through the intersection.
I’ll get another job. As an operating room nurse? Not in Silver Ridge. But there are a few other options here, and I have an impressive resume already for only being twenty-eight.
Though some employers might see me as flighty and not able to commit to a job, which isn’t the case at all. I love commitment. Commitment and I are best buds.
If the hospital didn’t get bought out by a big corporation who’s more concerned with making money than actual patient care, I would have stayed at Silver Ridge General until it was time to retire. I had a whole plan: move up to unit manager, then charge nurse, then go for the Director of Nurses position.
I drive another block and flick on my turn signal, slowing to a stop at another intersection. My phone chimes with a text, and since I’m at a complete stop, I pick it up out of the cupholder and read the message. It’s from Mike, the guy I’ve been dating for the last five or six months, and he wants to know if I can come over—and that he just ordered a pizza.