“It doesn’t. Did he say anything to you?”
He pauses, and I can see him mulling something over, debating his words and choosing them carefully when careful is the last thing I want him to be with me.
“Spit it out. I want all the details. Hold nothing back.”
Carter sinks down onto the end of the bed, falling to his side and propping his head up with his hand. I sit up, scooting down the bed some and Oliver follows.
“He said he loves and respects you.” I glare at that, but he holds his hand up in surrender. “Let me finish, okay? If you want the whole truth, I will give it to you, but it will hurt.”
I snort out an incredulous laugh. “You think?”
“No sarcasm before I’ve had my coffee,” Oliver quips.
I reach over and elbow him without removing my eyes from Carter. “If you’re going to make an incision, do it without hesitation or second guessing.”
Carter smirks. “I told you that.”
“You did, now own it.”
“Fine. The reason he doesn’t get… wild in bed with you is because he loves and respects you and believes that if he does those things with you then he’s treating you like a whore, which is not something he wants to do.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “So he loves and respects me, but not enough to remain faithful to me or our relationship?”
“Yeah, I have nothing for that.”
“You’re telling me he thinks having sex with me, the way many, many couples do, is treating me like a whore?” I belt out another laugh and it actually sends a chill up my spine. That’s how sardonic and bitter it is. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Carter coughs out a laugh of his own.
“No,” I continue, stretching my legs out in front of me, my feet nearly hitting Carter’s chest as I absently rub my thighs under the blankets. “I’m totally serious. That makes zero sense.”
“What can I say, you were engaged to an idiot.”
I glare menacingly at my friend. “If you say I told you so, Oliver Fritz, I will hurt you. I’m not exactly sure how just yet, but I am a woman on the edge, not to be messed with.” I turn back to Carter. “You’re holding back. What else?”
He groans, falling onto his back, his hands behind his head, arms butterflied out. “You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Fine. She wasn’t the first, just the one you caught him with.”
I had a feeling.
But it hits me so acutely, I have to suck in a breath, followed by another. I drop my head onto Oliver’s shoulder, biting my lip, trying desperately to hold back the tears and make my chin stop quivering.
I open my mouth. Gulp. Try again and whisper, “Done, done.”
Oliver kisses the top of my head, squeezing me closer into his side, and I close my eyes, shaking.
Never have I felt so betrayed. That’s what hurts the most. The betrayal. The lying. The sneaking around right under my nose. I knew we had problems. I knew our relationship was struggling because we made more time for our work than for each other. But cheating on him never entered my mind.
Not once.
Yes, I’ve been attracted to other men. Hell, the man with the piercing brown eyes staring at me right now is highest on that list. But I wouldn’t have acted on that attraction. Attraction to others is normal, cheating is not.
I slip the ring from my finger and chuck it across the room. It makes a ping when it hits the wall and falls to the floor. I wipe the few tears that escaped from my face. “Well, now he can fuck all those women all the ways he never did me without having to bother rushing home to me. My vibrator gave it to me better than he ever did.”
Carter chokes on his breath, covering his face with his hands. Oliver makes a gagging noise in the back of his throat.
“Incidentally, did you pack it?” I ask.
“I have no idea,” Carter grumbles between his fingers. “I grabbed from drawers and just threw whatever I touched into the suitcase.”
“I kept it in my nightstand.”
“Then no.”
“Dammit. Good thing Prime has free two-day delivery.”
“Christ,” Carter wheezes. “I’ll be sure to let you open any boxes that arrive here.”
“Probably wise. I might go on a vibrator purchasing bender.”
“And I just threw up in my mouth,” Oliver declares.
All kidding—sorta—aside, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. Three years of a relationship. A year and a half of it being engaged. I thought Tony was my future. My forever. How do I go from that to this in the span of only a few short hours?
He would have married me all the while cheating on me the entire time.
Hell, how many times did he sleep with someone only to turn around and sleep with me?
The stupid ass and his overly traditional upbringing. Sex is a sin; marriage is sacred and holy. How easily this could have been avoided. We could have been having hot sex every night of the week. But no. He can tell Carter whatever bullshit he wants, but if he loved me the way he claims he does, he never would have done this. Any of this.
Maybe it’s best that I found out now. Because even though it hurts like a son of a bitch, the thought of continuing on like this, of living a lie, of being made to look the fool, rips me apart.
Tomorrow, first chance I can grab someone to examine me—other than Carter—I’m going to get tested for every STI on the planet. Ugh.
“Coffee,” I declare. “I need a lot of coffee. And a bath. With chocolate. And gummy worms. And Oreos with crunchy peanut butter slathered all over them. And a week on some Caribbean Island. Or surgeries. Lots and lots of surgeries. And delivering babies. All the babies.”
Yes. Work. I’ll throw myself into work and eventually my heartache will sort itself out.
And one day I won’t wake up feeling this way.
Like my life is coming apart at the seams.
7
It’s mornings like this, that I wish dawn came with amphetamines. I drag my lifeless body out of bed, peering out at the still navy-blue sky. I’ve slept in the guestroom here before countless times, but this is different. Suddenly this room is my new home away from home.
Home. What the hell is that anyway?
I can’t go home.
I can’t look at my former fiancé.
At least not without being arrested for murder one.
But it’s Monday. Robot stage IV endometriosis day. I’ve studied this case inside and out. Learned all the techniques. My hands are itching to get going and I know, I fucking know, I’m going to slay this surgery. Because it’s what I do best. Medicine.
Who needs love when you have passion in your careers?
I shower, slip into a pair of scrubs that Carter brought me, ignoring the fact that he packed dozens of matching bras and panties, and walk out into the kitchen. Carter is leaning against the island, his dark brown hair damp from the shower and he’s wearing matching light blue scrubs to mine. He’s drinking coffee out of a mug that says, I like my coffee on the dark side, while reading something on his tablet and munching on a piece of toast.
Carter Fritz does gimmicky mugs? Didn’t see that one coming.