If I thought he was pale a moment ago, I was wrong. He looks like he’s going to be sick, his forehead slick with sweat. His hand grapples for the frame of the closet door like he needs the support and then his head drops, his chin hitting his chest before it rises back up and he brokenly meets my eyes.
“Deny it,” I challenge. “Go on. I dare you.”
“It’s not what you think,” he states, his tone pleading as his eyes become wild. “It was one time. I swear to God, it was just—”
“How could you do it?” I whisper.
“—One time,” he finishes because he didn’t hear me. “It meant nothing. Absolutely nothing. I got drunk at the bar and then—”
“Bullshit,” I rage, my anger rushing back through me with the force of an erupting volcano. “You’re a goddamn liar!” I scream, pounding my fists on his chest. “I heard her, you son of a bitch. I heard all about the things you did with her. Things you never do with me. How could you do this? How could you throw us away like that?”
He grabs my fists, holding them against his chest with one hand as he tries to wrap his other around my waist to contain me. But I can’t let him touch me. The thought of it makes me sick.
“I was drunk,” he yells in my face. “I was stupid and drunk, and I wasn’t thinking. It just happened. I stayed too long at the bar, and she came onto me, and we talked and then…” He growls. “I told her it wasn’t going to happen again. I told her it was a mistake. I don’t want her. I want you. I love you.”
He says all of this, staring into my eyes, but he’s lying.
Right to my face.
He didn’t say any of that to her. He gave her his number. He told her he would have bought her breakfast if he could stay. He kissed her goodbye.
I push back off his chest and pry my hand away from his grip. Just the sight of him makes my stomach roil. I have to leave. I have to leave right this very second.
“I never want to see you again.” And with that, I run as fast as I can; through our bedroom, down the hall, past the living room and kitchen until I get to the door.
“No, Grace.” He rushes after me, trying to intercept me before I can leave. He positions his body between me and the door, his hands outstretched. “Wait. You don’t mean that. You can’t mean that. You’re just upset. I made a mistake. I’ll never ever do it again. I swear to fucking God, I won’t. Please,” he begs, desperately trying to wrap his arms around me again.
I shake my head. “I have to get out of here. I can’t be around you anymore. I can’t even look at you. You disgust me,” I sneer; and with those words, I shove him out of my way. He lets me, his face crumpling, his eyes glossing over.
“We can figure this out,” he murmurs dejectedly. Much of the fight knocked out of him with my harsh words. “I love you.”
Liar.
I run through the door. I don’t look over my shoulder. I don’t look back. I just go. Knowing my life will never be the same again. That everything I thought I had is now gone.
4
The doorman calls, informing me that Grace is on her way up seconds before there is a knock on the door.
And when I see her, I practically drop my phone. “What the hell?” I snarl, walking over and grabbing her arm without a second thought. She’s ice cold. Completely frozen through and soaking wet. “Your lips are blue for fuck’s sake!”
It started pouring about twenty minutes ago, the warm summer temperatures plummeting along with it, and by the look of her, she was out walking in it. Her hair is matted down her face, her yoga clothes soaked and sticking to her like a second skin. She doesn’t answer me, and I can’t tell if it’s because she’s hypothermic or because something horrendous happened.
“Grace,” I practically bark her name, drawing back to check her over. Her eyes meet mine, and even though I take that as a reassuring sign, they are utterly lifeless. Completely devoid of their usual sparkle. “You’re scaring me. Talk.”
“You’re not Oliver,” she finally manages, but it’s quiet and her teeth are chattering so badly, it takes me a minute to figure out what she actually said.
“Huh?”
“Oliver. You’re not Oliver. I came to find Oliver.”
I stare blankly at her. Of course, she didn’t come here to see me. “Oliver moved to Chestnut Hill with Amelia and Layla, remember? I bought his place from him and moved in last month.”
“Right.” She bobs her head. “I forgot that. My mistake. I’ll go.”
“The hell you will. Come with me.”
I don’t give her the choice. I drag her through my apartment, past my date who is sitting at my dining room table with her eyebrows at her hairline, and back into my master bathroom. I release her, steadying her with my hands because she looks like she’s about to collapse at any second, and duck down until I meet her eyes again.
“Bath or shower?”
She blinks at me, seemingly lost in her own reverie, so I solve this for her. The bath will take too long to fill up. I walk into my shower, reach for the knob and turn it on, all five showerheads come on at once. I even add on a little steam to seal the deal. Shaking the water from my arm, I step out of the shower.
“The shower is running.”
Nothing. It’s like she’s not even here in the room with me.
“Grace, you need to get undressed.” And I don’t feel safe leaving until I see you move.
But she doesn’t move and now I’m scared. Like really fucking scared. What happened to her tonight? Wordlessly and with my eyes on the wall and not her body, I begin to lift her shirt up.
That must snap her out of her trance because she swats my hands away and mumbles something that sounds like, “I can do it.”
“Can you really?” I ask, not even being a dick and she nods once. My mind racing a mile a minute, my heart pounding just as fast. Something is seriously wrong. “Did someone hurt you?”
“No.” But she laughs, the sound mirthless and chilling.
“Did you have a seizure?”
“No.”
“Will you be okay if I leave you in here alone?”
“Yes.”
One-word answers, but it’s something. “Just get undressed and into the shower to warm up. Don’t come out until I bring dry clothes for you. There are towels on the warmer right there.” I point over her shoulder, but she doesn’t so much as blink or shift in that direction.
I don’t leave her until she moves toward the shower, and I can see that she’s steady enough on her feet. Shutting the door behind me, I lean against it for a moment, blowing out a heavy breath.
What the motherfuck?
In all the years I’ve known Grace, I’ve never seen her like this. Not when her grandfather, who she was very close with, died. Not when her freaking beloved childhood dog was run over. Not even when she fell out of the tree in our yard and broke her wrist.
Grace is always in control. She’s a picture of composure. Nothing rattles her. It’s what makes her such a brilliant doctor and surgeon.
So again, what the motherfuck?
I listen for the sound of her entering the shower and when the pattern of water hitting the tile changes, I leave her and head back into the dining room to my date.