“Oh my God,” I splutter. “This isn’t happening.”
He throws my purse and shoes on the bed and sets my wineglass down on his bedside table. “Kendall.” He clasps my face in his large palms. “Calm down. I will handle this.” He presses a kiss to my brow. “Trust me, sweetheart.” He tips my face up. “It’s going to be okay.”
“He can’t know I’m here.” I fist his shirt as the pounding starts up again on the door.
“He won’t.” He kisses the top of my head. “Just stay here, and keep quiet. I’ll get rid of him as quick as I can.” We both wince at his words. I nod, and he leaves, closing the door behind him.
The urge to tug on my hair and pace the floor is riding me hard, but I can’t risk West hearing. Only a wall and a thin door separate the rooms, and the noise could carry.
“Shit, man. What’s wrong?” Vander asks, and my panic instantly transforms to fear for my son. Has something happened? Tiptoeing to the door, I press my ear against the wood.
“I just had the biggest argument with Hazel. I think we might have broken up. Ugh.”
West’s frustrated groan contains an undercurrent of pain, and I long to wrap my arms around him and comfort him. But I can’t. It’s not something life-threatening, thank God. Stress lifts from my shoulders, and I step away from the door. Padding softly toward the bed, I reach for my purse to grab my AirPods. I don’t want to hear their conversation because I don’t want to breach my son’s privacy. He came here to talk to his best friend, not confide in his mother.
It’s bad enough I’m keeping my friendship with Vander a secret.
I don’t want to add to my list of sins.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I shove my AirPods in and pull up one of my playlists, drowning out their voices before I hear something I shouldn’t. I take a large swig of wine while hoping whatever has happened between West and Hazel blows over. I like his girlfriend. She’s sweet and loyal, and she’s brought out a different side to my son.
Needing further distraction, I pick up the battered copy of Meditations resting on top of a pile of books by Vander’s bed, smiling despite my predicament. I thumb through it, my smile expanding as I spot the highlights and notes. I get such a kick out of knowing we have a common interest and that he’s not just blowing hot air up my ass. Vander is genuinely interested, and it gives me a warm and cozy feeling. Setting Meditations down, I pick up the next book. The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene. I tried to read that one time, but I found it heavy going. Vander has a bookmark in the middle of the book, so he’s making better progress than I did. I’m putting it back when an envelope slides out from underneath the back cover.
Reaching to the floor to retrieve it, I almost have a coronary when I spot the photo peeking out from the top of the open envelope. Curtis’s side profile has more than piqued my curiosity, so I don’t feel bad when I pull the photos out and spread them on the bed.
My entire body shakes as I skim my eyes over every picture. It is one thing to know my husband is cheating and quite another to see the evidence of it laid out before me. Mounting horror consumes me as I grapple to accept what’s in front of me. Tears well in my eyes, and pain pierces my chest as I stare at the photos of him with his girlfriend.
She’s young and beautiful. Just like Shirley said. Neither of them cares they are in a crowded public place as they practically dry hump one another. I slam a hand over my mouth as nausea swims up my throat, and the worst pain imaginable is tearing me to shreds on the inside.
I don’t love my husband anymore.
I haven’t for a long time.
But the pain of his betrayal and his complete and utter disregard for my feelings really fucking hurts.
So much for wanting to protect our children from the truth.
My hurt ebbs a little to make room for anger. And it’s not all reserved for my scumbag of a cheating husband. Why the hell does Vander have these pictures? I told him not to interfere, so why has he involved himself?
19
KENDALL
“It’s safe to come out now,” Vander says, opening the door twenty minutes later.
I’m sitting on the end of the bed, still seething. Lifting my head, I glare at him as I stand and thrust the photos into his chest. “Want to explain how these are in your possession?”
His gaze lowers to the pictures before his brows climb to his hairline. Picking his head up, he fixes me with an unapologetic look. “I followed the asshole and took the photos myself.”
“Jesus Christ.” I had suspected as much, and I suppose it’s better than him getting someone else to spy on my cheating husband and his sidepiece.
He claws a hand through his hair. “You’re mad.”
No shit, Sherlock. “Mad doesn’t begin to cover what I’m feeling right now.”
“I knew there was more you weren’t saying, and I had to know.”
“I didn’t tell you for a reason!” I shout, losing the hold on my tenuous emotions. “I didn’t want you keeping secrets from West, and now you’ll have to.” I push at his shoulders, and the photos fall to the floor, surrounding us. “You’re an accessory now. And, so help me God, Vander, if you breathe one word of this to my son, I will never speak to you again.”
“You think I’d show him these? You think I’d want to hurt him like that?” He folds his arms in front of his chest and stares at me. Incredulity bleeds into his tone and his expression. “What kind of fucking friend do you think I am?”
“A shitty one!” I blurt. “I specifically asked you to butt out, and you ignored me!”
Grabbing my stuff, I push past him, needing to get out of here before I say something I won’t be able to take back. I’m angry with Vander for going behind my back and doing something I asked him not to do, but I’m well aware the person I’m furious with is Curtis, and I don’t want to vent that rage on anyone but him. I’m also hugely embarrassed Vander witnessed that. What does it say about me as a wife that my husband continuously has affairs? It’s basically broadcasting the fact I can’t keep him happy or satisfied, and I don’t want Vander thinking that about me. It’s humiliating.
“I’m not going to apologize for my actions,” he says, as I walk toward the door. “I will never apologize for trying to protect you.”
“Protect me?” I swing around, struggling to keep my emotions in check. “How does that protect me?” I point in the direction of his bedroom as my voice breaks. “Have you any idea what it does to me to see those images?” Tears well in my eyes, and they are a mix of anger and hurt.
“I never intended for you to see them.” He moves cautiously toward me. Pain and sympathy shimmer in his eyes. “I’m sorry you found them.” He lifts his arm, his fingers aiming for my hair, but I jerk back, out of his reach. Hurt flares across his face.
“What did you intend to do with them?” I ask while I put my coat on and sling my purse over my shoulder.
He shrugs and schools his features into a neutral line, attempting to mask his emotions. “I wasn’t sure, but it can’t hurt to have evidence that might be useful later.”