Fuck, has it been going on that long?
I read the text messages and scroll to the bottom, hoping there is a date stamp. I choose to scroll over the pictures that even without looking, I can tell are pictures of his dick and her tits.
Tits I fucking paid for.
Trevor: Are you coming over tonight?
A: Of course. I’ve missed you. You’re the only one who can make me feel good.
Trevor: You need my cock?
A: I do… you better show it to me. I want to know what I’ll be sucking on later.
Like a glutton, I want to keep reading the messages. But I couldn’t give two fucks right now about the sexting they were doing.
I need date stamps. I need proof.
I look at the timestamp of that particular text message: January 24. Damn. That was after I asked for the separation. I try and scroll down more, but the texts only go back a month, which is about a week after I asked for the separation. I still print them out, because if I need them, I don’t want to read this shit again.
I boot up Trevor’s email. If the man was fucking stupid enough to charge one thing to the practice that went to her, I will absolutely lose it. I’ve already lost a best friend tonight. I can lose a business partner too.
I log onto his Innovative account and thank Christ, there are no emails or receipts that show that he’s been using the business for anything other than that.
However, the man hates passwords and remembering them, so I’m ninety-nine percent sure if I go to his personal email, I won’t even need to guess his password to get in.
Bingo.
With the click of the mouse I’m looking at Trevor’s inbox, not sorted, plain for anyone to see.
And holy fuck, do I see a lot.
Receipts for weekend hotel stays in Atlantic City and New York.
Receipts for lingerie and jewelry. At the places I know Annika loves to spend money at.
As I scroll down I realize that my ex-wife has been spending quite a lot of my business partner’s money, which makes sense. I was wondering why she wasn’t pestering me every day for more of an allowance.
Now I know why.
Receipts from February and January do me no good. Yes, it’s shitty what Trevor is doing, but that’s not what is driving me right now.
No. If I can find proof that this started before January, I have grounds to end this divorce without the waiting period. This farce of a marriage can be over.
I continue scrolling—damn, he has been on a spending spree—and I almost don’t see the smoking gun in a sea of receipts, including one for Christmas Eve at a hotel downtown. I mark that one for later. No, the email I’m about to open is from a photo sharing service. Subject: For your eyes only.
Oh, she is not that fucking stupid, is she? Did she really send pictures to his email?
My answer is yes, she is that stupid. Want to know how I know? When we first started dating, Annika thought it would be sexy to have boudoir photos professionally taken for me. They were borderline indecent. They were more than a housewife trying to feel sexy. One less piece of clothing and they could have been considered pornography. They were a surprise to me, and she sent them to my email one day, in a folder just like this one, with almost the exact same subject line.
I click on the email, open the folder and I’m greeted with almost an near replica of the photos she took for me five years ago. At least these ones were in a different set of lingerie. I was almost expecting her to reuse the old ones.
I shut the folder and go back to the inbox looking for one thing and one thing only… the date.
And there it is, clear as day, my ticket to ending this sham of a marriage.
December 28.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Paige
Knock-knock. Knock-knock.
I jolt out of bed at the sound of fists on my front door. I’ve never been a heavy sleeper, another byproduct of my wonderful childhood, and I reach to grab the baseball bat as I check the time.
Three in the morning. Who in the heck is knocking on my door at three in the morning?
Could it be? Did she also figure out where I live?
No. No way. And plus, even if she did, I doubt she’d be polite enough to knock on the door before she blew my life up.
I approach the door, bat in hand, but take a look out of my peephole.
And that’s when my heart breaks.
Garrett. Standing on my front porch. Looking more defeated than I’ve ever seen a man look.
I hurry up, put the bat down and open the door.
“Garrett? What are you doing here?”
I take that back. This is the moment my heart breaks.
“They were fucking when I was in the hospital.”
I don’t even ask another question, instead, reaching for his arm to bring him into my house.
“What do you need?”
“Nothing. I came packing.” He holds up a bottle of scotch that I didn’t even realize he had. After he plops down on the couch mid-drink, I realize that he’s probably had more than a few swigs of it.
“Are you drunk?”
“I’m not drunk. I’m pissed. And… and a little drunk.”
I go into the kitchen to get us each a glass of water. I had wanted to stay with him tonight after he dropped me off, but considering he didn’t say a single word to me the entire way home, I figured he needed to be left alone.
Once I realized what was going on at the restaurant, the next few minutes were a blur. Garrett stormed off, and I was honestly shocked that he was still there when I got to the parking lot. I was on “watch Charlie duty” as Mark settled the bill. I made sure she didn’t physically go over to Trevor and Annika and kill them with her bare hands, but I did hear all the ways that she wanted to hurt them.
Again, I really need to ask her what she does for a living.
I sit down next to him and put the glasses of water on the coffee table in front of us. “Tell me what happened.”
Over the course of the next hour, I finally get everything out of him. That he went to the office to see what he could find. The texts. The receipts. The photos.
“I almost died, Paige. I almost fucking died. And two of the people who were supposed to be there for me were screwing behind my back. How fucked up is that?”
“I don’t have words, Garrett. I am so, so sorry.”
It’s the truth. I don’t have words. What Trevor and Annika did to him is horrible, and that’s without the fact that during the start of their affair he was in a hospital, recovering from a surgery that was needed to save his life.
I take his hand because I don’t know what else to do right now. I stare at our fingers, now laced together, and wish I could come up with something to help him through this. I’m a helper. A fixer. I want to do everything in my power to make people’s lives better. But right now, I don’t know what I can do.
When I look back up at him, it hurts my heart. Tears are forming in his eyes, and I know he’s doing everything in his power to hold them back.
“Let it go, Garrett. It’s me. You’re safe. I’m here for you.”
And he does. This man… this successful, gorgeous man who has taken his second chance at life and made something amazing out of it, is crumbling in front of me. I doubt the old Garrett would have felt this much. This Garrett is vulnerable and caring.