Page 58 of Fallen Rook

I’d asked him, and he’d lied.

Maybe they weren’t happy together. Maybe they stayed together only for the sake of their son.

Tom looked content enough to be there, but he didn’t smile, didn’t laugh, didn’t loosen up.

God, was I fucking rationalizing things now? A lie was a lie, and a cheater was a cheater. Fuck him.

At some point, Blondie stood up and excused herself to go to the bathroom. The kid returned his attention to the dessert menu, and Tom slipped his phone out and started typing on the screen. A second later, my phone pinged in my pocket.

Tomcat: Did you end up shaving down under?

My fingers trembled over the screen, and I was glad he couldn’t see me. My darkness, shame, and pain had frothed above the surface, bubbling in my chest.

It wasn’t me. I was the chill one. The guy who never got jealous. Rarely got even.

I wanted to get both now.

And I wanted to eviscerate him.

My kneejerk reaction was to type back, GO FUCK YOURSELF, YOU SCHEMING, CHEATING HO. I HOPE YOU DIE OF AN STI THAT YOU SOMEHOW DON’T PASS ON TO YOUR WIFE. YOU SHITTY-ASS HUSBAND.

And normally, I would. But not this time. No.

I was going to save my colossal meltdown for when I had a private audience. Mainly because I felt like he deserved at least a few punches. Simply yelling at him wouldn’t be enough.

I ignored his message.

Tom frowned at his phone, waiting. The light on his screen dimmed. Blondie reemerged, resting her head on his shoulder. He kissed her forehead and rubbed her shoulder soothingly.

And that was when I fucking lost it.

Because he’d never done that to me.

The casual tenderness, the softness I hadn’t even recognized in this man before.

Any shred of logic or reason went out the window.

All I could see was red. All I could feel was pain. All I could taste was betrayal I had no business feeling.

I forced myself to look, gorging on the pain until it made me nauseous. Served me right for offering myself to a fucking fed on a silver platter.

When I finally decided I’d seen enough, I stomped back to my car, slammed the door, and fired up the engine. Another message popped.

I punched the steering wheel on a growl.

Fuck! I didn’t want to open it, but my curiosity overrode all other emotions. Nauseated with how pathetic I felt, I clicked on the picture. It was of him trying—and failing—to smile, the Mexican restaurant his backdrop. Heat filled my gut with fresh anger. I didn’t answer. He was typing.

Tomcat: I know you keep tabs, so here’s a picture of me smiling. Your turn.

Yeah…fuck no.

I ignored the messages and headed home.

The weight of the entire fucking world pressing against my chest, threatening to crush me.

Chapter Nineteen