Chapter 16

The two Styrofoam containers of pancakes and waffles squeak in the passenger seat of my truck as I turn into the parking lot of her apartment. She asked to meet for coffee, but I insisted we meet at her place. I need to see if another man is living there. It’s also why I’m early. I figure if she has a husband, I want to catch him before she shoves him out the door for work. If I’m wrong— and I hope like hell I am —I thought I’d surprise her with breakfast. It sounded like she had a rough day yesterday. My plan is for us to talk so she can straighten out this whole mess, and we can pick up where we left off. If things go well, maybe we can even have a repeat from Oregon; I never claimed to be a saint.

I park, grab the containers, and hop out of my truck. My keys swing around my finger when Dave walks out of the main door. What the fuck? Why’s he here? I’m not going to jump to conclusions, but it’s hard not to feel the weight of betrayal every time I see his face. I exhale slowly. These are apartments, he could be here for anybody. They work at the same place, maybe she left something at the station and he’s dropping it off. At nine in the morning? Shit.

“You pick up a second job as a handyman?” I ask as we amble toward each other. I nod at the property that’s seen better decades. “Looks like your work.”

“Are you here for Scottie?” he asks, glimpsing at the Styrofoam containers in my hands. “Hope that isn’t breakfast.”

I narrow my eyes. “Why?”

“We just ate.” He licks his fingers and grins at me. God, I’d love to take a swing at him, but this asshole would be happy to collar me with a battery charge, and I’m not about to give him the satisfaction. “She makes some mean eggs.”

I cock my head to the side. I don’t want to ask, but I have to. “So, what, are you two sleeping together?” She’s too good for him.

“Last night? We spent the night together, but we were definitely not sleeping.” He looks behind him to her apartment building, then back to me and smirks. “She’s cute though, right?”

I clench my jaw and square my shoulders. “Your wife know you’re hooking up with other women? Not that it should be any surprise, considering the way you two met.”

He doesn’t reply, just walks past me toward his truck. He turns his head to the side but look back. “Molly isn’t your concern anymore.”

Despite my instinct to turn around and drive off, my feet carry me into the building and climb the stairs until I’m staring at her door. It’s made of cheap, hollow wood, and the varnish is worn thin in a few places. Clearly, security is at the bottom of her landlord’s to-do list. My closed palm hovers in the air, ready to knock, then I scrub a hand down my face and spin in a circle. I lift my arm a second time and freeze.

Someone once told me when you get on the wrong train, it’s best to get off at the first stop because the longer you stay on, the more expensive the return trip will cost you to get home.

So why the fuck am I standing here?