Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
“Don’t worry, it’s not work-related.” Before I can close the message, Chad grabs my phone out of my hand.
“What are you doing?” I don’t have anything to hide, but it’s certainly disrespectful for him to go through my messages. He reads the text, then starts scrolling through my messages.
“Do you talk to this guy every day?”
I grab my phone out of Chad’s hand and stuff it back in my purse. “Not every day.” At least I don’t think it’s every day. We often iron out plans for me to see Peyton, confirming what works for both of us. And then there have been the times when he’s needed my help in a pinch.
The server comes over with our bill, and Chad tosses some cash on the table. He shoves his chair back, and it scrapes loudly across the floor. “Let’s go.”
“What about the highlights?” I point to the screen where they’re still playing.
“I’ll catch them later.” I don’t like the set of his jaw, or the way I suddenly feel the weight of guilt pulling me down. I was helping a friend tonight. It just happened to be at Peyton’s school.
As I follow him out of the bar, my stomach does an uncomfortable flip. I’m worried Chad is about to go off, and for the first time since I started talking to Gavin again, I’m uncertain as to whether or not he has a right to be upset with me.
Technically I haven’t done anything wrong.
But I have been spending a lot of time with Peyton and Gavin, even though this time wasn’t on purpose. And I realize now that I haven’t been very forthcoming about it.
“Are you okay to drive?” I ask Chad as we approach his car.
“I had two beers.” His tone is frosty.
“Okay, but you also seem agitated, which isn’t a great combination with any amount of alcohol,” I point out.
“I seem agitated? I wonder why that is!” He crosses his arms, eyes narrowed, expression fierce. “Are you cheating on me with that Garrett guy?” Normally I’m grateful to see some level of emotion from him, but lately it’s been only about Gavin.
I don’t bother to correct him. I don’t know what it is with men and being incapable of remembering someone’s name. I mirror his pose. “Of course not.”
“You talk to him all the time! You message him more than you message me, and that’s based on the week’s worth of texts I scrolled through,” he snaps. “How often are you helping out with his kid?”
“I don’t know. Once a week, maybe? I already told you, I took care of Peyton when she was a baby. I’m familiar and comfortable for her.” But as I say it, I realize there’s a hole in the story I’ve been telling everyone, including myself. Because Peyton doesn’t remember me taking care of her. She has stories and pictures, but not actual memories.
“So you’re babysitting her? Is that it? Or are you spending time with him too?”
“Sometimes I take her to the park.”
“And other times?” he presses.
“I took Ella to the zoo, and Gavin and Peyton met me there. I asked you to come with me, but you weren’t interested,” I point out.
“Oh, so now you’re going to put this on me? The zoo is for kids.”
“And I took Ella.”
“And then met up with this guy and his daughter. You can’t tell me you don’t see how bad this looks from the outside, Harley. I can barely get you to commit to a weekend away, and here you are spending all your free time with a guy and his nine-year-old daughter.”
As I stand here, in the middle of the parking lot, Chad the angriest I’ve ever seen him, I recognize that he’s right. There’s a big difference in the time I spend with Chad and the time I spend with Gavin and Peyton. Chad and I are rarely ever alone together. We always go out with friends, and half the time it’s me, Andrea, and Belinda who organize things so we can get in girl time. And my weekend plans with Chad are never about the two of us; they always revolve around group activities—with Andrea and Allen and Belinda and Ted. And occasionally Marv and the Howler. Whenever Chad comes over, he spends a good chunk of time playing video games. And the sex … is okay. Not bad, but not mind-blowing.
“The look on your face says everything, Harley.”
I run a hand down my face. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“For what to happen? Please don’t tell me you slept with that guy.”
I recoil at the insinuation. “Of course not. I would never do something like that.” And it makes feel sick to think that he could believe that I would.
“So what didn’t you mean to happen if you’re not sleeping with him? What’s going on between you? Is this an emotional affair or something?”