Page 62 of Her Filthy Mistake

“So you shouldn’t have blackballed him when he did what you said.”

“Too bad.” He grips my chin and lowers his voice. “Jace tried to use my child against me. He tried to play me for a fool. No one does that and gets away with it. Forget about him. He doesn’t deserve your sympathy. From this second on, I expect to never hear his name on your lips again.”

Even though the crowd has backed away from us, there’s still plenty of ear hustling going on. But unless they can read lips, I don’t think they can hear our conversation.

“Don’t you understand? He’s done this three times. He doesn’t deserve your childish adoration. He’s a user and a manipulator.”

“Fine.” I nod and swallow hard over the dryness in my throat. “You’re right. I’ll let it go.”

****

Thirty Minutes Later

When I get home, I curl up on the sofa and scroll through social media until I find Jace’s new music, and sit for hours mesmerized by his voice, the lyrics, and the ethereal way he presents his music now. It’s completely different from the hard rock he used to perform with his band.

At that stage in his career, he wrote decent lyrics and had a good voice, but those qualities were overpowered by the band. Now, it’s just him and his guitar. He’s phenomenal. He’s breathtaking. He’s honest. Raw. And almost spiritual. It’s like listening to a prophet talking about his god.

But instead, he’s singing about the love of his life. The woman he was with on the beach. It’s painful to hear him declare his love for that woman who fawned all over him and how much she’s changed his life. But it’s too beautiful to shut off.

When the live stream starts, my heart skips a beat. “Thank you all for joining me and never giving up on me.” He says a couple of shoutouts to some random commentors, and it’s at that exact moment I realize he’ll see my name that his face drops. He saw it.

I clutch my chest as blood whooshes in my ears. “Zoe.” He looks up at the camera, and one corner of his mouth arches upward. “Don’t ever give up on your dreams. You’re worth every sacrifice I’ve ever made.”

My hands shake so hard that I drop the phone from my sweaty fingers. He shakes his head. “I wish….” He trails off, and the feed goes black.

“Son of a bitch.” I jump off the app and click back on it, but the live feed is gone. What did he mean? Shit. I scroll back to the top of his profile, but the video is gone.

I’ve already learned plenty from my dad, that brings to question everything else. But he said it was true. Did they both lie?

The words from his songs flood over me. The beach. The way the woman looked in the starlight. A forbidden love. Secret touches. Spontaneous combustion. Yeah, that describes us. Things not being what they seemed. Sacrifice. A love so deep he’d give up everything for her. The nights in his bed.

He was with me. Not her. There was no way he was in two places at once. Every inch of my body shakes as adrenaline courses through me. But it’s not like I can walk across the room and see him. Not anymore.

Should I call him? What if everything wasn’t what it seemed? Shit. I don’t have his number. I call my mother to no answer. I ring my brother, who also doesn’t answer.

Shit. I pace the floor from one side of my living room to the other. This can’t be happening. Should I message him? His phone. I run to the bedroom, open my dresser drawer, and pull out the cell phone he left behind. The screen is black.

Of course, it is. It’s been weeks since it’s been charged. I brought all his left behind items with the intention of burning everything on my front lawn, but when I returned it was a drought. And I didn’t want to get a ticket for yard burning and pay a fine over him. He wasn’t worth it.

As I search for a charger, I knock my perfume over, dropping it into a drawer. I don’t have time to look to see if the bottle is leaking on my underwear. I can buy new ones. I cringe. Well, maybe I can’t because if my father is still lying to me, and I find out, I’m without a job. I won’t work another day for that man.

It’s fine. I can live without the finer things. The king-sized canopy bed. The agarwood dressers. Thick white shag ornate carpet. I won’t be able to afford the house, but who cares. I was perfectly happy on a beach with Jace. All I need is him.

After plopping down at my desk, I turn on the phone, and scroll through its contents, searching for his number. Hopefully, he kept the same one. I jot down the number and pick up my cell to call the number.

I have his phone. It has all his messages and contacts. It shouldn’t be that hard to figure out if he was lying to me. Or better yet, when he was lying to me.

My armpits are drenched in sweat as my stomach heaves. I shouldn’t do this. God, this is going to make me sick. I drop the phone on the desk with a clunk. I can’t do this. I spin away from the phone and then turn back around just as fast. Fuck it. I need to know because if he’s lying to me, I’m jumping on my dad’s bandwagon and burning him to the ground. Maybe he saw me online and was playing me again. My teeth grind together.

All his text messages are about work. His social media messages are blocked. Probably so stalkers don’t try to contact him.

Photos. I scroll through his images and there’s nothing. No photos with him and other women. No nudes of women. No nothing. The last video appears to be at the resort. In our bungalow.

I frown and click back to his social media account to see a newly posted video. I hit the play button and watch. It’s the song he sang at the bonfire, but he’s tinkered with it until it’s polished. The raw vulnerability of this recording steals my breath. It has to be about us. There’s no question he was singing about us. He had to have been.

Why did he lie?

After the video concludes, I swipe back to his photos and click on the last video he recorded. I watch in horror as the answer is laid out in living color. I may not be able to see anything but the sofa after Jace got up from recording, but I hear every word. Every despicable word.

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