Page 108 of Bad Kind of Love

EPILOGUE

Becca

6 Months Later

Morning sex. A cup of coffee. And a grueling day of college.

That was my mantra for the year, and thanks to Jack, I’ve been the happiest I’ve ever been. After weeks of scouring newspaper ads and zillow, we found an apartment close to the University.

About fifteen minutes away to be exact.

While I was diving right into my studies, Jack found another teaching position. He swapped out dealing with a bunch of hormonal teenagers, to a group of savage ten year olds. He comes home everyday complaining about his day, but deep down I can tell those kids mean the world to him.

Even if he doesn’t express it.

“Honey, I’m home!” I shout as I burst through the front door with a bright smile across my face. Kicking off my chucks, I strut through the living room waiting for Jack to pop out and greet me.

But it never comes.

Reaching into my back pocket for my phone, I notice a missed text from Jack and immediately open it.

Jack: Running late, be home soon.

Sighing, I shove my phone back into my pocket and head for the kitchen. Our apartment was small, a one bedroom and one bath, but it was cozy. Perfect for just the two of us and had plenty of space.

Pulling out a lemon-lime gatorade, I saunter down our narrow hallway and enter our bedroom. Our black painted walls instantly calm me the minute I set foot inside. There was something about the darkness that relaxed my senses, it reminded me of peace.

No chaos, no nothing.

It was quiet.

Our quiet place.

As I walk past our bed, I pull out the swivel chair that sits in front of our computer and plop down into it. Hiking my foot under my ass, I get comfortable and scoot up close to the screen. Grabbing the mouse, I shake it and immediately the screen lights up.

Noticing a bunch of tabs open, I realize Jack forgot to log out. As I move the mouse key to exit out of the pages, something staggering catches my eye.

An unfinished email with the subject line reading, I’m sorry.

Glancing up to the recipient, I about faint when I see Wes’s email.

Both Jack and I haven’t spoken or seen Wes since that night. We never brought him up, even though he crossed my mind almost daily. It felt wrong to worry about him or to even wonder how he was doing. I felt as though I didn’t have the right after what I did to him. So, I did what I do best and that's pretend like Wes never existed.

Until now.

I keep my eyes focused on Wes’s name, feeling the unimaginable urge to read what’s below. Gripping the mouse, I can feel my fingers tremble, causing the tiny mouse key to move back and forth over the screen.

I wanted to read Jack’s words to his son. I wanted badly to know what his true feelings were on what had transpired that night. I wasn’t an idiot, I knew he was hurting.

Jack may be many things, but he wasn’t a sociopath.

He loved Wes and always would, even if he loathed his own father.

As I kept my gaze upward, I felt like it would be an invasion of his privacy to read the email. It felt too intimate and the guilt of reading it would eat at my conscience, so instead I hit the back button and relieve my own stress.

But as the list of Jack’s emails come into focus, Wes’s name is scattered in a row of sent emails.

All with the subject, I’m sorry.

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