Page 2 of The Only Goal

Right now, I just want to get my boy home, shake off Hell Week in Gladstone, and enjoy a glass of wine with my man.

Thirty minutes later, I’m turning left onto my suburban street. The houses are all the same—like the developer couldn’t be bothered coming up with anything original and just built a bunch of Lego replicas one after the other. I pull into my driveway, the garage door opening smoothly before I glide into my spot. Hudson’s Audi R8 is in its usual place, which means he’s home. I was expecting him to be, being Saturday night and all, but it’s still nice to know he’s not at the office for a change.

Kai’s still in dreamland, so I leave him be, slipping into the house to make sure his bed is all set up. Hopefully, I can make it a smooth transition for him.

Slipping off my shoes, I pad into the house, ascending the carpeted steps and veering right when I hear the shower running. I’ll say a quick hi to Hudson so I don’t scare the crap out of him when he turns off the water and hears movement in the house.

I glance at our unmade bed, the sheets a tousled mess, and roll my eyes. Of course he wasn’t going to make it while I was gone. That’s a woman’s job, right?

He’d never actually say it, but I know he’s thinking it. He grew up in the same kind of house I did. Women did all the domestic chores while the men went out and worked. Honestly, I thought we were done with that bullshit, but I’ve gone and slipped right into this life without argument.

Because I was young and pregnant, and I didn’t know what the hell else to do.

Closing my eyes, I draw in a calming breath.

You have a good life here, Tammy. He provides for you. He could have left you with a kid, but he married you, and you need to be grateful for that. Everything you need is in this house.

I repeat my usual mantra as I walk toward our en suite.

My fingers are just touching the door to push it open when I hear a moan. At first I think it’s Hudson. Is he masturbating in the shower? The thought makes my lips quirk, and for a second, I wonder if I should join him… but then I hear that moan again…

And that is not a man.

“What?” I whisper, pushing the door open and assaulting my senses.

The glass might be steamed up, but I can see enough.

Painted nails, hands splayed on the tiles, boobs bouncing back and forth… my husband’s hands gripping her hips as he thrusts into her from behind.

“Yes, baby,” she gasps, more pornographic noises popping out of her mouth as he grunts and glides his hands up her body, pinching her nipple, then squeezing her breast.

She bites her bottom lip, tipping her head as he grunts again, his ass cheeks smushing up against the glass. I stare at them—so taut and muscular. How many times have I held those in my hands, dug my fingers into them as he thrust into me. I thought those grunts of pleasure were mine and mine alone.

But obviously not.

A sick bile swirls in my stomach, my chest starting to hurt as I stand there watching my husband and whoever the hell she is.

I need to go. To flee. To stop staring at this. But I’m frozen in shock.

Hudson’s cheating on me.

He’s—

The woman’s eyes pop open, and she lets out a strangled gasp when she spots me gaping at them.

That’s what I’m doing.

Gaping. My mouth seems incapable of closing. I definitely can’t speak.

All I can do is stare.

The shower clunks off, and Hudson spins around, his dick still standing to attention, her juices coating the hard shaft.

Her juices.

Not mine.

Hers.

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