Page 70 of Unmatched

I pick up Heartthrob’s food dish because he’s staring at me like there should be less talking and more attention to him, and I definitely agree. Lydia just stands there, fists balled at her sides, watching me feed the dog from where she sits in the hole she’s dug.

“You know, I’m not the only one who isn’t perfect here,” she finally sputters. “If you were so miserable, you could’ve said something. But you didn’t. You decided to cheat.”

I close my eyes, pressing my mouth into a line. “I guess it seemed reasonable since you’ve been having an affair with your job for years.”

“You never said you were unhappy! How am I supposed to know how you feel if you never tell me? You’re impossible to read.”

“You want it spelled out?”

“Actually, yes,” she says. “Because I have been making an effort. I bought us a sex toy—which we used—I gave you a pretty excellent blowjob. But then you got all moody and tried to leave without even saying anything!”

My throat tightens. An image of her flashes through my mind, lips wrapped around my cock. Then another of her running to answer the phone like she couldn’t change gears fast enough. I pick up my keys.

“Kind of like you’re doing right now,” she says.

“Look, Lydia,” I say, trying to sound more firm than defeated. “I love you—I always have, and I always will. But if nothing’s going to change, I don’t think either of us will be happy.”

She’s quiet for a minute, then lets out a low breath. “And the only solution is for me to sell my businesses? So I can, what, lie around all day waiting to have sex with you?”

I level my gaze at her, unwilling to even grant that an answer.

“Wow. This is not where I thought we’d end up,” she says, and her trembling voice forces an uncomfortable lump into the back of my throat. “I’ve never imagined us not together. After Pooch Park II opened, I thought we might even talk about starting a family...”

My chest burns. I don’t bother pointing out that you need to have sex to make a baby, that children don’t raise themselves.

Her frown deepens.

I sigh, dumping the rest of my coffee in the sink. “Look, I want you to be happy, Mrs.—” I stop, unable to call her by the nickname I’ve used for seven years. “But I need to be happy too.”

“The Pooches do make me happy. I can’t give that up.”

For you.

She doesn’t say these last two words, but the room fills with them.

I don’t answer. I’m tired of feeling hurt, and I don’t want to hurt her more.

I move for the door, forcing my brain to focus on “next steps” to try and escape this moment. I’ll make an appointment with the lawyer, look for an apartment. I might need to take some time off work to move. Maybe I’ll even talk to Carl about working remotely and long-term travel. I love Denver, but a fresh start might be for the best. A new city.

Or maybe I should just go home to Dallas.

Faintly, as I think of this, over the sounds of our dully beating hearts and gloomy breaths, a melody makes its way to my ears. It takes almost half a minute for me to fully grasp the notes cutting through the air. The ringer on someone’s phone. Not Lydia’s for once, though. Mine.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

I’m trying so hard to hold it together, to not cry, that I nearly fall out of my chair when Anton suddenly darts from the room. For a second, I think he left. Maybe he couldn’t take this emotional overload either and went to the gym. Except he was headed toward our bedroom, not the front door. And then I hear the ringing. It cuts off almost as soon as it registers, replaced by Anton’s deep, serious greeting.

“Hello?”

There’s a long silence after that. So long that I wonder if I actually heard any of it. Maybe he did leave.

I slip out of the kitchen and down the hall, my heart picking up speed.

“What happened?” I hear him say next.

The air is deathly silent when I peer around the corner, hesitant to enter, as if I’m an intruder in my own room.

“Okay.” Anton sits hunched on the bed with his back to me, his voice grim. “I—I should be able to get a flight in the next few hours.”

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