Page 74 of Infinite

It takes Trin walking toward us for me to finally look away. “I went upstairs,” she tells Becca. “That bed has been slept in as well and there’s no evidence anyone has been there except for Hale.”

My hand passes over my jaw where my stubble is turning into a beard. “You don’t trust me, either?” I ask Trin.

“I didn’t trust her,” Trin replies. “And Hale, as much as I love you, none of this looked good.” She smiles softly. “Except what you said to Becca.”

Trin is trying to soften the blow. I nod, letting her know I understand where everyone is coming from. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d caught Becca with another man. Forget it. I do know, and it wouldn’t have been anywhere near this polite.

“I’ll let you guys talk,” Trin says. “Food’s on the counter.”

The front door opens and closes again. One vehicle drives away. Then another. Still, we don’t speak.

She covers her face. I think she’s going to start crying. I want to hold her, tell her I’m sorry for all she found. I also want to apologize for Pris’s presence and for allowing her to spend the night. But she doesn’t want me to touch her. That anger and hurt keeps me at arm’s length, building a wall between us and keeping me far away.

When it seems like too much time has passed, I finally speak. “I wanted to say all the right things, but none of them came out.”

She drops her hands away. Her face is red and blotchy, but I don’t see a single tear. “I’m going to start your interview. The audio to dub into the beginning of your ABC special.”

“What?” I follow her when she stomps away. “Becks, I don’t want to do this now. We need talk this shit out.”

“I’m doing your interview,” she says. She throws the office door open and gets to work. I stop in the hall, watching her move fast. She pulls out the camera equipment she special ordered. The mic, the tripod, the little cameras that clip on clothing, they’re all there.

She stops when I step in and shut the door behind me. She didn’t expect me to follow, too caught up in what she saw and how it made her feel.

Fresh tears trickle down her cheeks. She wipes them awkwardly away, fighting to make them stop only for them to run faster.

“The last time we spoke we talked about making love, what it would be like now that we were together. How it would feel not to be rushed.”

She wipes her eyes with the edge of sleeve, watching me closely instead of answering.

“I still want us to make love. I still want you to fall asleep against me and wake up with your face being the first thing I see. But there’s more. I want to travel with you and see your smile light up when we watch the sunset from a castle in Ireland, or while shopping in those little stores you find only in France. I want to swim the Dead Sea with you and watch your cheeks flush as we hike through the forests of Austria. I look forward to laughing when you fuss with Trin’s babies. But I also want you to know, I’ve thought about making babies of our own.”

She gasps, in shock and more. I don’t mean to pressure her. I only want her to understand what she means to me, what she’s always meant to me.

I walk slowly to her, carefully taking her hands in mine. I look at how they fit across my palms. My hands are large, calloused, and marred from all the years I played ball. From all those times I scraped them, doing everything I had to do to make that winning touchdown. Until I made the final play, the impossible one, the one that made USC national champs. The one that blew out my knee and ended my NFL dream.

Becca’s hands don’t share my scars from the too-long practices in the rain and mud, and from men far bigger than me mowing me down. Her skin is delicate and her scars are emotional, buried deep beneath long, slender fingers, and skin so soft, all she needs are wings. Our hands are different sizes, shaded in different tones, toughened with different memories, but somehow they fit.Wefit.

“You say all these things, all these pretty words that I want believe,” Becca says. “But what you didn’t explain was why that woman was here?” Her irises shimmer as she waits for me to answer. “I need you to tell me the truth or I swear to God . . .”

Becca doesn’t need to say what she’ll do. I already know she’ll leave and this time not look back. We’ve had our share of trouble. But like me, cheating isn’t something she’d tolerate no matter how much it would kill us to walk away.

“Neesa discovered some activity in my private accounts one of those nights I was with Pris. We were at a special event. There were a few big-wigs from Wall Street, many who Pris would cozy up to when she didn’t think I was paying enough attention to her.”

Becca’s lips part slowly. “You think they used her to get information?”

I nod. “I didn’t trust Pris with anything private. We never shared bank accounts, passwords, nothing personal or any delicate information. For the most part, we led completely separate lives.”

“Unless you needed company?”

Becca isn’t being petty or nasty. Her voice is soft and reasonable. She can accept that Pris and me weren’t serious. But she won’t easily forget we were physically intimate.

“Pris and me were never friends. Not like you and me,” I stress. She dips her chin. “We never talked about anything worth talking about. But she was with me long enough to overhear some of my business interactions and dealings. I was on the phone a lot. I’d take calls in my office and also after hours, making deals, strategizing with my clients. Sometimes, others in finance would call me, trying to cozy up by offering inside information.”

Becca’s eyes widen.

My thumbs slowly pass over her knuckles. “I never took them up on it,” I insist. “I never wanted to be a part of all that bullshit. Once you start, you don’t stop. Before you know it, you owe a lot of people and they’re looking to collect any way they can.”

“I believe you. But do you think Priscilla would take inside information?” she asks.

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