Page 141 of One Big Little Secret

You only have a split second before your vision starts spinning—just long enough to pray it’s a short way down or for something soft to break your fall.

I’m falling in that killing slow motion right now, even though I’m perfectly still, turned to stone after I made myself look at him again.

Patton might be having a heart attack. Mouth open, eyes marbles, his healthy color turning ash-white like he’s lost ten pints of blood.

Holy hell, this was stupid.

Holy shit, I never should’ve told him.

I never meant for it to come out like this—this sudden mess that feels like an ugly furball of guilt I just coughed up.

Before I dropped the atomic bomb, I never made up my mind about how to tell him at all, and now I’ve gone and done it.

I’ve given him the truth and there’s no taking it back.

God help me.

Why couldn’t I just keep my mouth shut and enjoy one more evening in paradise?

He rolls off the bed and stumbles back outside, toward the pool. I think he needs oxygen, and I can’t blame him.

I follow timidly, half-afraid he’ll walk right into the water and drown.

I shouldn’t have let this long weekend go to my head.

Shouldn’t have let him steal my heart a second time.

Shouldn’t have flippingtold him.

I’m breathless as he stops and whirls around to face me before he reaches the pool. In the darkness, I can’t make out his features beyond the fact that he’s pale, his eyes too dark.

“Arlo,” he says hoarsely. “My son?My son?”

There’s nothing good in his tone, just horror, heartbreak, fear.

You shouldn’t have told him you stupid, stupid idiot!

“Patton… why don’t you sit down?” I force out, taking his arm and trying to pull him to the lounger.

He doesn’t flinch away, but he won’t look at me either. It’s like he’s just waiting for an explanation I don’t have.

“Salem,” he rumbles, then stops.

He drops his head into his hands, pressing his long fingers against his face until the skin goes white.

“I just—I thought you might’ve wondered by now,” I say quietly. “Did you ever?”

From his expression, clearly not.

“I know this is a lot. I’m sorry.” I rub his back, wondering how it came to this, how I can possibly salvage this nightmare. “I never meant to tell you like this, it just kinda happened…”

“Howdidyou mean to tell me? When did you mean to tell me?” he snaps.

His blue eyes flare, angry and different from the fire of our passion.

“I don’t know.” Maybe never. “I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” he demands again.

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