Page 17 of Sins and Secrets

“Yours,” he says with such confidence..

Downstairs, a cell phone goes off, but it’s a different ring tone than mine or his. It’s followed by the pattering of feet on the bathroom tile.

I frown. “So you’re not even going to admit you're cheating? Even though I caught you?”

His face darkens. “Maybe I’m cheating on you because you’re into freak-ass shit.”

And that’s it. I’m done feeling like shit over this guy. Wedding or not, I can’t deal with this any more.

The next few moments happen as if in slow motion. My thumb holds back my middle finger as my hand inches closer to the space between the towel and his body. One quick flick against the soft sack of skin with paper football precision and all color drains from Adam’s face. The pain takes a second to register, but the exact moment when it does is obvious. His eyes roll back as he hits the ground. He pulls his knees to his chest and cries out.

I might be tiny and TSA travel-size approved, but at the moment I am a towering mega sized rage and badassery glaring down at him. “You have twenty-four hours to get your shit out of my house. If you can’t manage, I’ll have my cousins help you.”

Stepping over his body, I call into the bathroom. “Hey, please throw out my loofa if you’ve used it. Fucking my boyfriend is one thing, but using my loofa is super gross.”

He’s still on the ground, moaning, as I grab all my important papers, laptop, and a change of clothes.

I'm on autopilot as I go back to my car. I can't go to Angie’s, she's in India and Kyle is visiting his parents. I could call Izzy, but I don't want to bother her and Lance. Sheila’s dropping off Shae at her music lessons. I’ve got nowhere to go.

I start my car and drive. The streets all have haunting memories. Am I mad? Hurt? Numb? I can't figure it out. I guess there's a sense of betrayal. I mean Iamsupposed to break up with him because I don’t love him, not because he’s a cheating tool. Maybe it’s because I’m coming down from my asskicking high, but the early stages of inadequacy start to seep in. Why would he cheat on me? What did I do wrong? Wasn’t I good enough?

No. Stop. Figure out a fucking plan before I have a meltdown.

I don’t know where I’m going, or even how long I’ve been driving, when I pull up to a coffee shop to try and get my thoughts together. Hmm. Plan acquired: Coffee fixes everything. And cupcakes. Cookies. Food.

In numb shock as I walk across the parking lot.

Get inside the store.

I’m vaguely aware of a screech of brakes and tires. There’s a car awfully close to my body. In a daze, I blink at the hood of the car and then at the driver. No. No. Not him.

“Waverly, what the hell are you doing?” Lukas shouts through his open car window.

I don’t owe him an explanation. My legs or mouth don’t seem to be working either. Why is he pissed? He’s not the one whose life was just turned inside out.

He jumps out of the car and grabs my shoulders. “Are you okay?” He leans down trying to capture my eyes, but I’m doing my best to avoid it. I can’t fall into them right now.

Again, the words freeze in my throat.

He leads me to the sidewalk and orders me to stay, like a dog, then hops back into his car. Oh, he’s leaving. Perfect. But, no, he pulls into a parking space and runs toward me.

“What happened? I almost killed you.” He’s panting so hard and his eyes resemble giant black orbs. “What’s wrong?”

I tilt my head toward the coffee shop. “Food.”

Lukas nods and ushers me into the shop. It’s cute. One of those places that has all the desserts displayed in a glass counter. There’s little turtles on the wall and it’s got an adorable sort of vibe to it.

“Sit.” He gently guides me to a chair, presses on my shoulders until I settle onto the seat, and scoots me in. “I will be right back. Can you wait for me right here?”

I nod numbly. The empty chair across from me hits me hard, and I can’t figure out why. Maybe because I always feel like I’m sitting alone, waiting for something that will never happen. My childhood and teen years, I kept thinking it was going to get better. But it hasn’t.

There’s a chocolate chip cookie on a white plate in front of me. “When you’re ready, tell me what happened,” Lukas says. He sits in the empty wicker chair across the table, trying to solve my issues like a calculus problem.

I break off a piece of the cookie and pop it into my mouth. It tastes like sand and death.

Lukas must be able to tell if something's wrong because he takes a bite, frowns, and says, “Yours are lightyears better.” His compliment warms my soul. Even more so when he moves the plate to the side. “You don’t need to eat sadness cookies.”

Over the counter, there’s a sign: Gluten free, sugar free, chemical free bakery. Next to it, another sign proclaims: As seen on Instagram. Then a third sign reads: We cater for weddings.

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