Page 48 of The Butcher

“Like I’m the butt of a joke.”

The seriousness in his eyes started to soften in remorse. “Sweetheart?—”

“I would offer to pay for my meal, but now I need to storm out, so thanks for dinner.” I shifted to the very edge of the table so I could squeeze through the tiny space between the window and the table.

He moved the table against the glass and cut off my escape. “Stop.” He didn’t raise his voice, not in the crowded restaurant where everyone was still oblivious to the rising conflict.

“I want to leave.” I shifted the other way so I could squeeze between our table and the one next to us.

“I said, stop.”

“Don’t tell me to stop. Now, let me go.”

He stared me down across the table before he shifted it over and let me pass.

I squeezed by, the occupants at the table beside us quiet when they felt our hostility. I walked out of the restaurant, my eyes on the ground, my face hot from the rage. It was too far to walk to my apartment, but I was broke, so I would have to use money I didn’t have to waste to get out of there.

I made it outside, and the chilly air splashed onto my face like cold water. There wasn’t a line of people anymore because it was almost midnight. I felt a little better when I was in the open air, when I wasn’t across from the man who’d laughed at my stupidity, and I headed down the street in the direction of my apartment.

“Sweetheart.”

I hadn’t even heard him behind me, which seemed impossible when he was the size of a bear. I carried on like I didn’t hear him, walking past the cars parked at the curb, the sidewalk empty of pedestrians.

“I’m talking to you.”

“And I’m ignoring you.”

He grabbed me by the arm and forced me to face him, using an amount of power that reminded me how small I was—and how strong he was. “You are not the butt of a joke.” His hand went into my hair, and he fisted it like a leash. “Ever.”

I was paralyzed by those blue eyes for a moment, how hard and sincere they were. But then I snapped back to my anger. “You said you’re an honest man, but then you sit there and laugh atme. You tell me it’s nothing when I know it’s not nothing, and you try to make me feel stupid?—”

“I made him tell you.”

I stilled when the revelation hit me right in the face. My eyes flicked back and forth between his as the embarrassment made my knees weak.

“I shouldn’t have laughed—but I wasn’t laughing at you. I just can’t believe a man can be so dishonorable and cowardly. He told a lie so ridiculous I didn’t know what else to dobutlaugh.”

Still in shock at what he had said, all I could do was stare, my hair still in his closed fist, his arm around the small of my back like the bars of a cage.

“I will never lie to you.” His grip loosened on my hair when he realized I wasn’t going to run. “I’m sorry I made you feel otherwise.” He cupped my face, his thumb on my cheek, caressing me like the first flower of spring.

“How—how long have you known?” I felt embarrassed that the man I was fucking knew more about my husband’s infidelities than I did.

He continued to look me in the eye. “Awhile.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because it should come from him. Because he should look you in the eye—like a fucking man—and tell you what he did. Because it’s a punishment for the crime that he committed, to feel like an asshole when he tells you what a piece of shit he is.”

“How did you convince him to do it?”

“Convince isn’t the word I would use.” His eyes hardened as he looked at me, a hint of what he’d done to my ex-husband. “You deserved to know the truth. You deserved to know that you were never the problem. You deserved closure.” He moved his hand back into my hair and gently pulled it from my face so he could see all of me. His arm tightened around me, and he pulled me closer into him, letting my cheek rest against his chest as he held me on the sidewalk, like he knew I needed a moment without his piercing stare.

He stood there for a long time, holding me in the light of the lamppost, the street quiet because we were the only ones there. His body produced enough heat to keep me warm even though it was a cold night, a perfect evening for a fire in a hearth. “Come home with me.” He didn’t state it like a question, but it still felt like one.

I pulled my face from his chest to meet his look. I felt like I’d been ripped to pieces by a pack of dogs, my heart on one side of the street and the rest of my entrails on the other. Someone I’d promised to love forever had done this to me, had hurt me, had humiliated me, and then he’d had the nerve to look me in the eye—and lie all over again.

But whenever I looked at those perfect blue eyes, I felt a calm river, an everlasting peace, a passion that muted all my other emotions. I felt more trust in a stranger than I did my own husband. I felt safe with someone I barely knew. I got swept up in his current and let it take me far out to sea. “Okay.”

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