Page 84 of The Wrong Boss

As if in a dream—a nightmare—I let my daughter tow me across the lobby toward the theater doors, where ushers waited to scan our tickets. When we were through, I glanced over my shoulder. Cole stood exactly where we’d left him, wearing a face made of stone, his fists clenched into tight balls.

The crowd carried us into the darkened theater, and we found our places.

We had the best seats in the house. Of course we did. Nothing but the best for Cole Christianson. I sat on the plush chair and settled Evie beside me, glancing at the empty chair to my left like a snake would pop up on the cushion and bite me.

It was over. The lightness, the love, being the most beautiful woman in the world, if only in one man’s eyes. Never again would I kiss him, or touch him, or hear him laugh.

I’d known it would happen, and it was still excruciating.

When Evie glanced up at me, concern etched on her face, I cleared my expression and smiled. “This is going to be great,” I promised her while my insides turned to ash.

“Who was that, Mommy? Was he really your boss? Are you in trouble?”

“He’s my boss,” I confirmed.For now. “Don’t worry; I’m not in trouble. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Her frown deepened, but before she could ask anything else, the lights dimmed and the first thread of music began to play.

I sank into my seat, but I saw none of the show. My life, as I knew it, was over.

THIRTY-FOUR

COLE

I thoughtI’d survived the worst experience of my life in the attic of my adoptive parents’ house all those years ago. That gut-wrenching discovery had rearranged everything I thought I knew about myself, my life, and my past. I’d been on the cusp of adulthood, and suddenly I knew nothing.

The slow, dawning realization that I’d never really belonged to the family that had raised me had broken me. It suddenly made sense that my birthday presents weren’t the same as my siblings’. Or that my college fund had never been built. Or that I somehow ended up in trouble for my brothers’ misbehavior.

It all made sense—and ithurt.

In my teen years, I’d had this feeling that if I just worked hard enough, I would be loved as much as the other kids in my family. If I got good grades, and did all my chores, and stayed quiet, and behaved—then I’d be worthy.

To discover that I’d been lesser because of something I couldn’t control? Something I hadn’t evenknown?

The hurricane of emotions that came had decimated me. I’d been flatted by the grief and anger, by the hurt. The rage. Over the years, those emotions had quieted, and what had remained was a deep sense of uncertainty. I didn’t know my place in the world. I didn’t think I could trust anyone. I didn’t think I belonged.

Discovering I was adopted—and making sense of the childhood I’d endured—had shaped much of my young adulthood. I’d come through it, battered but not broken. I had scars, but I thought I was doing okay. Sure, my loyalty was hard-won, but it waswinnable.

Standing in the lobby of the Gershwin Theater, I realized how laughable all those beliefs had been. The thin veneer hiding those old scars from the surface was ripped away. I was bloody and wounded and yes, Iwasbroken.

Or at least, I was breaking.

Carrie disappeared into the theater doors, and beside her, a dark head of curls went with her. A six-year-old with my face. My eyes.

The last stragglers hurried into the theater, and the ushers closed the doors. I stood in the lobby as my world tilted.

She’d lied to me. She’d taken me into her bed and smiled at me like I was her world, and the whole time, she’dlied.

Not about something small. Not about something forgivable.

She’d lied about achild. Something so huge that I couldn’t even feel the shape of it in my heart. I’d been a father foryears, and I hadn’t even known it. She’d taken that from me. I’d missed all those firsts. I’d missed the chance to be what my own fathers—adoptive and biological—had never been to me.

Carrie stole that from me.

No wonder she fucking fainted when she saw me. Unless that was a lie too. How would I know? She had me fooled the whole time. Here I thought I’d met the woman of my dreams, and the whole time…

That pedestal I’d created in my mind—the one that held the memory of Carrie from all those years ago—came crumbling down.

She wasn’t the perfect woman. She wasn’t made for me, as I was made for her. She was a lying, deceitful woman who’d probably been laughing at me the whole time.

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