Page 80 of The Rebound Plan

“Ummm…” I glance at the bakery. “I’m just— How did you find me?”

He laughs and taps my phone. “I always know where to find you. You’ve got your location turned on. I was wondering what you wanted for dinner.”

A chill rolls up my spine as I scramble to my feet and grab the offending device. “Oh. Okay. Well, I was just coming home.”

“Do you want the rest of your coffee?”

To my horror, Max reaches across the table and grabs Russ’s cup. I’m staring at it when the back door of the bakery slams shut.

In slow motion, we both turn in that direction, because it’s the kind of sound that makes you gowhat the fuck, but there’s nothing—nobody—there.

I snatch the coffee from Max and jerk my head toward the street. “Let’s go.”

“What’s your rush?” He glances around. “This is a cute place.”

That’s when I notice that he’s dressed up, and he got a haircut today.

When I’m the only woman in his life, Max Tilman is all about hockey. He showers obsessively and smells like body wash. He wears athletic clothes and eats meals prepped for him by a sports chef.

But once in a while, he starts dressing with more care. He wears cologne, something I only experienced when we were dating.

It’s a pattern I’ve come to realize that, on some level, means he’s trying to impress somebody. It never lasts that long. A few months at most, and then I get my husband back.

Ironically, the easy looseness that happens because he's filled with confidence in his pursuit of another woman often has a knock-on effect of him being nicer to me. Guilt, maybe, although it would never stop him from having little affairs.

This is a cute place.

Max has sought me out and is now…flirting with me…because he’s just come from another woman.

I’m sure of it. I recognize all the pieces, little flags that I used to process in a bizarre form of coping denial. Yes, it pricked at me as wrong, but I focused on the good parts of our marriage and consciously ignored the bad parts.

I can’t ignore anything anymore.

I look at the bakery, where I’m sure Russ is lurking right now. Hiding because I begged him to give me space to salvage this marriage for a little while longer.

Because I couldn’t bear to throw my husband’s life into upheaval, or bear the consequences of that coming back on me.

What a joke, and I am the punchline.

“I’m tired,” I manage to say coolly. “I want to go home and take a long bath.”

“Maybe I’ll wash your back.”

It’s an empty promise.

We take our separate vehicles home, and he gets a phone call from his agent as we walk inside. I go upstairs on my own to run my bath. As it fills, I look at my red-rimmed eyes in the mirror. Did Max even notice that I was visibly upset?

I don’t let myself think about what Russ wiping my tears. I don’t let myself think about today at all. I just wait for the tub to fill, then I slip into the steaming water and feel hollow inside.

CHAPTER 30

RUSS

I get to the arena an hour early on the first day of training camp.

The coaching and training staff are already there, setting up for the player meeting. Handouts neatly set on chair seats, water, fruit, and protein bars set up on a side table. White boards at the ready behind a familiar podium.

I snag a mandarin orange and head to the dressing room. The carpet is freshly steam cleaned, and the uniforms hanging in our stalls have never been worn before. This year’s practice jersey is a particularly nice design, so I snap a few photos of the gear before anyone else comes in.

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