Page 59 of The Rebound Plan

I take a big step forward out of the shadows, but they don’t notice me.

He hangs his head. “Fuck.”

“I hate you,” she whispers.

“Don’t say that.”

“I want a divorce.”

He laughs. “Fuck. Definitely don’t say that.”

“We’re broken beyond repair, Max.”

“Come here.” He drops the towel and moves to her.

I freeze, wondering if he’ll spot me, but he’s focused on her—and from the look on his face, he knows he’s truly fucked up here.

He catches her hand and pulls her in against him.

“Max, don’t…” She sighs, and I tense, ready to charge to her rescue, but then he’s kissing her, and she brings their hands up, their fingers tangling.

She’s not stopping him.

She’s deepening their kiss, because of course she is. She’s his wife and this was just a fight.

Being married to Max Tilman probably means a stupid divorce-threatening fight once a month, followed by make-up sex.

Pain burns in my chest.

I need to walk away,now.

He pushes his hands into her hair, their kiss turning desperate. Then he picks her up, her legs going around his waist, and he carries her to one of my wide sun beds the girls got so much use out of this weekend.

That’s my opportunity to leave.

I don’t take it. I’m frozen to the spot, furious and unable to look away, as Max unties her bikini top, freeing his wife’s breasts.

I can’t see them, her back is still to me, but…

Fuck.

Fuck.

He fills his hands and groans, then he dips his head and gives her tits attention until her head falls back.

In the still of the night, I can hear her panting.

“I’m sorry, hun. You know I’m sorry, right?”

“Show me,” she whispers up to the night sky. “Show me that you’re sorry.”

Her breathy plea is the jolt I need to leave them alone. I take a step back—right onto a twig that snaps louder than a gunshot.

Max jerks his head up, looking past Shannon’s shoulder to make undeniable eye contact with me.

He wipes his mouth. “You looking at my wife, Armstrong?”

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” I grind out.

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