Page 57 of Before You Go

“Sorry. Molly came over, and we had to get ready.” I step sideways out of his space, and he frowns slightly before turning to greet my mom.

After kissing Mom’s cheek, he looks at Molly but doesn’t even fake a smile. There was a period of time when the two of them pretended to like each other for my sake, but when I ended things with him, the fake niceties came to a screeching halt, and the animosity between them since then has only grown.

In Matthew’s head, my friends were one of the major reasons our relationship came to an end. And Molly, being one of the people I leaned on, knows everything that happened prior to me even considering divorce.

To him it might have felt like it was a decision I made on a whim; he doesn’t know that I fought with myself every day, tried to convince myself that I could stick it out a little longer. Told myself that things would get better, that we were just in a rough patch. And there were times after I’d tell him what was bothering me, and he’d make promises to change that I really thought everything would be okay. But before long, things would go back to the way they were, and I’d be right back where I was—contemplating my reasons for sticking things out.

It was during the last year of our marriage that I really understood what people mean when they say that a woman leaves a relationship long before they actually leave. By the time I got to the point where I told Mathew I was done, we might as well have already been divorced because there was no going back.

“Oh, Shell’s here,” Mom says, dragging me from my thoughts.

I look to where her eyes are focused and watch Shelly look up at Billy like she loathes him before she places a very pretty, but plastic, smile on her lips and greets a couple who approaches the two of them. Seeing that look on her face, I know without a doubt that she didn’t buy whatever story he made up about him not having an affair.

I wonder if he even realizes that she knows he’s a liar.

Probably not. Men—especially men who think of themselves as important—tend to be oblivious to what is happening in their personal lives unless it is directly affecting them. And I don’t mean affecting them like they are arguing more than normal with their spouse. I mean, affecting them like they might have to pay spousal or child support.

“How is Shelly doing?” I ask my mom quietly, ignoring Matthew, who I can still feel hovering near us.

“Good. She’s starting treatments soon.”

“That’s good.” I don’t bother asking her about the whole news story that came out. My mom learned when my dad got into politics that you can’t trust the media, so she rarely believes anything that comes out unless there is evidence to back it up. And if Shelly hasn’t spoken to her about it—which she probably hasn’t, because good Southern women don’t talk about their marital problems—then Mom won’t bring it up to her.

When Shelly starts heading toward the bar with Billy right behind her, I glance over to where I last saw Dayton and find him heading in our direction, his eyes on Matthew and his jaw clenched.

“Someone isn’t happy,” Molly whispers.

My heart pounds, and a tingle slides down my spine when he steps up next to me and rests his hand on my lower back. The touch might look innocent to everyone else in the room, but I feel the possessiveness in it.

“Mom, you remember Dayton, don’t you?” I prompt, hoping to cut through the tension I can feel building around me when Matthew bristles.

“I do. It’s so nice to see you, Dayton.” Mom gives him her cheek, and he bends down to kiss her there. “How have you been? How’s work?”

“I’ve been good. Work’s busy.”

“I bet.” She laughs, then looks at Matthew, and her brows draw together ever so slightly, like she’s sensing something from him. “You know Matthew, don’t you?” Mom asks, and Dayton doesn’t even bother looking over at my ex-husband when he replies.

“We’ve met.”

“Dayton.”

When he turns at his name being called, I do the same and find Billy coming up behind us. I fight the curl of my lip. Any respect I had for him is long gone—not only because he’s a cheater, which is absolutely disgusting, but because he was willingly going to cause my father harm in order to save his own ass.

“I should have known you’d be with Francisca.” His eyes drop to me, and he smiles while bending to touch his lips to my cheek. “How are you?”

I try not to shudder in revulsion. “Okay, you?”

“Living the dream.”

I’m sure he believes he is. Douche.

He takes his eyes off me and looks to where Matthew is standing on the opposite side of me. “It’s been a while. How are you doing, Matthew? How’s work?” He holds out his hand.

“I just made partner,” Matthew tells him.

“You did?” I blurt, and he looks at me, his face going soft.

“I did. Dad let me know this afternoon.”

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