Page 88 of Insatiable Hunger

“Val, we fell asleep watching a movie.”

“I know,” she replies firmly. “And had it been just that, my hackles probably wouldn’t have been up as much as they were. But you see, earlier that day, I was looking for some deodorant because mine somehow got ruined between home and Miami on the plane.”

My pulse is racing, blood roaring in my ears as I know exactly where this is going.

“I looked in your suitcase for yours, and on the top of your stuff was a letter. And I know I shouldn’t have read it, but I did. I’m human, okay? And in this letter, your sister talked about ahimthat you’re in love with.”

“Val—”

She holds her hand up, cutting me off. “Now, I know this marriage was never anything more than a means to an end for us. I know we were never actually in love, but I’d hoped if you were having a relationship with someone else, you’d at least have the decency, as my best friend above all, to have the conversation with me.”

“Valerie, please—”

“Zeke, dammit,” she barks. “Let me finish. Now, when I first saw the letter, I was confused about why you wouldn’t be open with me. We’re open about everything. And it’s not like I didn’t know you were gay. I thought it was strange, but then wasn’t the time to confront you, so I let it go. But then… then I saw Elias’s head rested on your arm while you both slept, which struck me as odd because I’ve never seen you two be even relatively friendly or close. At least, not in my presence.”

My chest feels tight. This is all bad.

“I went back to bed,” she continues. “And I just laid there for a while, running through everything. The letter, what I had just seen, everything leading up to this moment. Wondering if I possibly missed something right under my nose. But surely… surely, it couldn’t be, right?”

Her eyes well up with unshed tears, the paleness of the green getting brighter. It breaks my fucking heart.

“Surely, my husband wouldn’t be screwing my fucking son behind my back, right?”

There it is.

I dip my chin, staring down at my lap. “Val—”

“Are you or are you not having an affair with my son, Zeke?”

My chest rises and falls with shallow breaths. There is no way for me to answer this without sounding like a fucking asshole.

I am an asshole.

I’m a selfish fucking asshole.

“Answer me!” she shouts, roughly wiping a falling tear from her cheek.

“Yes, but—”

Valerie’s open palm connects with my cheek with such unexpected force, my head snaps to the side. From the corner of my eye, I can see her hand come up and cover her mouth, like she can’t believe she did that and, to be honest, neither can I.

Cupping the heated flesh of my cheek, I look back over at her. “I deserved that.”

“How long?” she grits out.

“The answer isn’t that simple,” I say carefully. I wouldn’t be surprised if she slaps me again.

“Yes, it is. How long have you been sleeping with my son, Zeke?”

I run a hand over my beard, knowing whatever I tell her is going to hurt her. If I tell her it started before we met, she’s going to think I’ve lied her to the whole time—which, I kind of did, but we weren’t sleeping together this whole time—but if I tell her it started when he moved in, she’s going to think it’s some strictly physical thing. I’m not sure why that feels worse than the truth, but it does.

So, after taking a deep breath, I give her what seems to be the better of the two, though neither is good. “The first time was before you and I really knew each other. Way before I knew he was your son.”

She jumps back, rising off the chair, like I physically hit her. “Excuse me,” she seethes. “This has been going on foryears?”

“No!” It’s my turn to jump up. “It hasn’t been going on this whole time. It didn’t happen again until after he moved back here.”

She laughs, but it’s clear she doesn’t find any of this funny. “But you married me knowing you slept with my son, and you what? Didn’t think that was information I’d want to know beforehand?”

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