Page 9 of The Caretaker
“I didn’t want it to come out like this,” he said. “I wanted to—”
“You wanted to make me feel like shit just a bit longer, right?” Everything in me shook, every organ writhing in pain. “Secretly blame me for a few more years? Hold your love hostage a little longer?”
“That isn’t true, and you aren’t the only one hurting—”
“Shut up!” I shook from head to toe. “How long?” There was nowhere for either of them to go, not without getting past me first. Patrick raised his hands in front of him, as if telling me to calm down, but he didn’t answer.
“Before or after Gavin?” I croaked, realizing there was still more of me to destroy. If the affair had begun after Gavin died, I didn’t think I would survive this confrontation. Because maybeI could’ve handled knowing he’d continued on with an affair already in motion. Maybe I could’ve come to terms with the fact that he may have already been in love with her. I could’ve lived with that more. As desperate as it sounded, I could have convinced myself that staying with her afterward was out of his hands because they were in love by that point.
But if he’d started up the affairafterGavin’s death… If he’d made the choice to accept comfort for his grief from someone else when for the last year I’d beenbegginghim on fucking hands and knees to take comfort in me, to helpme… No, I wouldn’t survive that at all.
“After,” he whispered. “Not long after.”
I sagged, my arms shooting out to grip either side of the doorframe. She turned to me then, streaks of mascara racing to her jawline, lips trembling.
“We never meant to hurt—”
One look from me and her words died in her throat. Patrick reached a hand back for her, as if wanting to show his solidarity.
“Why?” I cried. “Why do you hate me so much?” I knew why, but my heart still wanted to hear it. My heart still hoped he’d say it wasn’t true.
“I couldn’t turn to you,” he said, and for once in God knew how long, something besides rage and blame stared back at me. Something I yearned for so long to see, to help him through. Sorrow. “I couldn’t,” he repeated softly.
“So you turned toher.You gaveherall of your kindness, and brought your anger and coldness home to me.” My legs gave out, and Patrick lunged for me. I stumbled back into the wall to evade his help. “Don’t touch me!” I shouted, and they both jumped.
“Don’t touch me, don’t follow me, and don’t bother coming home.”
“Sola—”
“Swear it!” I demanded, forbidding my tears to fall. He would never see me cry over him again. “Say you will not follow me home tonight,” I gritted out, because I was weak enough to fall prey to any excuse he might come up with, weak enough to believe more of his lies. “Promise me.”
“I-I promise.”
I dragged my pummeled body down hallway after hallway, ripping my bow tie and mask away as I went. Everything felt stifling, even my skin.
Beyond the velvet rope again, eyes firmly on the exit, I didn’t see the huge man in front of me until we’d collided.
He grabbed hold of me before I hit the floor, and after a few acrobatic movements and a spin to ensure neither one of us fell to the marble, he apologized for knocking the wind out of me.
“Are you okay?” he asked, true concern shining in those sparkling emerald eyes. In my shattered state, I realized it was the man who’d been dancing with my husband’s mistress. One look at his ring finger told me she was more than just his date. “Hey,” he whispered, clasping my chin and raising my head, his grip surprisingly gentle. “Are you alright?”
I couldn’t remember the last time anyone asked me that, and I wanted to weep when his thumb grazed my fallen teardrop. “No,” I breathed. “I’m not.”
Our gazes latched together, his seeming to ask if there was anything he could do for me, and mine said there wasn’t anything anyone could do.
“Are you here alone?” he asked. “Can I get you a cab—”
“Noon?” someone said from behind me.Shesaid from behind me.
I removed my cold hand from his warm one, and my ache deepened. I hadn’t even noticed I’d been holding it. He peered over his shoulder, his attention going to his wife. I couldn’t seeher beyond his broad back, chances were she couldn’t see me either.
“I have to go,” I panted, unable to face her again.
“Wait—” he tried, but I was already gone.
To my surprising disappointment, Patrick didn’t chase behind me. He didn’t text, and he didn’t call. And for once, he’d chosen to keep his promise. He never came home.
Noon
