Page 85 of For The Weekend
“I felt like a bike ride this morning.” I shrug. “And it didn’t feel so cold.”
“When the sun was barely up? Jesus.” He scrubs his hand over his face. “I gave you that goddamn thing, and I’ll take it away if you’re gonna be reckless with it.”
For a moment, I put aside my worry and lean into him. “You can’t take Betsy away from me.”
“Who the hell is Betsy?”
“The bike.”
He snorts an amused sound. “You’re a trip.”
Regaining my purpose, I back away from him. “And I have to go.”
“Go back inside and get your coat. I’ll drive you,” he insists in a tone that brooks no argument, so I do as he says and meet him back outside, where he walks me to his car, telling me he’ll pick me up later after I give him directions to Sloane’s house, about a ten-minute drive from downtown.
“Text me,” he says when he parks outside of the brick-and-stucco house.
“I will.”
He grasps my chin and presses a hard, bruising kiss to my lips. “Be safe. Let me know if you need anything.”
My lips tingle as I pull away. “I will. I’ve got to run.”
With a last squeeze of his hand, I’m jogging to the front door, where I let myself in with the key code, and since no one is screaming and there are no kids here, I take that as a semi-good sign.
“Sloane?” I call out, moving through the entryway toward the stairs. “It’s me! I’m here!” I take the carpeted steps two at a time and turn right to her bedroom, pushing open the door to find her crumpled on the floor at the foot of her bed, face buried in her hands.
“Sloane?”
She tips her head up, and as soon as she spots me, she breaks.
Completely.
I sink down beside her and latch my arms around her slim body as she sobs. Sloane is not a crier. For all the bullshithermother feeds her, she’s not super emotional. At least, not that she lets out.
Iam the emotional one. I am the wreck.
But I am happy to return the favor, to be the one who dries her tears for once.
Holding her close, I press my cheek to her forehead and stroke her hair as she cries into my shoulder. I don’t know what to say, so I go with the old standbys. “I love you. It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out. I’ve got you.”
Eventually, she quiets and sits up to pull in ragged breaths, and I use the hem of my T-shirt to wipe her face free of snot and tears, not bothering to waste time searching for tissues. She combs her fingers through her long black hair then rubs at her blotchy eyes before apologizing.
“Sorry for?—”
“Nope.” I hold up my hand. “We’re certainly not doing that. Try again.”
She takes a breath that makes her shoulders rise as she closes her eyes. “Trevor’s cheating on me. He’s been cheating on me.”
My jaw drops, and that really wasn’t on my list of possibilities when I tried to think of what could be wrong.
She meets my gaze, and my best friend is one fucking unbelievable woman because she delivers the rest of the story to me without flinching. “He told me last night after the kids went to bed. There’s another woman, and he wants to be with her. He wants a divorce.”
“Motherfucker,” I seethe. “What the hell? Where is this coming from?”
She shakes her head, chewing on her bottom lip. It’sswollen and chapped. “Apparently, he felt bad for lying to me. That’s why he told me. He didn’t want to keep lying to me when he loves her.”
I choke on a laugh. “What?”
