Page 74 of L.O.V.E

The guy didn’t beat around the bush. Respect.

“Not sure the baby was mine,” I blurted.

Charles didn’t flinch. Like me, like Natalie, he knew the truth about my deceased wife, had witnessed her trail of destruction firsthand.

“She lied to everyone.” Like he’d pierced my bubble with a pin, the words burst out on a rush of air, the truth leaking. “She didn’t want me at all, you see? She wanted my money and my best friend.” God damn, what a relief to say those words out loud, to unburden the weight I’d carried.

“Doesn’t make it any easier. You loved her. I suspect you loved that unborn child, too. The loss is real.”

I slumped, no longer able to hold up the facade. I was not okay. I hadn’t been okay for a long time. And the man staring back at me, the stranger with familiar eyes, was one of only a handful of people who might understand the level of psychological damage Victoria had inflicted.

“I loved her, true. But was it Vic I loved or someone else? Was it all an act?”

He released a heavy breath. Shook his head. “I can’t answer that question, son.”

“Funny thing? She ran away with my best friend. And I should be angry with him. But I can’t. He—”

Charles interrupted, “She was a master manipulator.”

I nodded.

“You feel like she deceived him, too.”

“Yes.” Jesus, the man got it.

“And you’re struggling because you’re angry with her and not him.”

“I hate Martin. Hate that he’s not here. That I can’t tell him how I feel or beat him to a bloody pulp.”

“That’s understandable.”

“I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.”

“No?” he asked, leaning forward, arms crossed on the table.

“What she did to your daughter was far worse than what she put me through. And I hurt Natalie, too. More than once.”

“Natalie.” He nodded, knowingly, then hit me with a hard glare. “My girl’s a fighter. Back then, Linda and I offered to move her to another school time and time again, but she wouldn’t leave Lacey behind. She put up with years of torment so she could stay with her best friend.”

Torment. That word struck hard, wrapping around me like a scratchy blanket, then settling, softening, cocooning my soul.

My pain had a name. My illness diagnosed.

“She didn’t have to put up with the harassment this time,” he continued.

“Because she was able to leave,” I concurred, bruised by the brutal honesty of the conversation.

“She had no choice really.”

That statement, paired with his glower, held more meaning than I was able to stomach. Did he know about Natalie and me? Our sinful attraction? Our brief affair?

She’d had a choice. She could have stayed and fought for us. Maybe I had needed her to fight forme. God, was that the root of my anger? If so, that made me a fucking selfish prick.

“Listen, Charles. I said some horrible things to Natalie at Victoria’s funeral, and I need to apologize—”

“I can’t help you, son,” he interrupted before I had the chance to beg.

“Sure. Sure, of course.” Anger rushed through me, and I choked down a slew of profanities. The guy was only protecting his daughter.

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