We pull up to one of our favorite restaurants and my hopes shoot sky-high. We opt to sit outside since the late spring air is finally warm enough to endure.
The restaurant is intimate and romantic with lights strung from a pergola overhead. We sit at a corner table, and I’m glad for the semblance of privacy for the difficult conversations we’re about to have.
Gray pulls out my chair like a gentleman, and then takes the seat across from me. His leg is bouncing under the table and occasionally bumps the bottom of the tabletop. The waiter comes to pour us wine, and I fear his restless leg will spill the glasses.
“Hey, what is going on with you?” I reach my hand across the table to graze his forearm. He glances at me, really looking at me and it sets my skin on fire.
“I’m sorry. This just feels very much like … a date.” He takes a large gulp of his drink as if he’s trying to calm his nerves. Honestly, he could probably use something a little stronger.
“What’s so bad about that?” I look at him from under my lashes brazenly. It’s now or never.
“It’s like we’re only doing this to get back at them. Maybe you’re okay using their infidelity as a revenge scheme but —” He can’t be serious.
“Cut the shit, Grayson.” I narrow my eyes into slits as I try to gauge what’s really going on here. His jaw clenches with irritation. I don’t normally snap at him, but my hormones are all over the place, and I’m sick of him giving me the run-around. He’s so wishy-washy it’s making me nauseous.
Something else is going on here. He had an affair himself. He’s made that pretty evident to me already. Is this just another day where I’m reading the signs all wrong? Or maybe he’s an expert at toying with my feelings. He’s done it over and over again over the years we’ve known one another. He’s always so hot and cold, but it’s just out of reach and unattainable.
Clarity sets in as if a sign was dangling in front of my eyes. It’s so obvious. The assistant was not a one-off. Maybe it’s her or maybe it’s someone else. But something, no, someone is holding him back. Someone else dug her claws into him before I even had a fair shot.
This is what he wanted to talk about. This is what was too important to say unless we were face-to-face. This is why he never acknowledged our kiss. Son of a bitch.
I muster up a smirk. I should’ve known Grayson Kinsley couldn’t stay loyal to one woman. I just didn’t think he’d be capable for falling for another one either.
“Tell me about your assistant. Lexi mentioned her to me.” Just because Plan A didn’t fall right into place doesn’t mean I’ll give up. This is a marathon, not a sprint, and Grayson is still my prize at the finish line. I won’t dwell on the idea I murdered Taylor for no reason. I just need to be smarter with my next move.
*****
“You can still stay here, you know. I know you don’t want to be at home.” I’m sitting on the kitchen countertop in Grayson’s house, a glass of wine in my right hand and my left hand bracing me on the surface. We’re both giggly and slightly tipsy, so I’m not sure how I’d be getting home if he didn’t offer me a place to stay.
He stands across from me, looking annoyingly handsome. My right foot is in his hands and he’s massaging the tight sole. I cock my head and watch him. It’s almost as if he’s my gay best friend with the relationship we’ve had over the years.
“Can I ask you a question?” It’s rhetorical because I’m going to ask him regardless of what he says. And I continue without giving him a chance to reply anyway. “Why do you always lead me on?” Thank God for alcohol giving me nerve and helping me lose all inhibitions.
The corner of his mouth quirks up, and his eyes become alight with humor. “What are you talking about?” Misunderstanding underlies the lightness in his eyes. Does he really not have a clue?
“Grayson, think about it. For years it’s been one thing after another. You’re hot and hinting you’re into me then you’re cold and act like I’m crazy. You tell me you didn’t think you had a chance with me all those years ago and choose Lexi. You kiss me, you pamper me, you take care of me, God, you sleep in the same bed as me, and you act like those aren’t clear-cut signs saying you’re into me. You’re always choosing someone else and keeping me on the line.”
His forehead crinkles as he considers what I’ve said. I’m already on a rampage so I may as well continue. “I don’t want this to change anything. I’m still your best friend, and I’m always going to wait for you.” I finish the wine in my glass and allow him time to process this new information that isn’t really new.
When he doesn’t answer, I take the hint. I hop off the counter unsteadily and my hip smashes into a drawer. Luckily, the alcohol softens the blow, and I ignore the slight pain and head upstairs to the guest room. I assume Grayson will be returning to his own bed tonight.
As I’m walking away, I’m waiting for him to call my name to stop me, but he doesn’t. Instead, the warm pressure of his large hand pulls at the crook of my elbow. I barely register the feeling as I turn around.
He pulls me into him, his mouth colliding with mine, finally with equal enthusiasm. I lift onto my tiptoes to get closer to him, gripping his t-shirt in my hands. His fingers find my lower back and suddenly I’m mad I wore a jumpsuit. There’s nothing more I want in this moment than to feel his fingers on my skin.
This time when he pulls away, we look each other dead in the eye. There’s admiration in his gaze, and I’m sure my pupils are liquid black with how bad I want him. He takes my hand and I follow him up the stairs into my temporary bedroom.
It’s killing me knowing we can’t be together tonight in the physical sense because of the miscarriage. But soon I know we’ll get there too. We’ve had a lifetime of being best friends. It’s time we take our relationship to the next level, and I think he’s finally ready to make that leap.
Chapter 20
We spend all of Sunday together. We go out to breakfast and talk and talk and talk. He swears Blair, his assistant, really was just a plaything, and he even regrets going there with her. Unfortunately, after our kiss last night, he’s been a perfect gentleman — which is irritating as hell.
He wants to talk to Lexi first, and he doesn’t want me to just be revenge because he is so angry at her and my husband. Which, frankly, is a bit hypocritical of him, but I won’t push his buttons on that yet.
Then there’s the issue of Taylor. Grayson still doesn’t know he’s dead. I may have pulled the trigger, but Lexi really is the one that killed him. If it weren’t for her, none of this would’ve happened. I still wonder if I made a mistake and should’ve killed Lexi instead, but then how could I frame her for his murder?
Tomorrow I call the cops and set the plan into motion, so I need to make a decision. Either I tell Grayson the truth today, or I make him believe I had no idea and therefore nothing to do with it. Honestly, the latter sounds more appealing.
I’m sitting in the living room alone, while he uses the bathroom. His phone sits on the coffee table beside my feet and the vibration of the cell against the table tickles my soles. I glance down to see a text from Logan. Anxiety instantly surfaces.
My heart is in my throat, and I’m choking on it. My pulse thrums wildly, the rhythm gushing past my ears loudly like a dam that just broke. My hairs stand on end like a dog raising her haunches.
I look over my shoulder to ensure the coast is clear. I grab the phone so rapidly it slips out of my fingers like a hot potato. Luckily, it lands on the cushion beside me, and I snatch it back up and open the message immediately. Silly men never seem to have passwords on their phones, especially the ones who probably should.
I skim the text and each word practically causes a hive to break out on my skin. They don’t know I’m texting you … you need to be here … something’s happened … Lexi’s here … but the worst of all … Taylor’s dead … Sage’s fault.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. NO.
God, I sound like a broken record of adult duck duck goose. This ca
nnot be happening. Hastily, I delete the message. I need to tell him on my terms. Think, Sage. Think.
“What’re you doing with my phone?” The husky voice I love so much causes a pit of dread to form in my stomach.
“I can’t find my phone so I was going to use yours to call mine.” The lie flows easily from my lips until I realize one glaring issue.
“You mean the one that’s sitting on the other side of your foot?” His brows are crinkled as he stares at me in suspicion.
“Okay, you caught me. I was actually checking movie times, and I just happened to grab your phone by mistake. I was going to ask if you wanted to go catch a movie. I haven’t gone to one in so long.” I need to deflect his attention from this moment. Also, in case Logan or Parker or anyone else decide to reach out to him again this is the perfect excuse since we can’t be on our phones at the movies. Win-win.
By some miracle, I’m able to convince Gray to leave his phone in the car. In hindsight, it’s evident this was a terrible idea. My mind is racing, and I can’t do anything about it. I can’t implement any plan. I’m stuck in a dark theater, and I don’t even have an inkling of a clue about the movie blasting on the screen in front of me.
The rest of them are obviously together — Logan’s text indicated that much. They probably have their own plan. They want to pin this on me. They want to take me down, to bury me. I can’t let that happen. Frankly, I won’t allow it. As soon as the movie ends, and we walk back to the car, I make my decision.
I tell Gray I need to call my mom, to check on Lennon. He gives me the privacy I require, waiting in the car for me while I make the call about ten feet away.
“9-1-1 what’s your emergency?”
“I need to report a murder.”
Chapter 21
LEXI
They’re charging me with murder. Still. Despite the story I told them, and I’m sure the others corroborated. Right? I’m sure they did. I can’t know for sure, but again, why would they lie?
Then again, Sage is lying. She’s the one who got me arrested in the first place. It still feels like a knife is twisting my heart after seeing her with my husband being all chummy. I know that makes me sound like a hypocrite, but it goes to show I was right about them all along.
What in God’s name am I going to do?
This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to happen. I need to talk to my husband, to explain, and to ask questions, but they won’t let me see him. I don’t even know what exactly is happening. Am I going to jail? Am I going to trial? I should’ve paid closer attention to Orange is the New Black.
Not to mention, it’s late at night so I’m starving. The baby is starving. Hell, maybe I’m having a hysterical pregnancy. I’m probably not going to make it to my doctor’s appointment tomorrow. Will they still charge me the late cancellation fee if I tell them I’m sorry, I’ve been arrested for murdering my baby’s father. I’m sure you understand.
I was already questioned for hours, so I’m sure they’re not holding me here for more questioning. I had to recite my story twelve different ways, forward and backward, and they tried to trip me up on multiple occasions. But I never wavered. Because what I told them was the truth.
I press my forehead to the cool concrete wall. I can’t help wondering if Kennedy and Caroline also told the truth or if they, for some godforsaken reason, went with Sage’s story. But no, they were the ones who wanted to call the cops to turn her in. Plus, I showed up unannounced to the house, so it’s not like they bribed me for bait to flip the script.
I’m going crazy in here already. Is this what happens to people in solitary confinement? If someone walks by, they’re going to think I’m either trying to smash my head into the wall or that I’m praying. Both options sound pretty good right about now.
*****
Two days, twelve hours, and sixteen minutes. That’s how long I’ve been sitting in this cell, but who’s counting? Keys jingle in the distance. Heavy footsteps pound the concrete floor. Closer and closer, the noises grow steadily louder.
A tall, burly man with a hard face but kind eyes appears. He opens my cell and the bars rattle. The metal clanging is music to my ears. “Mrs. Kinsley, the murder charges have been dropped. You’re free to go.”
One would think I’d sprint out of this concrete box like a fire was lit under my ass. Instead, I’m acting as if my legs no longer function. My face scrunches in confusion. Is this a bail thing? No, wait, he said the charges were dropped. I’m no longer being arrested. What’s changed?
My legs are stiff as I rise. As I approach the door, I half expect him to slam it back in my face as he yells, “Just kidding!” Thankfully, that doesn’t happen.
The burly man leads me to the front of the station. My heart races as I prepare for the worst. Will Grayson be waiting for me? Will Sage? Or worst of all, will nobody be here?
I assumed my heart would settle when I saw my husband waiting in a chair for me, but that isn’t the case. My palms get sweaty. I want to tug on the neck of my shirt to allow for some airflow, but I’m still scared that one wrong move will land me right back in that cell.
I’m moments away from the truth. Is he here to take me home? Is he with Sage? What, exactly, did she tell him? Will she be at the house when we get there? All these unanswered questions are making my head spin. Nausea settles as a heavy pit in my stomach.
I collect my belongings and walk toward the man who holds all my answers and, ultimately, my future in his hands. He smiles without emotion; it doesn’t even reach his eyes. Tentatively, and with a gait a toddler could match, I make my way to greet him. He stands and immediately leads me toward the doors. Apparently, he doesn’t think this is the best venue for an intense, emotional discussion, and I have to agree.
The silence causes the tension to perceptibly build as I follow him to the car. The tension, similar to a tightly pulled rubber band, is begging to snap at any moment. I can’t wait any longer without asking the burning question on my tongue.
I clear my throat and look down as I pick mindlessly at my nailbeds. “Is…Sage going to be there when we get home?” I choke her name out even though it tastes like acid burning my tongue.
He mumbles something in response that sounds like, “You don’t know,” but in a louder voice, he says, “No.” His fists curl tighter around the steering wheel.
The late afternoon sun is blinding me and my stomach gurgles loudly. It’s as if the noise amplifies the elephant in the room. Sage claimed to tell Grayson everything which leaves me to assume he knows I’m pregnant. But I’m not going to be the one to bring it up.
I roll down the window to get some fresh air and lean my head against the headrest. We’re still about fifteen minutes from home, giving me ample time to mull over the important questions ricocheting around my brain.
First and foremost, is my husband with Sage now? And what exactly did they do together last weekend? Does he know she murdered Taylor? Probably not. I have to believe he wouldn’t have spent the weekend with her. Does that mean she told him I murdered him? Probably yes. Shit, shit, shit. So he thinks I’m a pregnant murderer. I’m surprised he even showed up to get me.
Unless…does he not believe her? Or does he not know anything at all? Was she bluffing? I’m ready to get home and talk before I rip my hair out from wondering. I need to come clean with everything. I think I can forgive him for his mistakes. Maybe then, he’ll forgive me, too.
I mean, we basically just got a sperm donor, and we can have a baby. It’s what he wanted. Maybe not in the most conventional way, but the result is the same, right? Fuck.
As my husband turns into our driveway and pulls into the garage, my heart sinks and butterflies occupy my stomach. I’m not ready for this. What if he kicks me out? I can’t do this alone. That was never part of the plan. None of this was part of the plan.
He turns the ignition off and gets out of the car. I’m stuck in my seat as anxiety and paranoia have me frozen. He opens the mudroom door and
pauses, looking back at me, still rooted in the passenger seat. “Lex, you coming?”
His eyebrows tug together and he frowns. I can’t imagine what he’s reading on my face right now. Fear. Confusion. Apprehension. Likely a combination of them all.
He walks around the car and opens my door for me. He offers me his hand, and I stare at it briefly, like I’m unsure what to do with the gesture. I unbuckle my seatbelt and allow my quivering hand to take his.
I need to take a shower and wash the last several days off of me and yet I follow him into the kitchen, the very place I saw him and Sage canoodling a few days ago. The thought makes my stomach lurch. Were they here, together, all weekend? Was she in my bed? I think I’m going to be sick.
I run to the bathroom and collapse on the cold, hard tile. My insides empty as I hunch over the toilet. When I think I’m done, I sit back on my heels and notice Grayson leaning against the door with a wet rag.
Tears pool in my eyes as I take the cloth from his hand. “Thanks.” I wipe my forehead and mouth. I smell food, and I’m simultaneously ravenous and ready to toss anything remaining in my stomach.
“Come on, you need to eat something.” Once again, I take his hand and follow him into the kitchen. I didn’t know what to expect when I spoke to my husband next but this certainly wasn’t it. He’s being too nice.
A can of ginger ale sits on the kitchen island next to a pack of saltine crackers. I take a seat and notice he also has soup cooking on the stovetop.
He meets my gaze and a heavy sigh escapes his lips. “We need to talk.”
This is it. No good news has ever followed the words we need to talk. My body stiffens immediately, and I lick my lips but my tongue is too dry to offer any moisture. “I know, just let me explain —”
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