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It’s strange, butwework.
I appreciate him stepping up and caring for Aurora after I hurt her. In one picture, he’s wiping tears from her face, sending that wrecking ball through my chest again. She believes she’s not good enough when I’m the one who has failed.
Kyle is right; I’m not smart. Not because I’d give Aurora anything, but because I didn’t protect her. I thought I could handle him. He played me, and it destroyed the person I love most. Again.
The next picture is taken from behind. All it shows is Ethan kissing her forehead— Wait. What the fuck? Is that a Stars hoodie? It’s partly obscured, the hood covering the name, but it looks an awful lot like a jersey.
My fingers fly over the screen.
You let her wear a fucking Stars jersey? Whose number is that?
Coach
Coach
Carmichael. I already warned her.
Burn it.
Carmichael is a defensive beast. I’m fast. I don’t carry the bulk this guy does. When he hits, it’s comparable to being smashed into a brick wall by a Mack truck.
Touché, baby. Tou-fucking-ché.
Coach
This is what she’s wearing to work today. I may need you to bail me out of jail.
Following is a picture of Aurora bent over the bathroom counter as she applies her makeup in the mirror. She stands on her tippy toes, her legs a mile long. Her plaid skirt rides up, ending just below her luscious ass, and since it sits high on her waist, it’s difficult to tell she’s pregnant.
For a shirt, she’s wearing a cropped band tee, and from this angle, you can see a peek of under-boob. No bra.
Goddamn.
She’s stunning. Beautiful. Sexy. Every man’s wet dream. And I hate myself for fucking it up.
How about we trade?
Coach
Not a chance in hell.
I save every photo, even those of Aurora with Ethan, before conducting an obsessive internet search for more. I find an IG page for a photographer who has taken an interest in Aurora. He has a handful of new pictures and videos of her.
Of course, she’s gorgeous in each picture, but the one in which she’s wearing a tiny, transparent silver dress is out of this world. I can see her rosy nipples and the outline of her incredible tits. It reminds me of when we were separated and she was posing naked on beaches, strutting seductively in lingerie.
It hits me—weareseparated. I’m instantly irritated, especially by the comments stating how hot Aurora is and ripping me to shreds for cheating on her.
I’m typing so fast, I can’t control myself.Look at her. Do you think I’d cheat on that? Fuck no.
My mouth twists into a smirk. Under a picture of her and Ethan, I write:Thanks for taking care of our girl.
I scroll through the outlandish comments and find one that asks:Ménage?and heart the reply. Let people assume what they want—they already think I’m unhinged, so why not have some fun?
12
JACKSON
Doc returnsin the late afternoon to evaluate my condition. I’ve progressed from the bed to the couch—a vast improvement over my earlier inability to lift my head without vomiting. I’m exhausted, but my mind isn’t racing. I’m not bouncing between panic and agitation.