Page 89 of June: Jess' Story

I look through the family photos as she sits at her desk to settle. But I freeze where I’m at when I spot a very familiar face staring back at me. Two of them, actually.

“How do you know Alex?” I ask, trying my best to be completely nonchalant.

“That doofus is my brother.” If I were drinking coffee I’d have spit it out. All over this Tiffany's framed family photo.

Britain joins me and holds up the photo in hand. “And that’s my husband, and our two girls.”Do not vomit on this woman’s carpet. Don’t do it. Hold it.

Instinctively I look down at my shoes. The shoes I wore when I fucked her husband this weekend.

I take it all back. I am a shit human being.

TWENTY-FIVE

Now

Alex

The first clue should have been what she was wearing. The second clue was the look on her face. The nervousness she exuded. The slight tremble to her hand as she fed Eden. All of the hundreds of clues were there, though none of them more pervasive than that fucking gut feeling.

I didn’t know how to do it, though. I didn’t know how to throw myself at her and beg forgiveness because yes, I’m fucking angry at her. Still. And yes, I fucking took it out on her. But I wasn’t using her. Never. I didn’t know anything was wrong until she said something.

The fucking sound of her voice. And the tears in her eyes. I wanted to kick my own ass. But I was only ever thinking of her. I was thinking about how much I loved her in the deli, how much I loved her singing lullabies to Eden. I was thinking about how I love her so much, she shouldn’t be anyone else’s, let alone two other fuckers. Both of whom I know personally.

The fact that Damian had her first… I can barely stand the thought of it now. But then Tommy, too? It’s like she did it just to spite me. And I’m fucking pissed. As I should be because she robbed us of six fucking years. And when she was saying my name last night, I was creating a new fucking memory over the one of her muffled moan through a closed door at the hand of someone else. At the hand of my best friend. When it should have been me.

I would have fucked her that night. I would have fucked her publicly at the goddamn oyster bar and gladly gone to jail. That’s how fucking sure I was about her. And I lied to Damian to get him off my fucking scent, and it backfired. Yeah, I fucking know.

I throw down the kitchen towel once the last pancake is pulled off the griddle and head upstairs. I check her closet, but nothing looks amiss. I check the bathroom and nothing. No, her toothbrush is gone. I walk into Eden’s room and find that all the drawers have been emptied. The suitcase is missing from her closet, too.

She just wasn’t going to say goodbye?

I practically fly down the stairs, grabbing the Jeep keys and a baseball hat.

She just fucking left?

I’m doing 70 in a 40, definitely going to jail if I get caught.

She doesn’t fucking love you. Obviously.

I slam on the breaks when a raccoon scurries out in front of me.You’re supposed to be nocturnal!I want to scream at the little shit.

She’s just using you.

And then I’m driving way too fast again.

She’d never want you.

“Shut the fuck up!” I yell at myself. At the voice that makes me feel like I am the son of Ray, and that’s all I’ll ever be.

At The Grounds, her car is parked out front and I double park right behind her. Though it’s not like I’m really gonna stop her if she wants to leave. Which obviously, she does.

I throw open the door, and the cold wind whips around the cafe and shop, blowing napkins and scattering disposable utensils.

Three strides. .8 seconds.That’s all it takes for me to get to her. I feel like shit because she actually looks scared.

“You’re leaving?” I try to temper my voice, but it’s fucking impossible. It’s just raw fear gnawing at words. She fidgets as I hover over her, and it must be domineering because she has to straighten her spine in order to find her resolve.

“Yes.” White-hot rage races against my spine.