Page 35 of Shattered Dreams

That's fucking Ava.That's my wife.

And she's just left a hotel early in the morning.

My soul drops.

"What the fuck?" I mutter, striding to the coffee shop, checking who she's meeting in there.

Maybe I'm wrong, maybe it'snotAva.

Please let me be wrong.

My heart thuds in my chest as I stop by the coffee shop window, scanning the line until I see her peering at the pastries.

"Raspberry croissant," I murmur as she places her order, blood draining from my face when the barista selects thatexactfucking croissant.

It's her. It's mywife.

I can't help but stare at her, watching how she smiles, the glow in her cheeks, her mussed up hair. She looks as sexy as fuck, and my gut churns. She looks like she's just been fucked, like she spent the night with some guy banging the fuck out of her—out ofmywife. My fists clench, and I try to think rationally—Ava wouldneversleep with another man. Even after what I did. She’s better than that—better than me.

Maybe she came looking for me?

Hope blooms in my chest, and I nod, trying to convince myself that she didn't spend the night with someone else, thatshe came to see me, and I probably just need to check my phone. I yank it out, keeping an eye on Ava as she finds a table for two and sits down, placing two plates down.

So she's hungry. That's fine—most people order two things.

Right?

No texts.

Nothing from Ava.

She pulls her phone out and texts someone—not fucking me—and smiles when she gets a reply.

Who is she fucking texting?

Her face...she looks so happy, nothing like she did the last time I saw her which was barely two days ago. How can she be like this when she's been distraught and barely able to leave the house?

What changed?

Then she gets up, smiling at the barista while he hands her two drinks.

Two drinks.

There's no denying it; she's meeting someone.

I back away, unable to cope with that thought. Maybe it's Shannon.

A girls’ night away?

Yeah, that must be it.

But when I step away from the window, before she sees me, turning back toward the hotel, I see someone striding out of it, laughing with the doorman.

Someone I recognize, and a pit forms in my stomach.

No.

It's Kieron.Her best friend. Her best friend who must'veflown over the fucking Atlantic Oceanto be there for her.