Page 26 of The Playboy’s Playbook

Chapter Twenty-Two

LAILA

I ’m probably not the best person to be trusted to cook dinner – or anything really. Why Matt requested to have a home cooked meal is beyond me, but I couldn’t tell him no.

After the excitement of our public appearance at the Fourth of July fireworks show, he thought that it’d be best to stay in for date night. No fancy meals, no dressing up to the nines – just us, our pajamas, Nola, and a home cooked meal made with heart and soul.

Unless I can’t decide what to cook – then this home cooked meal will turn into a takeout meal real quick.

My feelings have only grown stronger for Matt, but part of me still can’t shake this feeling that something is off.

I can see it in his face when he looks at me – the conflict in his eyes and hesitation when he speaks.

I could really tell something was bothering him after the show.

He said it was an ex, but I think there’s more to that story.

I don’t want to press him because if there was something he wanted me to know, he’d tell me, right?

I make my way through the grocery store aisles, checking off my shopping list, when my phone buzzes with a notification from Erica.

She sent me a link that leads to Adrienne Boyd’s page — a classmate I never particularly liked. Adrienne was rude, selfish, and the epitome of a mean girl. She looks just like she did in school, only older. Her brown hair falls in loose waves, and her brown eyes are heavily lined with mascara.

The link Erica sent me goes straight to a post from five years ago – Matt’s tagged in it.

My heart sinks as I click to read the post in full.

My Matty! I promise you that you will be free. They can’t keep you for a year! You don’t deserve to be in jail baby! I’m going to do whatever I can to get you out, I promise! I love you, Matt Foster!

There’s several comments calling for Matt to be free, that he’s strong, and he’ll be alright.

What. The. Fuck.

As soon as I got home, I let Nola out of her kennel so she could go use the bathroom. If Adrienne’s post was true and Matt was convicted, his arrest record would be public.

I should just call him and ask him about this because that’d be the right thing to do – to talk to him directly about this post and hear from him if it’s true or not.

But then again, wouldn’t the right thing also have been for him to tell me this information himself without me having to ask him?

Once my laptop powers up, I type his name in the search bar on Oakridge’s records page and I feel the tears well up in my eyes and my mouth goes dry.

Matthew was arrested on assault and resisting arrest charges five years ago. He was booked and released the same night but had to appear in court a month later for his hearing.

His mugshot is hard to look at. His bright blue eyes, usually so full of life, look sad and exhausted, the spark completely gone. His hair is matted, and his beard is unkempt, making him look like a shell of himself.

“No,” I mutter. “No, no. He would’ve told me about this.”

I do a search for any news articles that might have covered his arrest and find a fucking treasure trove of articles from the local news station and posts from who I’m assuming are his exes.

An altercation at Brody’s Bar between Matthew Foster, 21, and Randy McClain, 30, resulted in Foster’s arrest on assault charges. According to reports, Foster allegedly attacked McClain after McClain attempted to prevent him from approaching his girlfriend.

McClain is the son of Oakridge Sheriff Colin McClain. When speaking about the incident, Sheriff McClain said that he trusts the justice system to do right by his son and make sure that Foster “never sees the light of day in Oakridge ever again.”

I don’t know what to make of this. I don’t think I can logically make anything of this. I gave him everything, trusted him with everything, but he couldn’t trust me enough to tell me this.

I don’t know how long I’m staring at my computer when the first tear falls, but once they start, they don’t stop, no matter how much I wipe my eyes.

I continue down the rabbit hole and find more posts that follow the same wording as Adrienne’s.

A girl named Chelsea says that Matthew is innocent.

Another girl named Rachel said that Matthew was such a good time, she would hate to see him behind bars.

There’s some asking if they can still see him in jail, how much it would cost to have him released, and much more vulgar things.

My phone rings in the kitchen and I abruptly stand from my computer desk and race to get it. I look at the caller ID and see his name. I answer the call, trying my best to level my voice.

“Hey, baby,” Matthew’s raspy voice says from the other end. I pull the phone away from my ear and quietly sniff and wipe my nose.

“Hey,” I say meekly.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice full of concern. I look up and put my free hand over my mouth to muffle the sob that’s threatening to come out.

I take a deep breath before answering. “Nothing. Listen, I don’t think we should have dinner tonight.”

“Laila, what’s going on? Are you okay? Talk to me, please,” Matthew begs.

I look at the time and realize that it’s his lunch break and he always calls me during his break. I shake my head as the tears continue to fall, staining my cheeks and my shirt. “I need to let Nola back in. Bye, Matthew.”

I hang up before he can respond and rush to the back door and let Nola inside the house. She jumps up and down, begging for me to pick her up. I bend down and grab her, cradling her close to me as I continue to cry.

“Why couldn’t he just tell me, Nola?” I ask. Nola cuddles closer to me and licks the tears falling from my cheeks. I walk over to the living room and sit on the couch, still clutching my puppy to my chest. Nola and I sit in silence for a long time before the doorbell rings.

In true Nola fashion, she jumps out of my arms and bolts to the door, barking the whole way. She sniffs at the crack, then starts to whine.

That’s enough confirmation to let me know that Matthew drove all the way to Oakridge after I hung up on him. He spent nearly an hour on the road just to get here, but he couldn’t spare a single minute to tell me the truth about his criminal record.

I glance at my reflection in the mirror and debate wiping my face with a tissue. But I decide against it. I want him to see me like this — hurt, raw, and heartbroken by his lack of trust to share his secret.

I swing the door open and my heart immediately aches when I see Matthew. He’s still in his work clothes, his hard hat in his hand, his face stained with dirt. His blond hair is a wild mess, sticking up in every direction, while his blue eyes scan me intently.

“I got here as soon as I could – traffic was shit. Baby, please tell me what’s wrong.” Matthew steps closer to me, but I step further back into the house, clutching Nola closer to my chest protectively. He looks at me as if I just punched him in the gut.

“Laila,” he begins. “What did I do?”

I laugh at the irony of his question. “It’s not what you did. It’s what you didn’t do.”

“Okay, what didn’t I do?” He tries to step closer again, but I take another step back. He lifts his hands and steps back, giving me the space I want.

“Why didn’t you tell me you have a criminal record?” I ask outright, cutting to the chase. I see no reason in prolonging this conversation since he’s held it off long enough.

Matthew’s eyes immediately flood with every emotion possible. “Baby,” he begins, his voice soft and soothing. I instantly feel rage beginning to boil over in my body.

“Answer the damn question! Why didn’t you tell me you have a criminal record?!” I scream at him. I don’t care that the neighbors can hear me, I don’t care if the whole world could hear me. I’d be more surprised if they didn’t hear my heart break into a billion pieces at this moment.

I place Nola down and command her to get in her kennel before crossing my arms over my chest and looking at the man who once again broke my heart. Looking at him is like looking in a shattered mirror.

He steps forward, dropping his hard hat to the porch. “I…I was ashamed. If you’d known I was in jail, you would’ve never gone out with me.”

“You don’t know that,” I retort.

“Baby…”

“No,” I say, shaking my head ferociously. “Don’t call me that. I’m not your baby. Not anymore.”

This time when Matthew steps closer and when he reaches out for me, I selfishly let him touch me. “Laila, please,” he begs.

“I get that prison and jail are not the same, but did you not think I needed to know? You were arrested for assault , Matthew,” I sob, slapping his hands off of me.

I hear Nola’s little growl from her kennel, so I turn to look at her to let her know I’m okay.

She sits back down and continues looking at me in the doorway.

“Can we please sit down and just talk this out? You ask me anything and I swear to you that I will be truthful,” Matthew says, tears welling up in his eyes.

“I never want to see you again,” I whisper, my gaze focused at my feet.

“No. Laila. Please just give me a chance to explain.”

“You had the chance! You had multiple chances to tell me everything! I can understand you not telling me outright, but we’re in July now, Matthew. It’s been two fucking months! I asked you if there was anything I needed to know. Just the other night, I told you that I just wanted honesty from you!

“I-I trusted you. I let you take me to bed and fuck me time and time again. But you couldn’t trust me to tell me that you racked up two fucking charges and served time in jail!

An assault charge at that! That’s a big deal Matthew!

That’s something your girlfriend would have needed to know.

But I guess since we never became official, that didn’t matter to you.

I didn’t matter to you,” I say in one breath.

“I fucked up, Laila! I was going to tell you everything,” Matthew pleads.

“Really? Were you going to tell me after you finally got bored of fucking the same girl for too long? Is that all that you care about? Getting your dick wet? I read the posts from your other ‘friends’ and let’s just say they were very open and honest about what they’d miss the most while you were away.

” Voicing that fear out loud hurts because fuck, I feel so used.

“You know that is not what I wanted from you,” he growls, his skin flushing with heat. His tanned skin turns a deep shade of red, a tell-tale sign that he’s mad.

“No! You don’t get to talk to me with that tone. I’m the only one here who can be pissed!” I shout as I storm onto the porch, getting in his face.

Matthew crashes his lips onto mine, full of longing. My body betrays me and I melt into his kiss. He pulls me closer to him, not breaking contact until we both need to take a breath of air. Our breaths mingle together, his hands still on my face. I take a step back and immediately miss his touch.

I sigh, “Leave.”

“Laila, please,” he whispers as a single tear rolls down his cheek.

I step back into the house and place my hand on the door, prepared to shut it on him and our relationship when he places his hand on mine.

“Don’t let this be the end of us. I’m begging you to give me another chance.”

I feel more tears fall. “The cover up is always worse than the crime.”

I look at him and he looks at me. We don’t say anything. We just stand there, two broken hearts – two broken people.

After a minute, Matthew finally bends over and picks up his hard hat and walks back to his truck. The truck’s engine turns over and I wait for the sound of tires crunching against the rocks on the pavement before I slide down the door to the floor.

I bring my knees to my chest and tuck my head and I sob as if he’d just run over my heart with his truck. Nola walks over to me and jumps in my lap and I hold her close, needing comfort.

So this is what true heartbreak feels like.

It fucking sucks.