Page 129 of The Publicity Stunt

I look up at his face. His eyes aren’t on me anymore. They’re on the towel in my hand. “Where did you get that towel?”

“What?” My voice is barely audible.

He steps closer and takes the towel from my hand. “Where did you get this?” he asks, finally looking up to meet my gaze. I can’t hold it in any longer. My eyes are hot with tears, and realization detonates all over his face.

He drops the towel and immediately steps toward me, holding my hands. “April, please let me explain.“

I hold on to his hands tighter, afraid there isn’t going to be much to hold on to after this conversation. “We’re separated. We’re not married anymore.”

The word “married” catches me so off guard coming from his mouth that I don’t know what to say for a few seconds. Or how to breathe.

I let go of his hands and take a step back, my eyes fixed on the ground beneath our feet.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“W-what?” he stammers.

“I’m—I’m not mad, Parker.” My throat clenches up. “But I am hurt. And more than anything, I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve never left.”

“Sweetheart, why …” His voice is shaking. “You have nothing to be sorry about. This is my fault. I should’ve told you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He runs his hands over his face and leans against the wall, his shoulders drooping. “We got married in a courthouse.”

Married. Married. Married.

“Two years after our wedding—”

Wedding. Wedding. Wedding.

I suck in a breath through my nose and look away.

“We moved to New York,” he continues.

“Wait.” I look at him. “Shara is in New York?”

“April,” he begins and now I don’t know if I want to hear this.

“No, I’m sorry, please go on.” I shake my head and try blinking the tears away. He takes a step toward me and reaches out for my hand, but I move away.

He looks at me for a few seconds before looking away, nodding. “It was six years after you left and—we … it didn’t work out. The court required us to be separated for a year before we could file for divorce, which we did earlier this month.”

Earlier. This. Month.

Part of me wants to hug him, comfort him, because he went through so much and I feel horrible for not being there for him. But I take that part and rip it to shreds with my bare teeth. I’m hurting so much. Logan. Parker. This. All of it.

“How long were you married?”

“Two years.”

Everything fucking hurts. I sit on the couch and bury my face in my palms. “Why haven’t you signed the papers yet?”

“April—”

“Please tell me.”

I hear him sigh. “Just … please don’t leave.”