Page 22 of What Broke First (The Cheating A$$hole #1)
Matt wasn’t technically stalking. He was... observing. Protectively. From a distance. With binoculars.
Okay, he was stalking.
It had started when Emily let it slip tha.
“Mommy met a nice man with a shiny belt and smelled like Target candles.”
And then Tommy followed up with.
“He brought her a plant. I think it was alive.”
Which, to Matt, translated directly into.
“My replacement is here, he’s better at everything, and he probably flosses twice a day.”
So Matt did the logical thing. He drove by Sarah’s hous.
“just to see if the porch light was on.”
Then he circled the block. Twice. Then he sat in his car with a lukewarm coffee and contemplated texting her something casual like, Hey, I’m spiraling. Want to talk?
Instead, he went with nothing. Which, surprisingly, made it worse.
The next morning, Matt showed up early for kid pickup, wearing cologne and a shirt he hadn’t worn sinc.
“Pre-Lily Respectability.”
He stood on the porch rehearsing a line about co-parenting and boundaries, but before he could knock, the door opened.
And there he was. Jordan.
Smugly handsome.
Casual slacks.
That damned plant was still alive. “Oh,”
Jordan said, not unkindly.
“You must be Matt.”
Matt smiled too wide.
“You must be the guy who thinks pothos means personality.”
Jordan blinked. “Sorry?”
Matt shook his head.
“Nothing. Just great to meet you. Heard a lot.”
Sarah appeared behind Jordan, still in her robe with a coffee in hand.
“Matt. You’re early. We haven’t even packed the lunchboxes yet.”
Matt blinked.
“Yeah, I thought I’d beat traffic.
Jordan, sensing the awkward fog forming, gave Sarah a polite nod.
“I just came by to drop off your scarf. You left it in my car last night.”
“Oh, right. Thanks.”
She took the scarf from his hand and gave him a grateful smile.
“I’ll call you later?”
“Please do,”
he said, brushing her arm gently as he left.
Matt’s eye twitched. Relief hit him like a silent gut punch. So Jordan hadn’t spent the night. He hadn’t been here, sprawled out on Sarah’s couch, sipping coffee from Matt’s old favorite mug. He hadn’t tucked Emily’s hair behind her ear or made pancakes with Tommy. For now, that space, their space, was still untouched by someone else’s morning.
Inside, the kids were putting on their shoes. Sarah crossed her arms.
“Want to explain the creepy van outside?”
“It’s called a Honda Pilot. And I was just... thinking.”
“About?”
Matt hesitated.
“About how you’re dating a guy who owns indoor plants and probably irons his jeans.”
She stared at him.
“So you’re jealous.”
“No. I’m... cautious.”
“Right. Because you’re famously cautious with women.”
“Touché.”
Matt sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I don’t know. I didn’t think someone else would get to see you like this. Smiling more. Lighter. Not crushed under the weight of my idiocy.”
Sarah didn’t soften.
“You gave up your claim to that version of me the second you unzipped your pants in your office.”
Fair.
“I know I don’t deserve a say,”
he said quietly.
“But I still love you.”
Silence. Then Emily ran in, bunny in one hand, her brother’s backpack in the other.
“Can we go now, Daddy?”
Matt nodded, forcing a smile.
“Yeah, sweetheart. Let’s go.”
As they left, Sarah stood on the porch. Her expression was unreadable. Maybe sad. Maybe just tired.
Matt looked back once. She didn’t wave. He got the message. Loud and uncomfortably clear.
That night, Matt dropped the kids off at Sarah’s and headed to therapy. Alone. He sat on the familiar leather couch across from Dr. Colleen, arms crossed, jaw tight.
“I asked Sarah not to come,”
he said.
“I needed this one for myself.”
Dr. Colleen nodded.
“And how are you feeling?”
Matt let out a bitter laugh.
“Like I’m watching someone else live the life I lost. Jordan’s the kind of guy who says the right things and waters plants on purpose. He brought her a scarf. And she looked at him like... like she used to look at me.”
Dr. Colleen leaned forward.
“Have you thought about moving on?”
Matt’s head shot up.
“No. I mean, no. I’m not ready to let go of the only woman who ever made me feel like home. I know I broke it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it back.”
She gave him a long, measured look.
“And what are you doing to earn that possibility?”
His silence stretched.
“I’m trying,”
he said finally.
“But I don’t know if it’s enough. I don’t even know who I am without her. And watching her move on? It’s killing me.”
Dr. Colleen offered a quiet, compassionate pause before answering.
“Then let’s start there. Not with Sarah. With you.”
Matt closed his eyes, the weight of that sentence anchoring him. He didn’t know how to fix anything. But he was still here. Still showing up.
Matt left Dr. Colleen’s office feeling like he’d just walked out of a pressure cooker. Outside, the air felt too thin, the sky too blue for what was unraveling in his chest. He shot off a quick text to his dad.
Matt: Just finished. Heading your way.
Ten minutes later, Matt pushed open the heavy wooden door of O’Malley’s, a dim neighborhood bar that smelled like varnish, old stories, and decent whiskey. His dad was already there, seated in a corner booth with two glasses on the table and a bowl of peanuts he clearly had no intention of eating.
“Hey,”
Matt said, sliding into the seat across from him.
Franklin Taylor was a man who aged into his convictions. Salt-and-pepper hair, shoulders like stone, and eyes that didn’t miss much. He offered a nod before nudging one of the glasses forward.
“You look like therapy spit you out and reversed over you twice.”
Matt gave a weak smile.
“Not far off.”
They sipped in silence for a beat. It wasn’t uncomfortable. Just heavy.
“You know,”
Franklin said, swirling his glass.
“When you texted me about therapy, I knew something big was coming. And not the ‘we’re fighting over who gets the record player’ kind of big.”
Matt stared at the amber liquid in his glass.
“It wasn’t just fighting. I cheated on her.”
The words landed like a dropped anchor.
Franklin didn’t flinch. He just sat back, lips pressed into a firm line.
“You and Sarah have been on the outs for six months. You want to tell me what happened?”
Matt exhaled slowly.
“It was a mess. I wasn’t happy. That’s not an excuse. Just the truth. I felt disconnected, buried in work, in pressure, in my own damn selfishness. And then someone made me feel seen again. Important. I took the bait.”
“You told Sarah?”
“I did. She kicked me out. Rightfully. I’m living in a place that smells like old pizza boxes and overused blankets.”
Franklin let out a slow breath, as if weighing his words with the care they deserved.
“You know, your mother and I… what we have now? That wasn’t how it started.”
Matt looked up, surprised.
“What do you mean?”
“I was married before your mom. Young, stupid, thought I knew everything about love. I didn’t. I cheated on my first wife… with your mother.”
Matt blinked.
“You’re serious?”
Franklin nodded.
“Dead serious. Your mother and I fell in love during the messiest chapter of my life. I broke a promise to someone else to chase something I didn’t fully understand yet. It destroyed a marriage, and I carried that shame longer than most people knew. But I also made damn sure I never repeated it. Never gave myself another excuse. Not once.”
Matt didn’t know what to say.
Franklin leaned in, eyes sharp but not unkind.
“You want her back? Then you stop trying to erase what happened. You own it. You grow out of it. You show her the version of you who would never do that again. And not with words. With choices.”
“I don’t know if she’ll ever trust me again,”
Matt said, voice low.
“She might not. But that’s not the point. The point is whether you become the man worth trusting. That’s the only thing you control.”
Matt looked at his father, something settling inside him.
“I’ve been so afraid to tell people,”
Matt admitted.
“Even you. I still haven't told mom.”
Franklin raised his glass.
“Well. Now it’s out. So what are you going to do with it?”
Matt clinked his glass gently against his dad’s.
“Keep trying.”
Franklin gave him a small smile.
“That’s all any of us get, son. One choice at a time. Therapy is an excellent start.”
They drank in silence again, but it wasn’t heavy this time. It was grounding. Like something old had been lifted, and something new was just beginning to grow in its place.