Page 15 of What He Always Knew

With me.

A married woman.

A new rush of anger flooded me at the realization, at how stupid I had been, how careless, how completely naïve. I let it take me over, my body bending with that rage, until it faded and left behind the real cause of my grief.

Hurt.

I was hurt.

I was jealous and scared, angry and sad, and more than anything, I was confused. Why would he say the things he did, and do the things he’d done, if he was in a relationship? Was he ever going to tell me about her? Was he ever going to end it with her?

Or was I just a conquest?

My fingers ran up through my hair, twisting and gripping until the pain I felt in my chest transitioned to my scalp.

It occurred to me then that while I knew the Reese Walker who existed fourteen years ago, the one I’d stayed up late with talking and listening to him play piano, I hadn’t a clue who he had become over the years — or who he really was now.

How could I believe him as the boy I used to know, when that boy no longer existed?

I forced several breaths in the bathroom stall before slowly moving to the sink. I washed my hands calmly, reapplying my lipstick and fixing my hair. For a moment, I just stared at the woman gazing back at me, the woman I didn’t recognize. I saw so many things in that reflection: a wife, a daughter, a cheater, a liar, a lost little girl, a selfish woman.

I wondered what other people saw.

When my heart was as calm as it could be, given the circumstances, I opened the door that led back into the restaurant. But before I could take two steps, a hand wrapped around my wrist, and I was yanked into the mens’ bathroom.

Panic surged through me as Reese tugged me inside, pressing my back into the door and covering my mouth with his hand as he locked it behind us. When I realized it was him, I narrowed my eyes, biting his middle finger until he yanked his hand back.

“Ouch!” He shook his hand out. “What the hell, Charlie?”

“You were messing up my lipstick,” I said flatly, pressing my hands into his chest. I shoved him off me, crossing the empty bathroom to the mirror to fix the mess he’d made.

Reese just watched me, and I knew what he wanted — he wanted me to make a scene. He wanted me to cry, to beg him to tell me who Blake was and what she meant to him, but I refused to give him the satisfaction.

Instead, I acted completely unfazed, wetting the corner of a paper towel before wiping away the small smudges around my lips.

“Charlie,” he started, moving into the space behind me. “I’m so sorry about Blake. I can explain.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” I said calmly. “She’s told us plenty of stories over the last hour. I think I know all I need to know.”

“It’s complicated.”

I scoffed. “I’m sure it is.”

Reese blew out a frustrated sigh, stepping a little closer until my eyes found his in the mirror.

“When I left New York, yes — she was technically still my girlfriend. But only because we never talked about what we were. Ever. She was more a roommate than anything. We never agreed to be long distance, and we never agreed to keep seeing each other.”

“But you never called it off either, did you?”

He swallowed. “No, but—”

I just laughed, shaking my head. “That’s rich. I suppose you were never going to tell me about her then?”

“I didn’t think I needed to.”

I spun then, stepping into his space until there were just centimeters between us. He stared down his nose at me, and our chests brushed, sparking a heat low in my stomach that made me even angrier.

I hated that he affected me that way.