His car isn’t here.
His fucking car. Isn’t. Here.
I scan the text message one more time. Maybe, just maybe, I read it wrong.
That’s possible, right? This could all be…
Nope.
Sure as fuck, the text reads loud and clear.
SORRY BABE. I’m not feeling too good. I’m going to call it early and crash. Hope it’s just a 24hr bug. -xoxo
My chest tightens as I look at his open garage, devoid of his silver BMW. The only vehicle visible is his little brother’s Harley.
My hands shake and my throat goes dry as I grab my bag and the chicken noodle soup I’d picked up on the way here.
Maybe there’s a logical explanation for everything. Maybe his brother took his car out. The very car he lets no one drive…
Placing one foot in front of the other, I slowly make my way to the front door as my head plays a volley of excuses on loop.
Unable to put off the inevitable, I lift my hand and knock, praying against all odds that my gut instinct is wrong.
One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three–
“Ashley? What are you doing here? Brad isn’t home.”
The small fissure in my chest spreads into a full-blown valley of sorrow, and the ache in my heart threatens to swallow me whole.
Thanks to southern manners and quick thinking, I’m able to recover without his brother noticing.
“Oh, I know. I told him I was bringing him something and he asked me to bring it by and wait for him.” Putting on my most convincing smile, I walk in as if I own the place. “I’ll just wait in his room. I don’t want to keep you from your night.”
The twenty-year-old simply shrugs as a female voice calls from his bedroom, beckoning for him to return. “Whatever. You know where the fridge is.”
“Sure do. Night, Jacob.”
“Night.”
I beeline it straight to the liar’s room. I want to surprise my dear boyfriend, after all.
Placing the container of soup on the dresser, I check the clock.
Nine Thirty.
Blowing out a nervous breath, I question whether what I’m doing is sane. Am I blowing things out of proportion, inventing things in my head?
The gnawing in the pit of my stomach tells me I’m not.
Coming to terms with reality, I lower myself onto the bed, my entire body vibrating with anxious nerves while I do.
Looking at my phone, I sit here and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait.
It isn’t until one thirty in the morning that I hear the front door open and shut, followed by the unmistakable giggle of a female and the loud shushing I know all too well.
Not a minute later, the bedroom door swings open and a sloppy drunken tangle of limbs comes barreling through.
Amazingly enough, Brad and his side chick continue to make out, oblivious to the fact that I’m in the room.
Looking at the woman closely, I see it’s his freaking secretary. Rage floods through me, causing the beat of my heart to thud loudly in my ears.
How long has this been going on? How long have I been played the fool?
I sit there gawking at the man I’ve dedicated my life to for the past year.
College is supposed to be fun, but instead of enjoying my last year at Howard, I spent it at boring client dinners or stupid galas—all to please the man standing before me, shoving his tongue down this redhead’s throat.
“If I wanted a cheating high-society asshole, I could’ve stayed in Dallas,” I mumble under my breath.
Having enough of the show being portrayed before me, I jump into action.
With shaky legs, I stand, making my way to the container of soup before opening it.
Before my mind can register what I’m doing, the entire contents of the now tepid soup are being hurled at the two people in front of me.
“What the—?!”
“Aaagh!”
A slow smile spreads across my lips as my chest vibrates with rage, “Right. Well, I see you’re feeling better.” Grabbing my purse, I move to exit but not before issuing my replacement a warning, “I’d make him go down on you first. He never lasts more than a minute once inside.”
