She sags against the seat. “Not…then. I was hurting, and I didn’t know what to do.”
I want to pull her into my arms. Even though I’m too late to make this all better, I want her to know that she’s not alone.
“So, you planned this sweet, thoughtful surprise. And then you got your heart flayed open. On your fucking anniversary. A day he should have been focusing onyou. Makingyoufeel loved and appreciated. What did you do once you realized he’d been lying?”
“I…” Her mouth hangs open.
“How did you handle your feelings?”
“I left.” Her face has gone pale.
“What about after? Who was there for you?”
She shakes her head, her eyes stricken.
Whoa. Why would she tell me this heartbreaking story only to hold back now? I reel in my rampant curiosity. As much as I want to know everything about her, she has to want it first. I won’t push.
“He’s a piece of shit, Meg.” Not touching her is creating a painful static energy inside me, so I brush the edge of my pinky to hers. “He never deserved you.”
She slips her pinky over mine. “I know.”
Does she?
“Can I ask you something?” Just this tiny connection from our fingers is flooding me with a powerful warmth. I felt it in the hospital. She needed my touch then and she needs it now. Like she’s starved for it but is used to going hungry. Is that why I find it so easy to touch her?
“Feel free to tell me to fuck off if it’s too personal,” I add.
Her eyes glimmer with the hint of a smile, so I plow on.
“If he blew up your marriage, why is he acting like he wants you back?”
“He never admitted to having an affair, but when I asked him why he went dark every time he flew a charter to San Diego, he shut down. And I realized that having an affair might not be the worst thing he could lie about. That was the end for me.”
“So he’s delusional? Thinking you’ll take him back while keeping this other life a secret?”
“Quinn thinks he’s got unresolved power issues.”
Among other shortfalls. Obviously. “How long were you married?”
“Two years.”
I wince. I don’t have the heart to tell her that if he started lying to her from the very start, they never had a chance. It wrecks me that he crushed her big, soft heart, but at least Meg got out early enough that she can start over if that’s what she wants. It’s not too late for her.
“What’s it going to take for him to leave you alone?” I ask.
“We’ve only been divorced for two weeks.”
I give her a look. “He’s had plenty of time to get used to it.”
“If you’re still okay with being my fake date, that might send him a message.”
You think a backwoods hick like you stands a chance with her?
“But I don’t need you to kiss me,” she adds, though the way she’s biting her lip while not meeting my gaze tells me that might be a lie.
Does shewantme to kiss her?
To distract myself from the way my heart is vibrating in my chest, I start the truck and pull back onto the road. “I don’t mind kissing you.”
