thirty-three

Tessa

I stretch my limbs and yawn, wanting nothing more than to snuggle into the pillows and sleep for a few more hours. My body is sore in places it hasn’t been for a long time. Then, the rough pad of Dante’s finger skates across my bare skin.

“Good morning,” he says, his voice gritty with sleep.

Sunlight bathes the room in a warm glow. I roll over to face Dante. His erection pokes me, and I laugh softly, casting my gaze downward before my eyes move back to his face.

“Well, good morning to you, too.”

“How’re you feeling?”

I see the worry lining his eyes.

“Honestly”—my face blooms with heat—“my body is a little sore.”

“And the rest of you?” His hand sweeps the hair from my forehead.

My index finger lazily draws infinity loops over his chest. “Still terrified, but I’m working on it.”

He leans in, kissing my lips. I give him a chaste peck and get up because the whole morning-breath thing freaks me out.

He grins at me, and I push myself off the mattress.

“Where are you going?”

“To brush my teeth.”

“Are you worried about morning breath?” he asks, seeing right through me.

“Maybe.” I laugh.

“I like the way you taste anytime.” He waggles his brows.

“You’re awful.”

“True.” He smirks.

On my way to the bathroom, I call over my shoulder, “I thought I’d go to work with you, so I can visit Katie, and it’s probably time to clean out Trevor’s office.”

“Sounds like a plan. We’ll grab breakfast on the way in.”

I hear the mattress creak and know he’s getting up.

We both stand in his bathroom, brushing our teeth side by side. It’s very domestic, and I try not to think how I’ve done this a thousand times with Trevor. Suddenly, I’m caught up in memories of my former life. All the ordinary days that blend together. How we’d move through the same space in a synchronized dance, the way partners do without thinking.

“Tess?” Dante’s fingers graze my arm. “Where’d you go?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, feigning ignorance, hoping he can’t read me.

“You checked out for a second.”

“Nope. I’m right here.”

“Don’t do that,” he says with an edge to his tone.

“Do what?”

“Make me compete with a ghost in my own house.” Dante turns on the water, rinses and spits, and then walks out of the bathroom without saying a word.

I finish up and walk into the bedroom. I try to slink past him, so I can grab my clothes, but Dante reaches out and tugs me into him. A storm is brewing in his eyes as he cups my face in his palms. His breaths come quick and hard. He crashes his mouth to mine. Hard and demanding. The way Dante’s mouth moves against mine is about ownership. Every sweep of his tongue is almost brutal. And, no matter how much my body responds to his touch, I’m not an acquisition. I shove hard against his chest, and he barely moves an inch. I shove harder, and we break apart.

I jerk from his hold. “What the hell was that?”

“Tess…” His voice trails off.

He doesn’t have to answer. I understand what it was.

“We shared a life together, Dante. I’m going to think of him, but it doesn’t mean anything. There’s a piece of him interwoven with my fabric. Trevor is a part of me. No matter how much I wish to God I could erase the memories of him, I can’t.”

“I’m sorry.” He rakes his hands through his hair. “The last thing I want to do is make this harder on you.”

Sometimes, I forget how difficult this is for him. The situation is incredibly awkward, and I think we both need to cut ourselves and each other some slack.

“It’s just going to take time.”

“You’re right.” He hugs me close before letting go. “We’d better get ready to go.”

Salinger and Salinger is a few blocks from Dante’s place, so we stop at the coffee shop around the corner to pick up breakfast. We’re alone as we ride the elevator up to the floor that houses S&S.

“I need to make a few calls. Come find me after you visit with Katie.”

“I will,” I tell him and crane my neck to give him a kiss before we exit the lift.

Katie is sitting at her desk, her long brown hair in a top knot, and she’s staring at the computer screen. Her attention shifts to us, and her whole face lights up. She’s out of her chair so quickly, her black knit dress swooshes behind her. I barely manage to set the coffee on the table in the empty lobby before she’s wrapping me in a hug.

“Tessa, it’s so good to see you.”

“You, too. I’ve missed you.”

“Good morning, Katie,” Dante says.

“Morning, boss.”

“All right, I’ll leave you ladies to it.” His coffee already in hand, Dante takes his breakfast into his office and closes the door.

Katie sits in one of the lobby chairs, and I sit opposite her. The bag crinkles as I remove the other sandwiches from the bag and pass one to her.

“Thanks. That was sweet.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Tessa,” Katie begins, “I’m so sorry. I haven’t been a very good friend. I didn’t know what to say.”

“It’s all right, Katie. Did Dante tell you what happened right before I left for Charleston?”

“No.”

I take a deep breath. “Were you aware Trevor had an affair?”

Her eyes go wide, and her mouth gapes open. You can’t fake that kind of shock.

“What? Oh my God, Tessa. That’s awful. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

Between bites of breakfast, I spend the next hour explaining everything to her, breaking when she needs to answer the phone and picking up where I left off when she’s done with the call. By the time I finish, she looks like she needs something stronger than the coffee we brought her.

“Holy shit.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

I leave out the details of whatever is going on between me and Dante. I don’t have a label for it.

“What happens now?” she asks.

“For starters, I think it’s time to clean out Trevor’s office.” I stand to my feet.

“If you need anything, just holler.”

I assure her I will, but right now, I just want to go in his office and shut everyone else out. The phone rings, and Katie gets up to answer it. I gesture toward the hall to Trevor’s office, indicating my intentions. Then, I grab my purse and my coffee.

I twist the knob and go inside, closing the door behind me. Huge picture windows showcase the Chicago skyline. A large desk faces away from the windows and matching shelves flank the opposite wall. I amble toward his desk, set my coffee down, and take a seat in Trevor’s high-back leather chair. A picture of us at Navy Pier is in a frame on his desk. It’s the same one that used to be on my phone.

Tears simmer behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I shove out of the chair and walk to the small closet. Inside, there’s a large copy paper box with one ream left in it. I set the paper on the shelf and return to Trevor’s desk. I place the box on the floor and lay the picture inside, facedown.

I begin rifling through Trevor’s desk. The usual office supplies are in the top drawer. There are several files, but everything seems work-related. I’m not sure what I expect to find, but when I pull open the bottom drawer, my breath catches. On top of a manila folder is an envelope from a one-hour photo place. With shaky fingers, I open it and withdraw the pictures.

My hand goes to my mouth. “Oh my God.”

I search for similarities. Try to find traces of Trevor in the blue eyes that stare up at me. I drag the pad of my finger over the tiny button nose and barely there tuft of blond hair. A soul-deep ache rocks through me, cracking my chest open, and I give in to the tears, letting myself grieve for the family that should’ve been mine, ours.

After I spread the photographs across the dark wood surface, I see her holding their little boy, and it’s like a knife straight to the heart. She looks familiar, but I don’t know why, and it takes everything I have not to drop to my knees and curl into a ball. I hate the way she’s smiling at the camera, almost smug, like she knew, someday, I’d find these photos. It’s so fucking unfair, and I hate her. I waver between wanting to confront her and never wanting to lay eyes on the bitch.

I inspect the envelope, searching for something that will give me answers. On the back, I find a phone number with the name Kyndal scrawled next to it in Trevor’s handwriting. I take out my cell and stare at the blank screen for a few minutes.

Before I lose my nerve, I unlock my phone and dial the number.

After two rings, a woman answers, “Hello?”

My mouth is so dry, I can’t speak.

“Hello? Is anybody there?” Her Southern drawl comes through the line.

“He-hello.” I cough and quickly take a sip of coffee. “Hello. Is this Kyndal?”

“It is. And may I ask who’s calling?”

I force my voice to stay even. “Tessa. Tessa Salinger.”

I let that sink in for several seconds, but Kyndal stays completely silent. I know she’s still there because I can hear her breathing.

She starts to speak and then stops and starts again. “Who did you say this is?”

“Trevor’s wife, though I suppose widow is the more accurate term.” I swallow hard, hating how much the word stings. “And you’re his…” I give her a chance to fill in the blank.

“Well…” she says and then stops.

“Maybe I can help. There are a few words that come to mind.” Whore. Slut.

Then, my eyes land on the pictures. Damn it.

I take a deep breath, but I can’t let it go that easily. “How long were you fucking my husband?”

There’s a hiss, like the sound of water spraying, followed by choking, and I stay on the line while she gets herself under control.

“Pardon me?”

I rephrase the question. “How long were you two having an affair?”

“It wasn’t ongoing, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You knew he was married, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

I’m shocked into silence. She didn’t even try to deny it.

“Tessa, is there a reason for your call, or did you just want to tell me what a horrible person I am?”

“Actually, I am calling about your son.” I pick up one of the pictures and stare at Brandon’s chubby cheeks and toothless grin.

“What does Brandon have to do with anything?”

“Everything. You’re the bitch who fucked my husband. Trevor is the bastard who cheated on me. That little boy is innocent, and he deserves a chance. In the next few weeks, you’ll be getting papers from my attorney. I’m going to set up a trust in Brandon’s name.”

She gasps, and when she says, “I’m not sure what to say,” I hear the shock in her voice.

“You don’t need to say anything. I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it because it’s the right thing. If you have any questions, contact my lawyer.”

“I’m sure it isn’t worth anything, especially coming from me, but”—she sighs into the phone—“he really loved you.”

“Well, nothing says I love you quite like sticking your dick in another woman, am I right?” The line is quiet for a few beats before I ask her the other question that has been lingering in my mind, “Kyndal, where do you live?”

“Atlanta.”

A single word is the only confirmation I need. I already knew, and I wanted to be wrong. Trevor was full of such regret the night after he returned from the business trip to Atlanta. I wonder if they were only together during the time he was there.

I almost ask Kyndal…

How many times did you fuck my husband? What do you mean, it wasn’t ongoing? Did he knock you up the first time you had sex? Did he have feelings for you, or was it an affair of convenience?

Hatred burns through me. I hang up the phone.

I look around Trevor’s office, pissed and wishing I could give him a giant fuck you.