I barely sleep, but Brian doesn’t seem to have that issue. I’m up before him, showered and ready to head out to the kitchen for breakfast with the hope of getting Mark alone for one sweet minute or two when my phone lights up with a text.
Jill: Where are you?
I realize in the hot mess of the past few days, I never told Jill I was going to Chicago.
Me: Chicago.
Jill: ???
Me: Brian and Mark’s grandfather is in the hospital. Mark flew me in and Brian met us from Germany.
Jill: Is he okay?
Me: Heart attack, not sure.
Jill: So you’re with Brian?
Me: Yes, at Mark’s place.
Jill: Have you seen Mark all over the news?
Me: What?
She sends a link to an article with the headline Mark Ashton Spotted in Chicago with Mystery Woman.
My heart races as a shudder of terror runs down my spine.
Oh, shit.
Fuck.
Someone caught us.
We should’ve been more careful.
I glance over at Brian sleeping obliviously in the bed beside me. After everything Mark and I talked about—after deciding this was what was best for Brian—how is he going to take this? How can I protect him from it?
Fear pools in my belly and more nausea rises up in the back of my throat as I click the article.
The first thing I spot is the date. The post is from this morning.
The next thing I spot is the first picture.
Mark’s mouth is attached to the neck of a woman with long, blonde hair that reaches the middle of her back...a woman who looks nothing like me. He’s wearing a Sox hat and a long sleeve black t-shirt. The nausea in the back of my throat turns to a sour bile.
“No,” I whisper. I shake my head and my breathing labors. I click the arrow to take me to the next picture, and Mark’s arms are around the woman. In the next picture, his lips are on hers. I flip through quickly, the feeling of sickness growing stronger and stronger as the images grow more and more risqué. In the first few, they were definitely inside a bar, but the last few appear to be in some back alley. When I reach the final image and half of the woman’s chest is blacked out, my heart shatters and the bile refuses to remain inside.
I run to the bathroom and throw up. It’s my immediate response to seeing him embracing another woman intimately after the promises he made to me.
My stomach hurts and my head throbs as the sick feeling that I’ve been used washes over me. Tears prick behind my eyes, but suddenly I don’t want to shed them. Not over Mark. Not over his betrayal.
I’m certain that this whole thing is some sick game between brothers.
I don’t want to be a part of it anymore. Mark doesn’t give two shits about me. He only used me to get back at his brother, the brother I betrayed because I believed some famous rock star wanted to be with me.
The words Brian spoke to me before he introduced me to his brother run through my mind. He has this way of charming women and wanting what’s mine, and he always gets what he wants.
He did. He got what he wanted. He snagged me, made me believe him, made me fall for him.
My stomach heaves and I position myself over the toilet again, but nothing comes. It’s dry heaves with no relief as my entire body numbs over.
I had this coming. I don’t deserve relief. This is karma, my punishment for playing with one brother while falling for the other. I knew it was going to come back to bite me. I just fucking knew it, and here it is.
I flip through the pictures again. I study the first one, and I see a big banner in the background. I spread my fingers on the screen to zoom in on the image, and the banner says, “Happy Hour Special: Seven & Seven @ Sevens for $7.77.”
Sevens.
That was the bar where Mark said he’d gone last night...the bar Mark said he hadn’t been to in years.
My heart drops and my chest feels heavy. It takes everything I have to stand up, and I find it’s not just my chest that’s heavy. My limbs feel like they each weigh a thousand pounds.
One step at a time.
I pull strength from some depth I don’t even know I have. I squirt toothpaste on my toothbrush and brush my teeth.
My stomach still heaves, but it’s empty...empty like my heart, empty like my soul, empty like my emotions. My thoughts, though—those aren’t empty. The image is now burned in my mind, a constant replay of my actual worst nightmare. Just because I went to bed with Brian didn’t mean I went to bed with him. It didn’t give Mark permission to run out on me the first second he could—in fact, I distinctly remember a promise that he wouldn’t do that.
Each step I take feels heavier and harder than the last, but I feel like if I can just complete the single task in front of me, I can move onto the next thing. I focus on brushing my teeth, on the scratch of the bristles against my gums. I scrape harder than I intend to, and my spit is pink from a hint of blood.
My scraped gums give me a feeling apart from the numbness, at least. I bask in the glory of the slight edge of pain that I deserve. I deserve much worse.
I wait for the reality to hit me, for the tears to start falling.
A wave of denial hits me.
I saw the pictures, yes. But what if it’s not true?
He told me to trust him.
Shouldn’t I start there?
The tiniest glimmer of hope darts through me. I need to give him the benefit of the doubt before I do something stupid, before I jump to conclusions. I’ve always trusted photographic evidence, but photographs can be doctored.
Can’t they?
I pray that’s the case, and I feel a little better as I brush off my initial reaction. I’m being silly. He promised me he’d wait for me, promised he wouldn’t run off. I trust him. Those pictures and what I’m seeing isn’t real. It can’t be. We talked on the roof last night. He made love to me. It was late, and he smelled like whiskey, but he wouldn’t have gone out and kissed some other woman only to come home and call me up to the rooftop.
Would he?
I pray Brian is still asleep. If I can just get out to Mark and talk to him for a second, I can verify that the images aren’t what I think they are. It’s hard to put my trust in an idea rather than in the concrete images I saw, but I can try.
For Mark.
If we’re going to have any shot of surviving this sort of life together, I have to trust him. I have to believe he’s not off kissing other women when he’s not with me. It all starts here.
By the time I emerge from the bathroom, Brian is sitting on the bed and pulling on his shoes. My heart sinks a little, and he grins at me. “Morning. You okay?”
I smile weakly. “Not feeling well this morning,” I say. Surely he heard me heaving in there. “Might’ve been hospital breakfast food yesterday.”
“Let’s get you some hot tea and crackers. Mark always keeps tea handy.”
The thought of crackers almost makes me heave again, as does his name coming out of his brother’s mouth, but all I can focus on is the fact that Mark might be out in the kitchen.
“Did you sleep okay?” he asks.
I shrug. No, I slept like shit because I’m thinking of Mark when I’m lying in bed beside you. His eyes are so earnest, so trusting. He shouldn’t trust me. I’m dangerous, and he doesn’t even know. I’m a horrible person, and I feel it deep in my soul.
He stands and walks over to me. He pulls me into his arms and kisses the top of my head. “Give me two minutes and we can go get you something, okay?” He lets go of me to head into the bathroom, and I don’t wait around for him. This is my only shot.
Mark isn’t in the kitchen when I get out there. I text him frantically.
Me: I need to talk to you.
He’s not out there by the time Brian joins me in the kitchen. He gives me a strange look that sort of says why didn’t you wait for me, but I’m too caught up in those images still flashing through my mind to feel bad about not waiting two minutes to walk to the kitchen together.
Brian makes himself an omelet using Mark’s kitchen like it’s his. He offers to make me one, too, but I decline. My stomach still isn’t ready for anything solid. I sip on some of the black coffee Brian brewed, and that seems to help.
He eats and washes his dishes, and I still haven’t seen Mark. I know what’s coming next, and I dread it. “You ready to head over to the hospital?”
No, I’m not! I need to see Mark! I want to scream the words, but I don’t. “Don’t you want to wait for your brother?” I ask instead.
He shrugs. “He’s a big boy. He’ll get there.” He’s awfully flippant considering how nice it is that Mark’s letting us stay here and eat his food and use his kitchen like we own the place.
“How are we getting there?”
“I texted Liz. She’s on her way to pick us up.”
We take the elevator down to the first floor, and I’m torn once again between wanting to believe in what Mark and I share and believing the evidence I just saw with my own eyes that tells me the exact opposite.
“Are you okay?” Brian asks.
I lift a shoulder. “Yeah. This is all just difficult. The hospital and all that. Reminds me of my own grandpa.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says. He pulls me into his arms and presses his lips to my forehead. “I’ve been so caught up in my own head that I haven’t even thought about how this might be affecting you. What happened with your grandpa?”
“He had cancer. He was in the hospital for a few weeks before he passed away, but we went to visit him every day.”
He pulls me tighter in his arms, and it’s familiar here. The comfort and warmth is nice, and we haven’t had the chance to be warm together here in Chicago. I settle into his chest for just a minute and give into it. Being held and hugged by someone who loves me and is willing to love me in front of others, someone who’s willing to hold me in front of his family and doesn’t feel the pressure of hiding what we have...it feels nice—a feeling I don’t deserve, but nice nevertheless.
The elevator glides to a stop. I move to pull away from him, but Brian just grasps me a little tighter as the doors start to open. He lowers his head to plant a brief, soft kiss on my lips, and when he lets go and we turn to exit the elevator, my world stops around me.
Mark stands there, holding a bag with the Einstein’s Bagels logo emblazoned on it, his eyes hard as they take in the scene on the elevator. I’m desperate for him to look at me so I can see what’s in his eyes. I need to know if he’s guilty of what was in those pictures or if he’s upset by seeing me with his brother. He won’t look me in the eye, though.
“Hey, man,” Brian says to his brother.
Mark nods at his brother then steps to the side as we get off the elevator, avoiding eye contact with me.
“See you at the hospital,” Brian says.
I spot a freestanding Einstein’s Bagels in the lobby of Mark’s building. I wonder what was in the bag. I don’t know why my focus is there, but I’m curious to know whether he got himself breakfast or if he brought bagels back for all of us.
It doesn’t matter, but it seems to me like someone who spent the night getting busy with someone else wouldn’t bring bagels for his lover the next morning.
Lizzie is waiting out front for us when we walk through the doors. Brian helps me into the backseat then gets into the front. I pull out my phone and text wildly in the back as Brian and Lizzie have some conversation up front.
Me: I’m sorry for what you just saw.
His reply comes almost immediately, and I’m surprised.
Mary: What exactly did I see?
Me: You saw Brian giving me a hug.
Mary: No, I saw a boyfriend with his girlfriend.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t want him to believe that, but he’s the one who keeps pushing me toward his brother.
Me: I need to talk to you.
Mary: About what?
I decide to go for broke. Whatever this is between us won’t work without honesty.
Me: About the pictures that are all over the internet this morning.
Mary: What pictures?
I forward him the same link Jill sent me and wait on pins and needles for his reply. I don’t think my heart can take it. My head throbs and my stomach tumbles around nervously. I should’ve asked if I could sit in front. The backseat always makes me a little carsick, especially when I’m looking down at my phone.
“What about you, Reese?” Brian’s voice cuts into my waiting.
“Hmm?”
“Lizzie asked how we slept. I said good, and you didn’t answer.”
“Oh, fine.”
“Mark’s house always has the comfiest beds, doesn’t it?” Lizzie says. My phone buzzes, possibly with a reply from Mark, but I feel like I need to reply to Lizzie.
“Wonderful,” I murmur, then I glance down at my phone.
My phone rings, and Mark’s name—Mary—flashes across the screen. I send the call to voicemail because I can’t talk to him in the back of the car when his sister’s maneuvering through traffic and his brother is chatting away like everything’s perfectly normal.
Mary: Pick up your damn phone.
Me: Are you serious right now? You know I can’t.
He doesn’t reply, and I’m sure I’ve pissed him off, but what the hell does he expect me to do?
He didn’t deny that he was kissing her, didn’t deny that something happened. Am I getting played here?
* * *
Diane is full of glares for me this morning as we walk into the waiting room, but Paul stands and gives the three of us hugs.
“Doctors are in with him now,” Diane says, so we all sit.
“When did you get here?” Lizzie asks.
Diane glances at her fancy smartwatch. “About an hour ago. Where’s Mark?”
Brian fields that one. “He’s probably just a few minutes behind us. We ran into him going up with breakfast when we got off the elevator in his building.”
I just sit back quietly because I’m sure Diane hates me and hates the fact that I’m here.
“Any news?” Brian asks.
His dad launches into some clinical explanation of words I don’t understand, and he finishes by explaining things in layman’s terms. “They’re worried about another sudden cardiac arrest. His heart can’t seem to pump blood on its own.”
“How’s Gram?” Lizzie asks.
“Strong enough for all of us,” Diane says. “I need some coffee. Anybody need anything?” She stands, and Paul stands with her. The three of us shake our heads.
“Where’s Dave?” Brian asks.
“Work.” Lizzie rolls her eyes. “As usual.”
“What does he do?” I ask.
“He’s a financial analyst at Prudential.”
“What about you?”
“I’m a convention event planner.”
“That sounds fun.” I feel my phone buzz in my pocket, but I can’t exactly take it out to check it here while I’m in the middle of a conversation with Lizzie and Brian.
“It’s not. It’s mostly pushing paperwork around.”
“What’s your dream job?” I ask.
“Being a mother.”
I smile despite the burning need to see what’s on my phone right now. I’m putting on one hell of a show as I force myself to invest in conversation. “Are you all set for the wedding?”
“Yeah. It’s been planned for months now.” She looks between Brian and me. “When are you two gonna go down that road?”
I look at Brian to gauge his reaction. As much as I want to be with Mark, I can’t help my curiosity at how he’s going to answer. How much I want to be with Mark might not even matter anymore.
He might already be with someone else...someone with blonde hair that tumbles down her back and large breasts and maybe he spent the night making out with her before he fucked her in that back alley.
A spark of rage slices through my belly.
He hasn’t denied it. He still hasn’t denied it.
Brian holds up his hands. “Whoa, ladies. Let’s just slow it down a little.”
I focus on the people in front of me. I throw up my guard and put on the acting skills I’ve honed as a schoolteacher—the same ones where I have to pretend to be happy when I’m hungover as fuck or sad because of a breakup or mixed up because of a one-night stand with a rock star. “He still hasn’t even asked me to your wedding.” I say it with a teasing tone.
Lizzie giggles. “Well consider this your personal invitation from me. You don’t even have to come as Butt-head’s date.”
“I figured it was assumed by this point,” Brian says, raising an eyebrow. “Reese, my love, would you please do me the honor of being my date to my sister’s wedding?”
I pretend to think in jest, but I fully regret steering the conversation down this road. I don’t want to commit to a date in the future when I already know where things are going with Brian—notwithstanding whatever’s going on with Mark and that woman in the pictures. “I’ll have to check my calendar and get back to you.”
I say it as a joke, and they both laugh, but I feel uneasy over the entire conversation. Lizzie’s question to Brian has him thinking in terms of the future now, but I don’t want him to go there. It’s just one more thing that has the potential to further his disappointment down the road. My phone buzzes again, reminding me I have a text waiting for me.
“I’m gonna run to the restroom,” I say, searching for any excuse to get out of the room.
Once I’m out of their line of vision, I pull my phone out of my pocket.
Mary: Destiny.
I don’t even know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. Instead, I duck into the closest ladies’ room, lock myself in a stall, and dial his number.
“Hey,” he answers.
“Hi.”
“I’m up on the roof.”
“You should be at the hospital.”
“I know. I’m coming. I just can’t do this, Reese.”
“Can’t do what?”
“I can’t sit by and watch you with him.”
“This was your idea,” I spit.
“I know, and it was a stupid one. What the fuck are we doing?”
“I asked you that, too, and you said we’re waiting for the right time.”
“No, we’re not. We’re kidding ourselves. You don’t want to be with someone like me, and I don’t deserve to be with someone like you.”
I don’t know what he means by that, but his words sear into me. Someone like you. Someone who cheats on her boyfriend by sleeping with another man? I never thought I’d use those words to define myself...yet it’s suddenly an accurate description.
“Stop it,” I say.
“You know it’s the truth.”
“I’ve never wanted to be with someone more than I want to be with you.”
“Seeing you with him this morning...I don’t know.” He sighs. “You looked right together. What I said about him before, that was just jealousy.”
“Was it? Or is this some convoluted effort to push me toward him to protect yourself?”
He doesn’t answer, and silence stretches between us.
“I know this is hard, Mark. I know we need to protect him. But I want to be with you. I love you.”
He finally blows out a breath. “Those pictures you saw.” He says it like a complete thought even though it’s not.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know who got them. I don’t know who released them.”
“But it did happen?”
“Yeah. It happened.”
My heart shatters into tiny pieces. This isn’t a crack in my heart. It isn’t heartbreak. It’s soul-shattering, earth-shaking, world-ending, blinding pain.
I close my eyes as tears prick behind them. They tumble down my cheeks in a rush, like each individual drop is in a race to beat the others to the finish line.
“So that’s it?” I ask in a shaky voice. All he has to say is no. All he has to do is tell me it’s not over, we’re not through, we can work through this. Sure, seeing those pictures killed a part of me after his promise to wait for me. But I can forgive him. Our love is strong enough to get past this.
“That’s it,” he says. “It’s over.”
The call ends, and I break.
He admitted to whatever it was I saw in those pictures, and then he hung the fuck up on me.
Whatever was starting with Mark is over before it had the chance to even get off the ground. It’s not fair. Life’s not fair.
That shit I thought earlier about karma coming back to bite me? Here it is, biting me firmly in the ass and bleeding me dry.
My first instinct is to flee. I want to get the fuck out of Chicago, this godforsaken city with these men who do nothing but hurt people. I want to go back to my home in Las Vegas, to curl up in my bed and forget Mark Ashton exists. I want to be alone, to wallow in the misery that’s spreading through my chest and into my veins, to cling to the pain because it’s better than the numbness.
I don’t know what to do. I can’t stay in the bathroom stall all day, but I can’t go back out there with puffy eyes and a broken heart over another man. Another man who just ended things with me over the phone even though I’d planned to give Brian the courtesy of an in-person break.
I swipe angrily at my tears. Enough. I’ll cry over him later.
He told me to go back to Brian, so that’s exactly what I’ll do.
I’ll go back to Brian. I’ll forget about the three perfect days I spent in Mark Ashton’s world. I’ll sweep the one-night stand we shared that was so much more than just one night under the rug. I’ll emerge from this bathroom a good girlfriend. I’ll confess to Brian someday well down the road that I slept with another man while he was out of town, but I’ll never tell him who it was.
I love Brian. It may not be with the same consuming, fiery passion I have for Mark, but it’s enough.
It’s one hell of an amazing plan. I congratulate myself as I open the stall. No one except Mark and me ever has to know what went down between us. I draw in a deep breath, wipe under my eyes, then glance up at the woman standing near the sink with her arms folded over her chest as her eyes meet mine.
“Lizzie,” I whisper.