Chapter Eleven

Valen

It’s a conundrum. Conundrum as in, hot mess, not the brand of white, delicious wine. I’ve drank so much since I returned from my work trip, I can’t remember what day it is. Avoiding Hutch has been easy, because he really is on a work trip now, but he’s beginning to wonder why I’m not replying to his calls, or texts, or emails. The odds of that run in happening are so ubiquitous, there’s no way it’s not some sign from the universe that Valen is a fucking idiot.

His flaw wasn’t leaving his underwear next to the hamper, it was another goddamn life. Christian Bale style. He’s not a serial killer, that I know of, he is just so skilled at having two separate lives running parallel at the same time I never caught on.

The little dog. The bedroom he kept locked at his house. It all makes sense after seven bottles of wine and twenty-two phone calls to Greer. She told me she’s staying out of it and she’s upset I won’t confront him. We had an Honest War and he played dirty. He lied. He told me there was nothing I needed to know about him. Phrasing shouldn’t play a part. Maybe I didn’t ask the right questions, but this is a big thing he left out. If it was a psycho ex-girlfriend or something normal crazy I’d be up for a discussion.

I am the other woman.

I am the crazy bitch destroying multiple lives. This is what I get for thinking an older man would be a good idea. The questions I have are endless and they cloud my mind so fiercely I can’t finish any of my work. The emails are piling up and the phone calls keep coming, and I’m still feeling sorry for myself.

My hair is dirty and I just ran out of reality TV shows to binge watch. Someone pounds on my door. “Ugh. Take out. Finally. Feed the beast.”

I sludge my way to the door and throw it open. I’m wearing the Van Halen T-shirt my dad gave me for my eighteenth birthday and no pants. The rejuvenating mask I have on my face looks like a tiger. “Greer. What the hell,” I say, as my friend blows into my place like a damn vision of fury and rage.

“We’re going to get you out of this stank box. When is the last time you showered?” Greer asks, setting several bags down on the kitchen counter. Wrinkling her nose, she surveys my kitchen. “I’m calling my people to get some cleaners over here.”

“Did you bring me new clothes? That might help me feel like a human again.” I eye the bags. Some are groceries, but some are definitely clothing. A distraction. Yes. That’s what I need right now.

She narrows her eyes. “You don’t get to keep the stuff unless you look like a human. Go shower and we’re getting out of here. You need to work. You need to join civilization. I cancelled a studio appointment because my best friend is a fucking hot mess. We don’t do this over men. Did you forget?” I didn’t. When I left Dean I didn’t feel anything except broken nostalgia. What I feel now is betrayal and heartbreak on fucking blast.

It’s crippling.

“You have to talk to him, Valen. You have to.”

“I did,” I say, heading to my bathroom. She follows me in. “I told him to stop fucking calling and texting.”

Greer snarls. “That doesn’t count. Don’t be so immature. What if there’s a reasonable explanation. I’m your friend first, but I’m not wrong about people. I’m not. It’s not my business to meddle. I understand why you’re hurt, but talk to him.” I shake my head, get naked and step into the shower. The memory of his epic family strolling hand in hand causes serious bouts of nausea. I thought I was pregnant for a solid three days because of it.

“He had every opportunity to tell me about his secret life. It was a secret. That’s the bust,” I explain. “I can’t possibly forgive him regardless of what it really is or how it seems. He lied. End of story.”

“Baz says it’s not what you think it is. I told him I didn’t want to know details.” Irritation stakes a claim next to my sadness. Greer could know the secret right now, but chose not to. How could it not be what it seemed?

“Oh, fuck Baz. He’s an asshole.”

“Valen.” She says my name like my parents do when they’re scolding me for being salty in public. Grimacing, when I see how hairy my legs are, I pick up my razor. “Don’t talk about it, fine, but don’t be a bitch.”

I sigh. “Fine. You’re off all night so we’re going out.” The decision was made the second I shaved one leg. “I’m going to wear something beautiful, something in those bags out there, and I’m going to feel like a princess. Men will look at me, I’ll smile and wave, and life will feel normal if just for a night.” With my legs shaved, I move on to shampooing my hair. “And we won’t speak his name.”

Greer doesn’t say anything. The bathroom door clicks closed. Basically, that means agreement by silence. I smile for the first time all week.

****

She’s wearing a brown wig to disguise herself. There’s still a bodyguard lurking in the corner because it could get ugly quick if someone discovers who she is. Getting used to her fame was a hard limit for me for a while. I couldn’t go anywhere with her because of the mob it caused. She’s gotten used to it and can play a part now. She looks like Daria with huge glasses and a banging bod.

We look hot as we stroll into the dimly lit club. The lights flicker softly and the scent of a light perfume clings to the air. The DJ is playing a song that reverberates in my chest. With drinks in our hands, we make our way to the dance floor. I made her pregame before we left; the one bonus is that her bodyguard can also be our driver. That went into the perk column when she was trying to convince me to go somewhere with her a few years ago.

Her phone buzzes in her clutch and she has to set her drink down to retrieve her cell. Rolling my eyes, I say, “It’s girl’s night. Put that thing away.” She grins as she opens a text message, and ignoring my pleas she texts back, the blue glow lighting up her face. “You’re so bad.”

“Don’t be jealous, Valen. You’ve never looked good in green.” I drain my drink and head to the dance floor. The room swims a little and I know I’ve imbibed too much in too short a period of time. Mentally, I cut myself off for a while. The bodycon dress is tight, but Mama didn’t’ put on any life sucking underwear tonight. I’m free as a bird under this thing and life feels good. I yell, and wave my arms to get Greer’s attention. The bodies in the club are everywhere and I’m blending into the madness with little effort. A man dances behind me and his wet body heat transfers to my back.

Spinning I get the hell away from that mess fast. I glance over my shoulder to find Greer staring at her phone with a look of horror on her face. Next, she meets my gaze from across the room and I know she’s in trouble. Something’s up. I don’t even try to dance cute on my way off the black, shiny floor, I butt people out of the way using my elbows like a fucking linebacker.

“What?” I ask as soon as I’m close enough to hear a reply. She pulls me by the arm and we barrel into the bathroom. The perfume lady tries to spritz some sweet shit on me and I hold up my palm to stop her. Even in my slur-drunk state, I know I don’t want any perfume. “What?” I say, loudly. A girl in a stall shushes us. “Oh, I’m sorry, is my voice scaring your shit?” I snip.

“They’re coming here, Valen,” Greer says, while I’m distracted with the idea of scaring shit out of a body. “They both lied about being on the trip.”

“Fucking liars. Goddamn men. I’m going to be a lesbian!”

“Baz asked where we were in casual conversation and I told him and he said he’s coming with Hutch. It was all a ploy because you’ve been avoiding him. It’s your fault. You should have called him! Now you’ll have to do this face to face.” How dare she blame me for this?

Scowling at my best friend, I do one of those long blinks. The kind that happens when you’re really stupid, ugly drunk. “Then I’m staying in here with,” I say, leaning over to check the nametag of the perfume lady. “Mary. I’ll spend the evening learning about the nuances of scents,” I slur.

“Oh, God. You’re so drunk,” Greer says. Her bodyguard comes into the restroom.

“Sorry, Ma’am. You were taking too long. I’ll wait here while you finish up,” Mr. Bodyguard says, head nodding in Greer’s direction, hands folded in front of his junk. Men in bathrooms. The other thing you get used to when you’re friends with Greer.

An amazing idea sparks. “Yes. Fine, sir. I’m going to need your services. You’ll need to guard that door from a dirty, asshole, married man who will try to wreck what’s left of my heart. Is that in your job description?” I ask, wobbling to stand in front of him.

The scary poop chick exits the stall and starts cussing up a storm about the man in the women’s restroom. “Oh, shut up! It’s a restroom not a gynecologist’s office. He didn’t see anything. Even if he did, there’s not much to see.” I look her up and down with a scowl on my face.

“She’s an angry drunk. My apologies,” Greer says, setting one of her cold hands on my forearm in warning. “It’s his job to be in here with me,” Greer hisses under her breath.

“You act like you’re some kind of super star or something. Both of you are rude bitches,” she says, as she exits, shouldering the bodyguard on her way.

Greer coughs to cover a laugh. “You’re leaving this bathroom. You will not order my employee to do anything for you except maybe drive you home, but they’re here,” Greer says, shoving her phone in my face with a text from Baz.

It simply reads, “We’re here and he’s going to find her.”

My heart trips, stutters, my stomach sinks to the floor. “Mary, I’m going to need some of your finest perfume.” She shows me a tray with the choices and I spritz every single one all over me, twirling around in a circle so I’m coated thoroughly and reek of a whore-skunk hybrid.

Greer shoves a bill into Mary’s hand and apologizes on my behalf. “Perfumes aren’t going to keep him away, Valen,” Greer bites.

I shrug. “I need something in my corner. You’re not,” I say, swallowing hard, hot tears stinging the corner of my eyes. This feels like an ambush I’m not prepared for.

She grabs me by the shoulders. “Valen. I’m in your corner. Always. Don’t say stuff like that. I’m being the voice of reason. You’re miserable for a reason.”

She guides me out of the bathroom into the dark red hallway. It reminds me of blood. “I’m miserable because I love him, okay? I’m madly in love with the stupid man!” My voice breaks, and my heart cracks down the center as I admit, out loud, for the very first time why I’m so upset.

I read it on her face, even in my drunk stupor. “They’re standing behind me aren’t they?”

Greer nods, closing her eyes slowly. “Talking is all that needs to happen. Simple,” Greer says so only I can hear.

Not so simple when you’re practically black out drunk. I turn and glimpse the wrath of beautiful perfection. Shaking his head, his face a mask of fury, he holds his hands out to the sides in a wide stance. “One stupid man here at your disposal,” Hutch says, voice booming. Greer’s bodyguard looks wary, but she grabs his coat sleeve and leads him away with Baz.

I cover my face with both hands. “Impossible,” I mutter. Closing my eyes is a horrible idea because dizziness wallops me in a swift, fuck-you-punch.

“Nothing is impossible,” he slings back. It’s loud. “Talk to me for fuck’s sake. Stop avoiding me. We need to talk about everything.” We’re a breath away from pulling a full-on domestic scene.

Nodding at the door, I head back to the dance floor and straight on to the exit. Scared shit girl is dancing her heart out on top of a private table—singing into her fake, fist microphone at the top of her lungs. It’s to one of Greer’s popular songs blasting through the speakers. That forces a grin to my face.

The cool air hits me in a rush. I’m hot everywhere because out of all of the emotions clamoring for attention, rage is what comes out on top. When Greer’s voice becomes background noise instead of a skull blaring volume, I spin on him. “You’re a liar and I can’t be with a liar, Hutch. I can’t believe you did this to me. You waited so patiently for me to fall in love with you. You saw the moment it happened, and yet you still continued this charade.” I motion between us with one hand. I wobble on my heels, and he steadies me with a hand on my elbow. He lets go as soon as I regain my balance.

He opens his mouth to speak, his eyes pleading, but I go on. I step on him, forcing his back against the brick wall. “I saw you with your family,” I swallow down the memory. It goes down like razor blades—cutting my insides so precisely I can’t pinpoint the exact point of pain. It’s everywhere. “Your daughter. Your wife. Your family.”

Hutch’s face morphs into shock—his mouth opening, and his eyes widening. I grin. “I caught you, you liar. What were you doing there? You didn’t’ even care to explain yourself to me. You disappeared.”

He shakes his head. “No. It’s not what you think.” I step closer, but he can’t back away from me. I’m distantly aware we’re in public and the people waiting to get into the club are ambling around us, but it doesn’t quell my anger. He’s getting all of it on full blast. He’s this huge, burly, beautiful man and I’m a short, pint-sized vessel of rage. It must look insane to a passerby.

“What I think is that I declared an Honest War and you danced around the truth. You had ample time to spill the truth and let me make my own decisions about what I wanted.”

Grinding his teeth together in frustration, he turns his head to the side and watches people pass by. “It’s not what you think,” he says again, the timbre of his voice low and scary.

“Married men shouldn’t be at clubs. Married men shouldn’t melt panties off other women. Attached men should be home fucking their wives,” I yell. A woman walks by and gives a shout and a fist pump in agreement.

He sneers at her, then focuses his disdain at me. “You want to do this right here? In front of strangers?”

“We are strangers. I don’t know you. You are a fucking stranger to me. So, yes. We’re doing it right here.” I point at the ground too hard and I wobble again.

“I’m not married!” Hutch yells. “If you’d turn it down for a second and let me explain, I would. Now I’m so pissed I don’t know if I want to tell you the truth.”

Shaking my head, I laugh. It’s not a real laugh though, more of a scoff, because tears are burning my eyes. I pinch my lips together to busy my hands and to keep from screaming horrible things. “I’m wasted,” I admit, shaking my head again as tears stream down my cheeks. “This is horrible timing.”

“You left me no choice!” Hutch exclaims. He reaches out to touch me, but thinks better of it. “It was this or stalk you down at home. I figured you would appreciate that even less. I’m not married, Valen.”

“Oh, fuck off,” I cry out. “You can’t lie anymore. I saw it. How happy you were. How goddamn perfect your family was strolling down the street without a care in the world. Without a second thought for your dirty little secret back here. I just want to know why. Why did you do this to me? You wanted a relationship. I wanted a night. It didn’t have to be this way.”

“She. Is. Not. My. Wife.” Hutch grinds out in between clenched teeth. The line to enter the club is long and now people are surrounding us on both sides. If I weren’t drunk I’d be mortified. “She is my ex-wife’s sister. That was my daughter.”

I fold my arms across my chest to war against the slight breeze. “What?” I shake my head to try to clear it, but only manage to stumble again.

“We’re doing this here. I can’t believe you’re doing this right now,” Hutch says, looking up to the sky. “Since you’re not letting me tell you on my time and terms we’ll start at the only valid point. My wife died, Valen. She’s dead.”

I’m aware that hands are on my back. Greer appears at my side and whispers in my ear that we need to leave. “I don’t understand,” I say, biting my lip. I can’t understand why, but my angry tears turn sad and they come more rapidly—a cascade of emotional grief.

Greer pulls me back, but Hutch steps on me now. He gets right in my face. “She was hit by a car while she was jogging. Our daughter was two. Her aunt takes care of her when I’m in a work-up getting ready for deployment and they live in Virginia Beach. I was visiting her because I wanted to tell her, in person, about you,” he says, his nose almost touching mine. His scent hits me in a wave that nearly drowns me. My mouth waters. “I was going to bring her to meet you while you were on your business trip. It was going to be a surprise and a baring of my soul moment. You flew back here early after making a fool of yourself in front of my daughter. That was a wasted trip. Turns out you’re an insecure child yourself.” He closes his eyes. “Goodbye, Valen.”

With that, he turns, shaking his head, and leaves with Baz. Greer’s bodyguard leads us back to the car. I break my heel on a sewer grate and have to continue the trek with bare feet and a scarred ego.

“Well, we didn’t read that one right. I’m not even sure what the hell just happened,” Greer whispers, holding me up by my waist before we get into the backseat of the dark sedan.

I know, but I’m not ready to admit it. His confession would be a lot to process sober, but drunk it’s almost like trying to solve a quadratic equation. “I’m too drunk to process this.”

“You’re too drunk to do anything. This was a horrible idea,” Greer says, pulling off her wig and scratching her head violently. “You should have talked to him right after you saw them together.”

“He should have told me the second he met me,” I say, sadly, replaying his face as he uttered those horrific words.

“You stink like high hell, by the way,” Greer says, rolling down the window.

I tilt my head against my car window, sobering up by the second. “Sorry.”