Earlier that day

Teagan

I brush my hand down Drake’s cheek and kiss his temple. “Good morning, did you get in late?”

My boyfriend grunts and rolls over, throwing one arm over his eyes. “Fifteen-hour shifts are killing me,” he mumbles. “Have to go back this afternoon.”

“Okay, honey.” I kiss him again, wishing we had the time or the energy to take it further. It’s been so long since we’ve been intimate I’ve forgotten what sex with Drake feels like. It’s understandable, though. His residency at Portland General keeps him incredibly busy. “I have to go to work. Have a good day.”

He mumbles again and rolls to his side, away from me.

I stand from his side of the bed and pull my purse to my shoulder.

Drake is the first long-term boyfriend I’ve had. We met our junior year of college, and for the last seven years, I’ve been following him all over the country while he completed medical school and now his internal medicine residency. I would have thought by now we’d be married and living the life he’s continually promised to give me. With each year that passes, I’m beginning to think his promises have been more of a carrot dangled in front of me.

At some point, our plans and our dreams we used to whisper about, bodies entwined after a marathon lovemaking session, have been pushed to the back burner. At least on Drake’s. I still want all the things I always have. A husband, a family, and an equine therapy farm for special-needs children.

“I love you,” I whisper to his back, sculpted and lean, and one I used to spend hours running my hands down. It’s been months since we came together. It’s more than the lack of sex putting distance between us. I’m starting to doubt if he still loves me.

Before I can cry over our messed-up relationship again, I head toward the kitchen. I quickly shove my bagel into the toaster, grab a coffee pod, and pop it into the machine. While the coffee is brewing and the bagel browning, I dig through my purse and apply a fresh coat of lip balm. It’ll come off in minutes, but I’m addicted to the old-school, cherry-flavored stuff.

A quick glance at the clocks tells me I need to get the lead out or I’m going to be late to the library where I work. It’s not much of a job, but I didn’t finish college, choosing instead to quit after my junior year and follow Drake to med school in Chicago, fourteen hours from my hometown in Tennessee. I’m not exactly qualified to do much other than stack shelves, issue new library cards, help visitors, and ride horses.

The last one has nothing to do with the library, but it’s been years since I’ve been on a horse, and the more time that passes, the more I miss them. After my parent’s died, my grandma took me in. She wasn’t the most loving woman, but she lived on a horse ranch in western Tennessee. I spent the majority of my days riding horses and taking care of them, and I’ve missed having horses be a part of my life ever since I moved away.

Shaking off my morose mood, I make a plan for the weekend. It’s Friday and I’ll be home from work just before five. If I hurry, I can throw on a sexy dress, grab takeout, and surprise Drake at the hospital for dinner and perhaps a quickie in the doctor’s break room like we used to do.

Perhaps we’ve been together so long we’re in a rut. That’s all it is. His hours are long and exhausting and more stressful than anything I can imagine. Perhaps he needs some early night stress relief in a form only I can provide.

A smile stretches my lips and I pour coffee into my travel mug.

Yep. That’s what I’ll do. Work, hospital, a quickie where I please may man and show him we still got it, and then home to rest.

My hands tremble and my chin quivers, but I can’t stop the emotions from threatening to overwhelm me.

“Pardon me?” I ask William Tanner, Portland Central Library’s operational director.

“I hate having to say this to you, Teagan. It’s simply that funding has been cut and the last levy didn’t pass in the election. We no longer have the resources to employ four assistants, and unfortunately, you were the last person hired. It’s nothing personal. We all admire the work you’ve put in to the library over the last few years. And you know how much I adore you.”

Nothing personal.

Firing someone is absolutely personal—at least for the person who now faces the weekend with the stress of looking for a job.

“William—” I start, but he covers my hand with his and stops me.

“Please, Teagan. You’ve been given four weeks severance, more than one week for each year you’ve been with us. It’s generous, and it’s also all we have. We’ve tried fighting this, but our hands are tied. When Shelly from HR told me this was going to happen, I insisted I be the one to tell you. I’m truly sorry.”

I know he is. William is more than a boss. He’s kind and generous and has a beautiful wife. Mary could never conceive and they decided against adoption, but they’d be the best parents in the world. He’s also been the director of this central location of Portland’s mass library system for fifteen years, and I know he cares about me.

It doesn’t erase the sting any.

“Okay,” I mumble, fighting back another chin quiver. “Thank you for everything.”

He squeezes my hand. “Thank you, Teagan. Take care, and if you’d like, please keep in touch. Mary will miss you if you don’t.”

I press my lips together and tug my hand from his grip. His wife is one of the sweetest women I’ve ever met and I have no doubt he’s being honest. In the three years since I’ve worked here, I’ve spent countless holiday meals with their family, Drake joining me when he hasn’t had to work. They’ve become more like parents to me since I’ve moved to Portland.

“Have a good weekend, William.”

I don’t reply to his comment. I adore Mary. It’ll just take time before I can sit across from them and not remember this exact moment.

He nods and pushes back in his chair. “You, too, Teagan. And don’t worry. You’ll land on your feet. Perhaps this will help nudge Drake into finally looking for one of those hobby farms you two have always discussed.”

His comment brings back all the doubts I had only hours ago, but I don’t tell William. If he knows I’m fearful my relationship with Drake is slowly crumbling, Mary will be on my cellphone inviting me over for drinks and dinner before I can board the next MAX train.

“Yeah, maybe.”

William stands and presses a quick fatherly kiss to my cheek. “You’re a smart girl, Teagan. You’ll figure out what to do next, and if I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

He gives me privacy to load up my personal items. Other than a handful of pens and two packages of ChapStick, I only have one picture frame to grab. It’s a three-piece frame and holds a photo of Drake and me in the middle in one of our rare vacations to Saint Lucia. The other holds my parents, and the final one is on Drake’s medical school graduation day. He’s still in his robe, diploma held high, his other arm curved around my waist. The grin he’s flashing me is how I always think of him.

We were so full of hope, so full of excitement, and the thrill of victory of him completing medical school.

With my chest burning, I say quick goodbyes to the rest of the library’s employees, granting brief hugs to the friends I’ve made, even if most of them are at least ten years older than me.

Out on the street with my picture frame tucked under my arm, I debate what to do. I only left the apartment an hour ago and Drake will still be sleeping.

Instead of going home and disturbing him, I head toward Powell’s bookstore, grab another cup of coffee, and lose myself in the endless floors and rows of books.

Perhaps buying a few new paperbacks will boost my spirits.

Armed with a sack holding three new paperbacks and the picture frame, I’m trudging up the stairs to our apartment building in the Pearl District of Portland. The trip to Powell’s boosted my spirits minimally.

I never thought I’d love living downtown in a city or on the West Coast until we moved to Portland. We spent Drake’s medical school years in a crummy studio apartment in the Wrigley Field area of Chicago, but that was way more intense—busier and louder than Portland. There’s always a sense of calmness in the Pearl District, despite the crowds and the mass transit. People move at a more relaxed pace, much more like Nashville than Chicago. I love the country, but I’ve also enjoyed getting to experience living in different areas over the last several years.

Still, there’s something about Portland that has soaked into my veins. Something I never want to dig out, either.

I reach my apartment and fumble through my purse for my key. It’s only noon, and Drake could still be sleeping, so I’m quiet as the latch catches and I push open our squeaky door.

I gently set my purse and bag down on our entry table, then put my travel mug on the counter.

A grunting sound hits my ears and I frown.

Then I grin. I know that sound. It’s the sound Drake makes when he’s close to coming.

Perhaps he’s awake after all, and if he’s taking care of himself, I at least want to watch.

I step around the corner and stop.

All the blood rushes from my face, my fingers begin tingling.

I’m frozen and have no idea what to do.

I have a full view of our bedroom and our bed, where Drake has a woman bent over the mattress and is pounding into her like a man who can’t get enough. The stranger’s blond hair flies and flips from the force of Drake’s thrusting behind her.

I hear another grunt and I’m flying down the short hallway to our bedroom before I can stop myself.

“What in the hell is going on in here?” As soon as I begin screaming, Drake pulls out of the woman, who scurries over the edge of the bed. He grabs a towel from the floor and wraps it around his waist.

This isn’t happening. This absolutely can’t be happening.

It’s totally happening. How long? When? Why? A thousand questions pound against my brain, making my head hurt.

“Teagan,” he says, stepping toward me. “Teagan, honey, please.”

“Don’t you dare come any closer,” I hiss at him.

Holy shit. This is actually real. He’s been cheating on me? I shake my head to dislodge the thought or the scene in front of me, but it’s no use. The blonde he was just fucking on our bed is crouched on his side of the bed, arms sliding into a shirt that is absolutely not hers.

It’s Drake’s dress shirt.

Oh my God. I’m going to explode, shatter into a gazillion furious pieces, and tear both of them to shreds with the fragments.

“Get out,” I demand. “Get out of here right now, before I completely lose my shit.”

“Honey, this isn’t what it looks like.”

Everything, all of my doubts over the last several months, comes together. Every concern I’ve had, every fear that’s been niggling in my mind for months now. We’re not in a rut—

We are over.

I push down the bubbling hatred and anger and all the shit I’ve probably suspected but have been too naïve and scared to name for at least six months and turn to Drake.

“Give me an hour to clear out. I’ll leave my key on the counter when I leave.”

“Honey.” He steps toward me and I take a step back.

The blonde is still getting dressed, and if she is bothered he’s not paid an ounce of attention to her she’s not showing it. Great. He’s not even cheating on me with someone that matters, he’s just fucking people he doesn’t give a crap about.

“Please, Drake. It’s over. If you can do this”—I wave my hand out—“and in our bedroom no less, we have nothing left.”

“But—”

I shake my head, tears spilling down my cheeks. I swipe them away. Damn it! How many times can I cry today?

“Don’t.” I stare at him, show him every ounce of pain I’m feeling, and only see a minimal amount of pain reflecting back in his eyes. God, that hurts, too. “Don’t fight me on this. Just give me an hour to get out of here.”

Without giving him time to answer, I hurry to the bathroom and lock the door behind me.

Then I sit down on the closed toilet seat, throw my head into my hands, and bawl my eyes out.

Fired from my job.

A cheating boyfriend exposed right in front of me.

What in the heck am I going to do now? And where am I going to go?