Page 41 of The Most Perfect Wrong

“I don’t know. Didn’t you book the flights?” I ask.

“No,” she says, irritation clear in her voice. “You were supposed to book the flights. I booked the hotel.”

I scowl. “I thought you were booking all travel.”

She sighs, her frustration spilling over. “I was going to, but you wanted to book the flights on your card for the extra miles or whatever. You wanted to be reimbursed, remember?”

I press my hand to my forehead. “Fuck,” I mutter. I reluctantly make eye contact with her. “You’re right. I did say that… I forgot. Let’s hurry and do that now.”

She glances at her watch, clearly eager to get out of here. “Look, I need to get going soon. Just book the flights, okay? And let me know when it’s done.”

I watch her for a moment, noticing the tightness in her expression. “What’s the rush? Got somewhere more exciting to be?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve got to get home. Brad’s not exactly a fan of me spending all this time around you.” She shuts her laptop and starts packing up her things.

I lean back, smirking. “Ah, he doesn’t trust you with me? Or is it just me he doesn’t trust?”

She shoots me a glare, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Does it matter? Either way, it’s always the woman who gets the blame. Men can’t trust their girlfriends or wives to be alone with other men, and yet it’s usually the men who aren’t to be trusted.” She puts on her coat. “Fuckin’ creeps,” she mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.

I raise an eyebrow, caught slightly off guard. “You think all men are creeps?”

She shrugs, gathering her things. “If the shoe fits.”

I let out a low chuckle. “Someone’s bitter.”

She slings her bag over her shoulder. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m just tired of all the double standards. I’ll see you tomorrow. Text me the flight details when you have them.”

I watch her head toward the door. For a moment, I almost want to say something to break the tension—something to make her stay. But then she’s gone, leaving me alone with the weight of her words.

I sit back, thinking about my situation—the one I’m always avoiding going home to. I know it’s not all black and white, not just one person to blame for how things have turned out. But maybe there’s some truth to what Cooper said. Men can be creeps—we don’t always think with the right head.Did I miss something? Was there something more I could have done?

Hell, maybe there is a double standard. We’re quick to call a woman a slut, a whore. But what about the guy? Was I too quick to point fingers? Too hard on her? Maybe I bailed too soon. I didn’t exactly take my time getting my dick wet when things went south. My ring was still warm when I met Cooper in Newport.

I don’t know, maybe I’m overthinking this. Either way, the truth stings. Man or woman—a cheater’s a cheater.

* * * * * ?* * * * *

Mentally exhausted from the workday and all the crap with Cooper, the last thing I want is to face Beth. I just want to drop my shit by the door and crawl into bed.

I stayed at the office as late as I could, arriving home at ten-thirty.

Trying to sneak in, hoping to avoid Beth, I quietly open the door and slip inside. The house is dark, except for a soft light coming from the master bedroom upstairs. I remove my shoes and walk up the stairs. I stop at the bathroom in the hallway, shutting the door behind me softly. After brushing my teeth, I open the door to find Beth standing there waiting for me.

“You’re home late.”

“Yeah. Sorry if I kept you up,” I say, trying to sound apologetic, but I’m just spent.

“You didn’t keep me up.” She purses her lips, something that she does when she’s thinking. “Are you avoiding me? You know, you don’t have to stay at work until ten in hopes to not see me, right? I can always go stay with my mom.”

I sigh, my shoulders slumping. “God, no, Beth, I told you in the beginning… I’d never make you move out. I always planned to be the one to leave, at least until we sell the house.”

“Why shouldn’t I be the one to move out, Ryan?”

I steady my breath—my emotions, and the stress from the day, getting the best of me. “Beth…” The words don’t come—because I look at her, and I see how different she looks. The stress and guilt of everything weighing on her. She’s lost weight, and she looks so goddamn tired. But still, she’s the same beautiful Beth that I fell in love with and married. “You’ve suffered enough. I’ll look for a place soon.” I take a step towardher and cup her face in my hands. “We’ll get through this.” I say reassuringly.

She swallows hard, nodding her head as a steady stream of tears starts to fall.

I kiss her forehead. “Come here.” I pull her into a hug, and she sobs on my chest.

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