Page 82 of The Most Perfect Wrong

The first time I found out Brad was cheating, he’d left his computer screen open, and I happened to see his messages. The next time, a friend told me she’d seen him out with another woman. I hated her for telling me and chose not to believe her because I didn’t want to. After that, paranoia took over, and I started looking for anything to prove her wrong. I couldn’t find anything—until the woman’s husband found me and told me Brad was sleeping with his wife. The last time, the girl herself called me, upset that Brad had tried to break things off with her. I guess she wanted to get even.

I let out a loud sigh and set his phone on the bed.

He hands me mine with big apologetic eyes. “You satisfied?”

I nod, my lips smacked together.

“I’m sorry. You can have the password from now on.”

I start crying. I hate crying. But the worst part? I think I’m upset that I didn’t find anything. I’m upset that Brad’s not cheating. I wanted to find proof—something that would give me the courage to leave—the shove that I so desperately need.

“Hey, baby.” Brad pulls me into him, his arms warm and secure. “What’s wrong? God, it kills me to see you like this.” He slides his hands up under my shirt, rubbing my back, his touch familiar and steady. He kisses me gently, murmuring that everything will be okay—that I can trust him, that he loves me. And all I can do is think of Ryan, and how I wish it were him holding me, kissing me, whispering in my ear.

I hate that I’m this person. I hate that I’m weak.

Brad’s kisses become more sensual. Pressing them along my jaw now, down my neck. I tip my chin to give him access, but I’m not in the mood. He makes his way to my lips, softly sucking my bottom lip. And I kiss him back. I let him removemy sweatshirt, then my pants. We make out. I let him touch me. I go through the motions because that’s what I do. It’s what I’ve always done, and I don’t know how to change. I don’t know how to say no.

My mind drifts back to freshman year, to Gavin. God, he messed me up in ways I’m still uncovering. After him, it was just one wrong choice after another, each guy a faint echo of the last. One decision, one misplaced trust, and suddenly, you’re on a path you can’t seem to escape. Here I am, thirteen years later, too afraid to make the choices I know I need to make.

Brad’s hands explore, moving over familiar territory, but I feel nothing—no spark, no thrill, just an overwhelming sense of numbness. I’m trapped in my own body, going through motions that used to mean something, but right now, they just… don’t. His hand slides between my thighs, and still… nothing.

A tear slips down my cheek, and I choke back a sob.

Brad kisses me, and I kiss him back. His hands roam over me, and I play the part. I move my hands, make the sounds, arch my body into him. And when it’s time to feel the way I usually do. I don’t.

So, I fake another orgasm.

When we’re finished, I lie beside Brad as he starts talking about his next work trip. I’m only half-listening, my mind racing with thoughts of what to do.Why am I still like this?I’ve spent years molding myself to fit into men’s lives, meeting their needs. But what about my needs? Where’s my self-growth? Something has to change.

I have to change.

* * * * * ?* * * * *

January

I roll my luggage into the entryway, stopping to sort through the mail Brad left for me on the console table next to my grandmother’s glass bird. A small smile tugs at my lips. We were close—sleepovers on the first Saturday of every month, late-night talks, way too much popcorn and candy.

She kept this bird in her china cabinet, along with a bunch of other glass figurines. For some reason, I was always drawn to it. I couldn’t even tell you why. But a few hours before she passed, she placed it in my hands and told me she wanted me to have it. I cherish it more than anything.

My stomach growls, reminding me that it’s past dinnertime, and I’m starving. I definitely didn’t pack enough snacks for the flight home.

I pull out my phone to text Brad.

Cooper:Hey, I’m home. Where are you?

Brad went straight from Newport to New York two days after Christmas and got back a few days ago. I thoroughly enjoyed the time away—spending time with Casey, warmer weather, and, if I’m being honest, the space from Brad.

My phone dings, and seconds later, Brad’s laptop chimes from his office. Curiosity pulls me as I read my text.

Brad:Hey, baby. Went out for drinks with Jared.

I glance toward his desk. His laptop is open. Just sitting there.

Brad never leaves it open when he’s not home. I walk into his office and sit down, ready to play detective, praying the password for his phone is the same for his laptop.

I freeze.Wait. Why isn’t the screen locked?

Brad isn’t careless. He plans everything. Always.

---