Page 19 of Shame

“About the affair?” My mouth goes dry. “I don’t know.”

Because Sam doesn’t want to know my drama anymore.Rejected by Prestons at every turn.

He finally twists on his heel and looks at me, his expression unreadable, but he shows his hand, anyway. “Because it would make this final.”

“No.”

“But yes, maybe.”

“That’s not it,” I snap.

I’ve given myself away.

“No?”

“Shut up.”

He doesn’t bite.

I’m tired and sad, and I want Luke out of my space, but I’m not ready to tell the world, either. It’s not just Sam. This is my own personal hell I’m trying to survive. I don’t need gawkers, people who mean well, caregivers, friends, fans, or foes to have any clue of what I’m struggling with.

I don’t want Caitlyn to know I’m struggling, either.

I gasp quietly.

I’m not admitting that to Luke for sure. I don’t want him to know I even know her name, have looked her up. Better that he think it’s all about his brother.

“All right, I don’t want Sam to know because it will be final then. Yes.”

“He’ll take your side.” Luke doesn’t sound upset, but it’s still hard to interpret his expression. He’s made a career of being unreadable, even when desperate.

I nod. Yes, Luke’s brother would choose me in a divorce, no question. It hurts my chest to think about. “I can’t do that to you.”

“You always wanted us to have a closer relationship than we ever did.”

“You own a firm together. You are closer than you think. And you are all the other has.”

“He has Hazel.”

“He’s allyouhave, then.”

The corner of Luke’s mouth pulls up, a sharp slice of misplaced optimism. “I have you.”

“No.” That boundary is so hard to maintain while I’m letting him follow me around to breakfast and this laundry errand.

As if he can read my mind, he dips his head and tries again. “As a friend, then.”

I take a deep breath. “Yes. That’s fair. I don’t like you right now, to be clear—”

“That’s clear as hell.”

I will not laugh. I cannot laugh. I bite the inside of my cheek. “But I want the best for you.” And because I’m not that altruistic, I layer in some snark. “Even if you don’t want it for yourself.”

A direct hit. Those shouldn’t give me as much pleasure as they do.

Stop hurting him.

I will. Later.

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