Page 73 of The Thinnest Air
Shit.
I’d hoped he wouldn’t notice.
“First-name basis, eh?” Andrew’s expression darkens as he pushes past me and heads to the kitchen. I follow him, watching as he helps himself to the bottle I’d uncorked, taking my glass for himself.
Folding my arms, I shoot him a look. “What are you getting at?”
His gaze skims to mine. “You tell me.”
“Remember what Dr.Connelly said about confronting each other like adults and being clear and direct in our communication? If you need to ask me a question, just ask me,” I say, trying to de-escalate this conversation before it reaches the point of no return. “Playing these little games is detrimental to our relationship.”
My husband clears his throat.
“Fine.” Andrew tosses back the remainder of the wine. “I know you were fucking him.”
I can’t breathe. The wind has been knocked from my lungs, but I muster the courage to present myself with unruffled feathers.
“How did you find out?” No sense in denying anything at this point. I’m a big girl. I can own this. Harris says there are consequences to every decision, and I’m seconds from finally discovering what my foolishness is going to cost me.
“I have my ways,” he says with an arrogant snort, topping off his wineglass.
“How long have you known?”
“Long enough.” He makes his way around the island. “Remember when I fucked you like the whore you are?”
I swallow the hard knot lodged in my throat, but it’s still there.
I knew it.
That morning in the hotel ... he was punishing me.
“You wrote on my windshield, didn’t you? It wasn’t the stalker that time.” I squint in his direction, recalling the giant, ugly letters spelling out the word “Whore” when I’d come out of Ronan’s the night I ended things.
I hadn’t mentioned that to him. I didn’t want him to suggest we track down parking lot surveillance footage from the pharmacy I’d claimed to have been at.
His lips pull into a knowing smirk, and the dangerous glint in his eyes is one I’ve never seen before.
“I don’t understand. Why would you not tell me? Why would you act like you didn’t know? Weren’t you angry?”
“Of course I was angry. Still am,” he says, taking a slow sip of Merlot. “But you came home to me, and when you stopped spending time with him, I figured you finally came to your senses and realized this is where you belong. Here. With me.”
“You had me followed,” I state, not asking. My mouth runs dry. He nods.
“Anyway, after that I was willing to turn a blind eye to your little ... indiscretion. Lord knowsI’mnot perfect.” He takes me in, watching for my reaction. He wants to see me in pain—the same pain I caused him.
“So you cheated, too?” I deserve this gut punch, and I know it.
“Almost.” He chuckles, gazing away, but his smile fades. “I tried once. Got to the hotel, started taking off her clothes, but then I stopped. I thought it would make me feel vindicated. Thought I’d feel better. But it only made me feel worse because, Meredith, you’re the only one I want to be with. Such a fucking shame you didn’t feel the same.”
“I’m sorry, Andrew.” I rise, going to him, but he recoils when I reach for his arm.
This is bad.
Beyond bad.
But we can fix this. He still loves me—he wouldn’t be so angry if he didn’t.
The weight of what I’ve done sinks into my bones. My eyes mist, clouding my vision.
