Page 15 of If He Hadn't Cheated

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I hesitate. Then I walk over.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“Whiskey. Neat.”

I pour it. Slide it over.

He doesn’t thank me. He just sips slowly, eyes on the glass.

After a moment, he says, “You look like shit.”

I snort. “You’ve always had a way with women.”

“Truth isn’t supposed to feel nice.”

“I’m aware.”

We fall into silence. The noise of the club fills the gaps.

Finally, he says, “I didn’t come to fight.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To check on you.”

I laugh, sharp and bitter. “Bit late for that, isn’t it?”

“I should’ve told you,” he says quietly.

I pause.

After all this time. Months of drowning in faceless bodies, coke, and liquor.

This is what he came here to tell me?

The music fades for a second in my ears. “You knew.”

He nods.

“I figured it was just flirting at first,” he says. “Then I saw them together. Once. Twice. I told him to end it.”

“And then?”

“I stayed out of it.”

“Because it wasn’t your place?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Let me guess,” I continue. “Guy code. Loyalty. Whatever excuse makes it easier to sleep at night.”

“I don’t sleep much.”

“Good.”

He watches me carefully. I feel his eyes like heat on my skin.

“You look like you’re not eating,” he says.

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