Page 1 of Tinsel & Tools
1
Cole
Sixteen Months Ago
I’d been telling myself for weeks I was imagining it.
The late nights were because Whitney had too much on her plate at the tech company where she worked as an executive assistant. The endless project deadlines and client meetings were why she dragged herself home looking drained. The smiles I saw when she was texting were because of something funny a friend had sent her. The way she set her phone face down on the counter was just a habit, and the bracelet I didn’t recognize was something she’d bought herself.
My electrical crew and I had been putting in longer days all week so we could clear out a big project, and with the work wrapped up early for the weekend, I headed home. Deciding to stop at the store for steaks on the way, I grabbed what I needed so Whitney and I could grill on the back deck, open a couple of beers, and enjoy a quiet summer evening that made all the long hours worth it.
When I turned into the driveway, her car wasn’t there. I called to check how long she’d be at the office, letting it ring until her voicemail picked up. The hair on the back of my neck prickled as I ended the call without leaving a message.
For the first few years of our marriage, I’d never had a reason to question her, but over the past couple of months, something was starting to tell me otherwise.
We’d been sharing our locations since we got engaged, but I’d never had a reason to check where she was until now. I pulled up the app expecting to see her at the office in Boston, not at Lake Boon, which was an hour from our home in Wakefield.
That feeling in my chest gnawed at me, and I threw my truck into reverse and headed to where her phone was pinging. The steaks and groceries were forgotten as I merged onto I-90 west. Heat shimmered off the asphalt, but the AC blasting against my face still didn’t cut through the heaviness in the cab. My hands stayed tight around the wheel, my mind flipping through every late night, every turned-over phone, every small thing I’d ignored. Each time I’d told myself it was nothing, but now every one of those occasions felt like a breadcrumb leading straight to this moment.
I parked my truck up the road and cut through the trees on foot, keeping quiet so she, and whoever she was with, wouldn’t hear me coming. The side of the house came into view first, then the wide dock stretching from the backyard into the lake. At the end of it, two figures stood waist-deep in the water. My stomach dropped so hard it left me dizzy, my pulse hammering so loud I could barely hear the lap of water against the dock. Whitney’s bare shoulders caught the sun, and her arms looped around a man’s neck. He pulled her in like it was second nature, their mouths finding each other with a familiarity that cut straight through me. The guy turned just enough for me to see his face.
Oliver Reynolds.
Her boss.
The man who owned the firm she worked for.
An image from the company’s holiday party last December flashed in my mind. His handshake had been strong to the point of aggressive, like he wanted me to feel his status in the pressure of his grip, his attention fixed entirely on my wife when she introduced us. His eyes had lingered on her throughout the night, but I’d told myself I was imagining that too.
I stepped onto the dock, my steel-toe boots hitting the boards harder than I intended, the wood creaking under the weight of me. My hands curled into fists at my sides, every muscle tight as a wire. Whitney turned, her eyes locking on mine with a look that seemed to lie somewhere between shock and guilt.
“Cole,” she breathed, pushing away from Oliver.
“How long?” I demanded.
“We should talk about this?—”
“I am talking about it. How long?”
She glanced at Oliver, then back at me. “A few months.”
A sharp laugh ripped out of me, bitter enough to burn my throat. “While I was working sixty-hour weeks so we could take that trip to Greece?”
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
I turned to Oliver. “So this is it? You fall for your assistant and decide her marriage doesn’t matter?”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond.
“That’s what I thought.” I let my gaze run over him, clean-shaven, hair perfectly in place, even wet. “Are you married, Oliver? Have kids? Is this your fuck pad?” I pointed at the house behind us.
“She came to me,” he muttered.
“Yeah, I bet you think that makes you the good guy here.” I crossed my arms over my broad chest, holding myself still when every part of me wanted to lean down and drag him out by the throat.
Whitney waded toward the dock ladder, the water rippling around her. “Cole, please?—”
“Save it,” I cut her off. “I thought you were working today. Instead, you’re here letting your boss put his hands all over you.”
