Chapter 2

“Don’t you think you’re being a little irrational?”

I sigh and glance out the window. Mike is playing with Brooklyn in the snow. A dormant part of me is pleased by the sight.

“Claire,” Mom says, trying to recapture my attention.

“Mom.”

“Claire.”

I sigh again, a small smile on my face. “No, not irrational, exactly. I think this might be good for me.”

“You said you needed to stay with us. I still don’t get what changed.”

Mike walks in with Brooklyn, his own mouth grinning. He catches my eye. The grin soothes to a soft smile.

“Me either, if I’m honest.”

“I straightened up your old room. I bought you a new comforter set. I shampooed the carpet, for God’s sake.”

“And I’m sure I’ll appreciate all of that hard work one day soon.”

Mike tries to pretend like he’s not eavesdropping, even though he so obviously is.

Mom sighs. I can’t imagine what this must be like for her. She has always done such a good job of caring for me, and now it’s so unbelievably out of her control.

“Mom, I love you. Thank you for doing all of that. I’ll come see you sometime today, okay?”

“Take care of yourself. Bye.”

The call ends before I can say goodbye. I’m not sure if she’s angry or upset, or both.

“Everything okay?” Mike asks.

There is no easy answer to that, so I just nod.

My cell vibrates. It’s a text from Nick. I want to read it but I’m conscious of Mike’s curious but knowing eyes.

I decide to ignore it for the time being. “Breakfast?”

“Are you going to just keep feeding me as a way of avoiding conversation?”

Now I’m irritated. I’m not sure why I’m trying to be nice to Mike but he’s making it very difficult. “What do you want me to say?”

“Anything.”

My phone vibrates again. “Fine. I’m going out.”

I grab my purse and I’m out the door before I feel guilty.

Jessica has become some sort of myth. It’s only been four months and yet it seems like she’s some story children tell each other at night. Or worried wives.

She’s every married woman’s worst nightmare—the traitorous best friend.

Is anyone ever real? Are we looking at the real person, or just our perception of them? Do we carry the impression they give us around with us and assume that’s the real deal?

And the impression that clings to me? Jessica laughing. Her gorgeous eyes. The private smirk that would pop up whenever she found anything amusing. Late nights stumbling out of bars when we were younger. Mature nights of drinking wine and contemplating the humdrum duties of adulthood when we got older. The amazing ability she had to listen to every little story I told her, no matter how boring.

The thing I’ve always thought was the most painful about my bleak discovery was that Jessica was my very best friend. She knew me. She loved me. Or so I thought.

I didn’t just lose my husband that awful day. I lost my best friend. The person I called first to tell everything—good and bad.

Sometime after all was revealed to me, I asked my mother why she thought people cheated. The question was whispered, and at first I thought she hadn’t heard me.

Then she suddenly wrapped me up in her arms. She held me tighter than she’d held me as a child.

“There is no real answer,” she sighed against my temple. “Because they’re immature. Because they think they can find something better. Because they’re unhappy. But I promise you, Claire. I promise. There are plenty of people out there who don’t cheat.”

At the time, her words were little comfort. Especially when I sunk into Nick’s arms. I became a person who cheated, no matter how I tried to rationalize what I was doing.

I became Jessica.

Nick is waiting in his bedroom. Harsh sunlight hits the room from his large window. I always mean to tell him he needs to get a curtain for it.

“Well, hello,” he drawls, and I realize he’s drunk.

I scan his face and then sit beside him. “I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch.”

“Are you really,” he says flatly.

“I think I’m facing some kind of breakdown,” I admit. “I’m not sure if it’s bad or good.”

“I think breakdown automatically suggests it’s something bad.” He gives me a hard look but I can tell he’s softening. “I worried about you, you know.”

“I know.”

And I do. I’ve read the texts and I can see it in his eyes. That doesn’t make it any easier.

“You are going to break up with me, aren’t you?” It’s not really a question.

“No.”

“Yes, you are. You and Jess, fascinated by him. Not sure why. He was always my buddy but he never struck me as...” He pulls a beer from somewhere and chugs it.

I sigh and take it from him. “I’m not breaking up with you, but we never weretogether, were we? I think we’d be a terrible match. I’m a mess and you’re chugging beer at 10am.”

He wipes his mouth. “It’s almost 11.”

“Nick. We’re both fucked up.”

“By the same people,” he emphasizes. His eyes stare over at me and I can feel the familiar draw. “Have you forgotten?”

“No.”

“Then why do you stay in this stupid, fucked up marriage? Fuck, Claire. I would have been out of there the first chance I got.”

“Easy for you to say,” I bite back quickly. I didn’t give myself a chance to think my comment over, and now it stings. The air between us changes.

“You love him?”

“Not really,” is all I can offer. “What is a polite way of saying your situation is different from mine because Jessica is dead? I can’t think of one. But it is different. People change because of life-threatening events, and you might still love Jessica but she’s not walking around this house every day reminding you of it.”

He touches my thigh and I hate myself for loving it. “I think you’re underestimating me.”

“Nick...”

“Don’t. Don’t start giving me a whole load of garbage about how this is wrong or that I don’t get you. I get you, Claire. I might be the only one who does.” Nick leans over to kiss me. His other hand grazes my breasts. “Please. Don’t forget how this feels.”

“I haven’t,” I admit.

I hate him for it.

“No?” He grins against my throat. “Thank God.”

His mouth travels down. He pulls my shirt up over my head before I can think of the words to persuade him otherwise. Then he tongues my nipple and all coherent thought is gone. My head tips back as I feel him reach into my panties. He fingers me, knowing all of the right places and the very best speeds.

“I need this,” he says, just the littlest bit of desperation evident in his voice. Joy, my lovely therapist, comes to mind. What had she said about him? That I was morphine to his pain? I almost push him away; my body betrays me and I hold him closer.

“Me, too.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.”

He pushes me down on the bed. He kisses up my chest, over my throat, and finally lands on my mouth. He pushes inside me at the same time. My soaked pussy opens to him. I wrap my thighs around his and meet each thrust with a push of my hips.

He pulls back so that we’re forehead to forehead. We both pant against each other’s wet lips, and our eyes burn into each other’s.

Nick fucks me harder, playing with my clit as he pushes deeper inside.

“Nick,” I moan urgently. My eyes close.

He nibbles my neck. “I’m going to cum.”

“Yes. Please.”

“You want me to cum in you?”

I try to take a deep breath but the pleasure is too much. “Fuck.”

There is a smile in his voice when he said, “I’m sorry, I can’t understand you.”

“Yes.”

He straightens my arms out and picks up his pace. “Open your eyes.”

His naked lust greets me and I know I’m going to cum soon, too. “I’m close.”

He kisses me again, his mouth hot and wet. “Cum with me.”

I can feel his cock grow and jerk. Then I tighten on his cock as I feel the amount of warm cum released inside me. I lift my hips up to match his. We both growl into each other’s mouths as our orgasms end.

He falls off of my body and we both look up at his ceiling. We don’t speak for what feels like ages.

“Are you going home?” he asks as the sky finally begins to darken.

My body has cooled and I just feel empty and confused.

I look over at him but his gaze is fixed above. “Do you really want me to stay, Nick?”

“Sure.”

“What would happen if I did?”

His head turns and he blinks. “What do you mean?”