Roommate Arrangement (Divorced Men's Club #1)(20)

He rubs the back of his neck. “It’s just a spare room.”

“It’s so much more than that, and you know it.”

“Okay.” He bites his lip like he’s trying to hold back another question. It doesn’t work. “Since I’m a lifesaver, can I ask another personal question?”

“The last few weren’t enough for you?”

“I’m very, very curious.” His innocent expression has a mischievous tinge to it that has me folding like a clipped hurdle.

“Fine. One question.”

“Oooh, we could make a game of it. One question per day.”

“I’m not sure I’m interesting enough to get more than a week out of that game, but go for it.”

His excitement dims slightly as he drums his fingers on the coffee table we’re eating at. Then his blue eyes collide with mine. “How did you find out?”

I cringe, automatically reaching up to rub my chest. There’s a sting there, but it feels more like betrayal than loss now. “You want me to reopen that wound, huh?”

“Okay, maybe let’s skip that question. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

The odd thing is, though, I don’t mind. I tap Beau’s forearm to cut off his apologies and then smile. “Well, you already know the condensed version. I caught him red-handed, smashed his laptop, and took off out of Boston before he was done teaching for the day.”

“And now the real version?”

The real version is something I’ve been trying to forget, but Beau asking doesn’t feel weird. It doesn’t make me angry or embarrassed, only resigned.

“The real reason is I was sent a link to his OnlyFans page and found two years’ worth of video evidence of him cheating on me.”

Beau’s eyes shoot wide and make me feel vindicated. “Two … years?”

“Yup. Who knows how much longer it was happening though.” And for some reason, I’m hit with this stupid, reckless urge. The same urge that slams me in the face late at night when I pull up his page and force myself through one of the damn videos. “Can I show you?”

Beau’s clearly surprised, probably because of how closed off I’ve been about it all, and now I suddenly want to drag him into it.

“Porn?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Starring your ex-husband?”

I screw up my face. “You’re right, that’s weird.”

“No. It’s … yes. Show me. As long as you’re, you know, okay with it.”

“Truthfully, the day I found out isn’t the only time I’ve seen it.”

He tilts his head. “What, you watch it?”

“Whenever I’m scared I might go back.”

“Don’t.” The word is soft and hesitant, but I catch it in the quiet.

“It’s not like I want to. I’m … weak.”

“Excuse me?”

I rub my jaw, not used to talking about feelings like this. “Sometimes. It’s been a big change, you know?”

“Okay, I hated him before, and then I hated him again for doing this to you, and now I hate him a bit more for making you doubt that you’re a strong, badass motherfucker. Where’s this porn?”

I blink at Beau, hardly prepared for that little outburst. Instead of commenting on how much I appreciate it, I pull out my phone. Then I navigate to the account I’m still subscribed to and try to ignore how the number of subscribers has only increased since I posted my video.

I like to pretend that doesn’t hurt.

Beau takes my phone, and before he clicks on the first video, he glances at me. “You sure about this?”

“It’s fine. I’ve watched that one enough times I’ve desensitized myself to it.”

His thumb hovers over it a couple of seconds more. “Fine.” He hits Play.

I try not to hurl.

It’s one thing to watch this privately and feel humiliated, it’s another to watch Beau’s face as he watches it and see the horrified expressions play out. He looks disgusted. Shocked. Angry. When the sound of skin slapping together as they fuck plays out through the speakers, Beau closes the video and sets my phone on the table in front of us.

To my surprise, his eyes are glassy. He swallows, frown deep, eye contact unwavering.

“That is so completely fucking unacceptable. I—” He growls, and then he grabs me and yanks me into a hug. His arms close tight around my shoulders, and something inside me snaps.

Lizzy and Marty have both hugged me since, and so have the girls, but none of them felt like this. Like Beau’s trying to force my shattered pieces back together.

I don’t cry, but I want to.

Instead, I grip him to me, not wanting to let go.

All the anger and embarrassment I’ve been living with loses hold on me, and for the first time since, I have … hope. Like things can actually get better.

“You deserve so much more than that loser could ever give you,” he says.

I drop my forehead to his shoulder. “Thanks.”

He clears his throat, and when he pulls back, I force myself to release him.

“I think you should unsubscribe,” he says.

A few minutes ago, I would have argued, even though I know he’s right. Instead, I pick up my phone.