The Invitation by Vi Keeland(88)
“The man she was sleeping with, she wrote that he was your best friend.”
My face wrinkled. “Jack?”
“She never says his name, but she refers to him with the letter J... And...” Stella swallowed once more and took a deep breath. “Lexi doesn’t know who the father is.”
I had to be in some serious denial, because I had no idea what the hell she was talking about. “Father of who? What do you mean?”
Stella’s lip trembled. “Charlie. She doesn’t know who Charlie’s father is. She was sleeping with both of you at the time she was conceived.”
***
Until a week ago, I’d felt like I had the world by the balls. I remember watching my little girl cook me dinner with the woman I was crazy about—the two of them laughing and smiling—and thinking how right everything finally felt after so long. And now…it felt like the world had me by the balls.
At first, I didn’t believe it. Not that Lexi wasn’t capable of doing that type of shit, but I couldn’t believe my best friend was. At a very minimum, that part had to be wrong. J could stand for a thousand names; there was no way Jack would do that to me.
But when I was on my third scotch, sitting at a bar where I’d met my buddy countless times, I remembered a particular Valentine’s Day years ago. I’d been up in Boston on business for a few days. My flight home had been scheduled for the evening. I’d told Lexi I’d take her out to dinner when I got home, but I’d finished up early and decided to take a midday flight and surprise her. When I walked in, Jack had been in our apartment. I remember having a fleeting uneasy feeling, but then Jack had said he’d asked Lexi to go shopping with him to buy his new girlfriend—now his wife—a gift for Valentine’s Day. He’d said she loved emeralds and remembered Lexi had a necklace with one, so he’d figured she would be able to help him pick out a quality stone for a ring. I’d honestly thought nothing more about it—this was my wife and my best friend, for fuck’s sake.
A few years later, I’d sat across from Lexi in my attorney’s office. She had her hands folded on the conference room table, and I noticed an enormous emerald sparkling on her finger. Our negotiations had gotten contentious by that point, so I’d made a comment about her ridiculous spending and motioned to the ring. She’d flashed a wicked smile and said she’d had it for years—a gift from a man who actually appreciated her. I’d never seen the ring before, but Lexi had a shitload of jewelry, so again, I chalked it up to nothing and my ex just trying to get under my skin.
Rattling the ice cubes that had barely had a chance to melt in my glass, I decided to make a call. I didn’t give a fuck if it was 2:30 in the morning.
A groggy woman’s voice answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Do you have an emerald ring?”
“Hudson? Is that you?”
I heard a man’s voice grumble in the background, but couldn’t make out what he’d said.
“Yeah, it’s Hudson, Alana.”
“It’s the middle of the night.”
“Can you just tell me if you have an emerald ring?”
“I don’t understand…”
My voice boomed. “Just fucking answer the question. Do you or do you not have an emerald ring from your husband?”
“No, I don’t. But what’s going on, Hudson? Is everything okay?”
Alana must’ve covered the phone, because I heard muffled voices, and then a few seconds later, my supposed best friend came on the line. “Hudson? What the hell is going on?”
“Your wife doesn’t have a fucking emerald ring.”
“Are you drunk?”
I ignored him. Whether I was drunk or not didn’t change the facts. “You know who does have a fucking emerald ring?”
“What are you talking about?”
“My ex-wife. That’s who has the fucking emerald ring. The one you told me you went shopping to get for your new girlfriend when I came home from Boston early.”
The line went quiet for a moment. Eventually, Jack cleared his throat. “Where are you?”
“The bar down the block from your house. Get your scrawny ass down here, or I’ll be at your apartment in ten minutes.” Without waiting for a response, I hung up and tossed my phone on the bar. Then I held up my empty glass to the bartender. “I’ll take another.”
***
Jack said nothing as he settled himself on the stool next to me.
I couldn’t even look at him. My voice was eerily calm as I stared down into my glass. “How could you?”
He didn’t immediately respond. For a moment, I thought he was going to try to play dumb, or worse, deny it—but at least he gave me that much respect.
“I wish I had an answer to that question,” he said, “other than I’m a fucking piece of shit.”
I scoffed and brought my drink to my lips. “Probably the first honest thing I’ve heard out of your mouth in years.”
Jack raised his hand for the bartender and ordered a double scotch. We waited until his glass was filled to continue.
“How long?” I asked.
He sucked back half of his glass and set it down on the bar. “About a year.”
“Were you in love with her, at least?”