The Real(71)

“Gone too,” I said, snatching the bottle from his grip and finishing it off before I spoke. “Turns out they were working together.”

Max stood speechless, a first for him.

“I know,” I said with a dry laugh, pulling two beers from my fridge.

“You have the worst luck of any pretty boy I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah,” I said, tossing the beer caps into my sink and handing one of the bottles to him. “I thought my luck was turning.”

“Apparently, you need Jesus,” he said, taking a swig.

“Trust me, he won’t listen, either.” Max eyed my chin.

“Damn, we’re a mess. It’s like we’re back in college again, screwed up little boys instead of grown men.” I didn’t have an ounce of argument until his eyes trailed over my face.

“Stop looking at me that way, man. If it was anyone else, you would have asked me how he looked.”

“But it wasn’t a he, it was your wife.”

“I’m telling you now to let it go.”

“I always hated her. She was such a pretentious bitch. Just tell me why you let her do it.”

“Why I let her?” I sneered. “I never let her do shit,” I said, taking a long sip. “And I’m not talking about it.”

“So, what now?”

“Am I’m supposed to have a plan for this? It’s over,” I said, hating the words, wishing them back and away from me. But it felt over. It felt more than over.

“She loves you. It’s so obvious.”

“I don’t want a pep talk, all right? This is so much more than that. There’s no fix. I fucked it up permanently. And don’t bother to say I told you so.”

He took a sip of his beer. “I wouldn’t.”

“Then you can stay.” Max stared at me from across the island.

I took a sip of beer, careful to avoid the cut on my lip. “Tell me about Rachel.”

Max shook his head. “Sorry, but I’m calling bullshit. I can’t let this go, man. I know that’s what you want, but I’m pretty fucking pissed off. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call someone and report this shit right now.”

My retort was instant. “Because you’ll end our friendship.”

“It will save you from a messy divorce. Cameron, you can’t let her get away with this.”

“Let it go. It’s over.”

Max ran his hands through his hair as he weighed my words. “She took advantage of the fact you wouldn’t hit her back. I know you, Cameron, but this isn’t chivalry. This isn’t you being the bigger man.”

“If you give a damn about me, you’ll listen to what I’m about to say. I left her. Our relationship is over. She’s no longer a part of my life. Drop it and never mention this again.”

Max nodded. I walked over to my closet and pulled out a pillow and blanket tossing them on the couch before I slammed my bedroom door behind me.




I didn’t sleep. Instead, I stared at the ceiling until the sun lit my bedroom. Half the night, I tried to figure out how I would move on after what we had, the other half I had to resist the urge to go to her.

We were never strangers. The largest piece of me had recognized her as home. But even if I’d made it to her door, I had zero defense. And part of me was furious she’d touched me in a way I never expected. In a way I couldn’t press past.

“Cameron,” Max said at my door.

“Yeah, man,” I said, sitting up, my head splitting in half as I moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

Max stared at the floor. “I’m still fucking pissed off and you look like shit.”

I grinned. “I love you too, man.”

“I’m heading out.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m not playing ball today. I’m too hungover and I have work to do.”

“By work, do you mean Rachel?”

“Hell yes, I’m not going to end up like you. Mid-thirties, ugly, and alone. But I’ll be back later.”

“What in the hell for?”

“Someone has to keep you drunk.”

“Some would argue that that’s not being a friend but an enabler.”

“Some would say I know better for you and others can suck my cock.” He grinned spitefully and shut the door behind him with a thud.

I was still kicking myself for admitting it to him. The Band-Aid had been pulled off, but I never told a soul about Kat’s abuse. Even when I was going through it, I was in a constant state of denial that she meant to hurt me. I knew the woman attacking me wasn’t the woman I married. That was my frame of mind at the time.

It was the day I realized it was Kat that I left. And a few months after that to fully leave her emotionally. The rest of the time I was trying to make sure she didn’t hurt herself or anyone else. And damn near every time I went to help her, she attacked me verbally or otherwise. It was a vicious cycle, but I could never bring myself to report it, to report her and it was mostly because I didn’t want to admit it to anyone, let alone a lawyer or any fucking judge. I’m six-foot-three with an athlete’s build. I dwarfed Kat in size. It was a ridiculous notion that she could do so much damage.