Mia has zero experience with babies—one of her fears when she found out she was pregnant—she’s repulsed by what she’s just seen.
“Okay, all done.” I smile at baby Madeline, cooing as she lets out a small yawn. “You were saying?”
“The boys went to a sex club on Saturday night, and Drew was there with that girl he works with, Storm or something. Nothing happened, at least I don’t think so. Troy left because he was annoyed, and Drew had been drinking,” she says it in one breath, staring back at me with sorrow.
“Raine,” I choke, holding the baby to distract the tiny stabs stinging my already-fragile heart. “What do you mean by sex club?”
“They watch people having sex. I know, Troy’s a fucking idiot.” Mia instantly covers her mouth. “Crap! I just swore in front of the baby. This isn’t good parenting…”
I ignore her rambling. Unbeknown to her, there’s a loud explosion. My heart—completely shattered—has broken to pieces. The thoughts swirling around my uncooperative brain make no sense.
What does this mean?
He had sex with her?
He watched people have sex with her?
Why the fuck was she even there!
Mia taps my arm. “Zoey, are you okay?”
“No. Mia. I’m not okay.” I stand up, handing the baby back to Mia, putting on a fake smile. “I have to go.”
“Zoey, wait. Drew would never do that to you. There has to be an explanation. He just wouldn’t,” she rushes, fighting back the tears that cloud her already-tired eyes.
I lean in and kiss her forehead—this isn’t her problem. She has a loving husband—albeit a dickhead for taking Drew to a sex club—and a beautiful baby. I am many things, but a selfish friend is not one of them.
I take my business outside of her room walking out to the hall to catch the tight breath I’ve been holding in. I can barely walk, my head dizzy, the hallway swaying as if I am sitting on an amusement ride called ‘Zoey’s fucked-up love life.’
And then, I see him, with her, and the image says everything.
It might be nothing to anyone else, but to me, it’s the man I love smiling and happy with the girl who has stolen him from me, resting her head against his arm.
It’s premature for me to think she’s stolen him when maybe all along it was his intention. You can’t steal what can’t be stolen.
I confront him but can barely think straight and therefore say relatively nothing. My eyes are desperate to look at her, berate her for being such a whore. And it’s déjà vu all over again—Callie blowing Jess in his workshop—a moment that scarred me in so many ways and tarnished my ability to trust the ones I love.
Raine’s everything I’m not—young, smart, and beautiful. Yet, it doesn’t matter, my ego would have been bruised if she was old, dumb, and fat. Someone else makes him smile, and it’s no longer me.
Drew follows me outside swearing nothing happened. Ironic, since I had said the same words to him only days ago when he refused to listen to me. He made his mind up without hearing my side of the story. So why should I treat him any different?
The more he talks, the more we argue. It’s clear that communicating is something we have trouble with. He rambles on about the wedding, blaming me for letting it driv
e a wedge between us. I can tolerate many things but accusing me of doing something wrong when all along my intentions are to make him happy, angers me beyond words.
I give it to him, all my thoughts wrapped up in one clusterfuck of a mess. He stands there staring back at me like the old Drew. The one who doesn’t love Zoey Richards. The Drew with his head so far up his ass along with the string of women who used to follow him.
Manwhore Drew is a selfish prick and never wanted to settle down with one woman.
And the joke’s on me.
I tried to make him something he isn’t, and I’ve failed miserably.
Removing the ring from my finger is like pulling dead weight, a move so painful but necessary at this moment. Of course, his stubborn ass refuses to accept it back pushing my hand away in a frenzy of panic.
It’s just like a scene in a movie with me walking away as the man I love stands amongst the crowd, head bowed attempting to control his emotions. As I walk away, I keep my head high as a sign of respect to myself. Why? Because the pain is rapidly eating away at me, and I’m terrified beyond words that I will collapse right here in front of the world to be judged and ridiculed.
‘Zoey, the stupid idiot for trusting her heart.’