“You want to go out?” Nash asked me after we’d both showered.
“Not tonight. I’m going over to Sheridan’s.”
“Pussy.”
I ignored his jab, eager to get over to Sheridan’s apartment. Not only were we overdue for time alone, I planned to tell her about my autism diagnosis. I wasn’t ready to tell anyone else yet, but I wanted Sheridan to know. I didn’t think it would change the way she saw me, but still, I was nervous.
I nodded as I passed people I knew on the way out of the arena, walking quickly so hopefully no one would try to stop me to talk.
I hadn’t been inside Sheridan in more than a week; the last thing I felt like doing right now was making small talk. She’d sent me a selfie right after my game of her dressed in lingerie that had my blood pumping hard.
As soon as I opened the door to the players’ lot, photographers descended on me. I put my head down as flashes went off and questions were yelled.
“Lars, are you being charged with assault and battery for the attack at the mall?”
“Is it true that Sawyer Cain’s wife is terminally ill?”
“Does it bother you that your girlfriend is married?”
My head automatically snapped up, searching out the face of whoever had asked that last question. One photographer in particular was wide eyed, looking like he was in the process of pissing his pants.
“What did you say?” I asked him.
“I’m sure you already know Sheridan Lee is married,” he said. “How do you feel about that?”
“She is not. I dare you to say one more word about her.” I narrowed my eyes at him and he stared back silently.
I stormed off toward my SUV, fucking done with the vultures that stalked me these days. Didn’t they have anything better to do?
I’d made it about twenty feet when someone yelled out from behind me.
“She is married, though! She’s been married to Hugh Archman for the past ten years.”
I turned to face the group of photographers, who immediately stopped approaching me. A couple of them started backing up.
My instinct was to defend her against the lie. Something stopped me, though. Whichever photographer had just said that had Hugh’s name. That gave me pause.
Either they were trying to provoke a reaction, or…I couldn’t even wrap my mind around the alternative.
Was it true? Was Hugh not just Sheridan’s former agent, but also her husband?
“Hey, you,” Sheridan said, smiling and reaching up to hug me in the doorway of her apartment. “Mmm, you smell amazing.”
I hugged her back, thoughts racing through my mind. All of them ended the same way, though. Would Sheridan really lie to me about being married?
“Annie fell asleep as soon as the game ended,” she said, locking the door and then walking toward the kitchen. “We had a nice girls’ evening. I’ve got food if you’re hungry; do you want something?”
Beating around the bush wasn’t my thing. I had to know, so I just came right out with it.
“Are you married?”
The happiness melted away from Sheridan’s expression. She locked eyes with me from across the room and we just stared at each other for a couple seconds.
She walked into the living room area, looking ill. My heart raced as I waited for her to say no.
Say no, Sheridan. Fucking tell me the woman I love isn’t married to another man.
“What did you hear?” she finally asked.
“Yes or no?” I demanded.
“Yes.”
She didn’t flinch or look away as she said it. The ache in my gut felt like I’d just been punched.
“You are Hugh’s wife?” I asked, incredulous. “And you never told me?”
“I was planning to tell you last night.”
I scoffed. “Bullshit.”
“Lars, I was.”
Narrowing my eyes, I asked, “What about all the times you could have told me? The night we met?” I ran a hand through my hair, fury building in my chest. “I have been sleeping with a married woman.”
“Stop saying that!” Sheridan came toward me, her eyes flashing angrily. “We’ve been legally separated for two years.”
I felt a spark of hope as I asked, “What does that mean? Are you married or divorced?”
She hesitated before saying, “We aren’t divorced.”
“What are you, then?” I demanded.
“We are married but legally separated. We haven’t been able to agree on a divorce settlement. I’m working on it as fast as—”
“Fuck!”
I stormed toward her apartment door, needing to put distance between us. I was still reeling from my diagnosis and from Annie being so sick, and now this? My girlfriend was married, but hadn’t thought to let me know.
“We’re legally separated,” she repeated. “Lars, you don’t know how hard he’s made it. I want this divorce to go through more than anything, but he won’t—”
“You should have told me,” I said, unable to look at her.
“You’re right. I should have.”
“I am a fool.”
“Don’t say that, you didn’t—”