“Kelly.”
I am a patient person, I am a patient person…
“I know you were trying to protect me back then,” I say quietly, “and now. I appreciate it. But I’m a big girl. I can take it. You can tell me what happened. You should tell me what happened. Whatever you saw…”
His flinch tells me I’m dead on.
“Tell me, or I’ll try to read it in your palm,” I say teasingly. It’s one of my favorite threats. I totally believe in the power of palm-reading and lifelines, although I myself don’t have the gift, and it’s one of my favorite activities when I want to make crap up. Mark’s, um, not so fond of it.
But instead of smiling or answering the question, he merely starts to walk around me toward the driver’s side.
“Hey.” I grab his sleeve. “What’s going on here?”
“Drop it. It’s in the past.”
“Obviously not. You just punched a guy. Whatever happened back then is still eating at you, and not just because of me.”
“You’re my friend, and he cheated on you. I’m allowed to get pissed.”
“Call-him-bad-names pissed, not hit-him pissed. Not for that.”
“I don’t—”
“Did he cheat on me with Erika?”
His head snaps back, and I know I’ve got it right. I always suspected but never pushed. Now I’m sort of wishing I had.
He runs a hand over his face. “I saw them. In my bed.”
My eyes go wide, because even though I knew it was coming, hearing him say it is so much worse.
See, Doug and I might have been casual.
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As I’ve mentioned, Mark and Erika were not.
Right around the time Doug and I got together, Mark took a big step with Erika, who was his girlfriend at the time. He’d asked her to move in with him. (Yes, this is the same Erika who still has a key.)
“I caught your boyfriend with my girlfriend,” he snaps. “Happy now that you have the whole story?”
“No, I’m not happy,” I snap back. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
His expression is classic guy: uncomfortable. “I didn’t—” He shoves his hands back into his pockets and rolls his shoulders. “I didn’t want you to be upset.”
“But you told me he cheated. Why not just tell me the whole story?”
“I figured the fewer details the better. I already knew firsthand that having an actual mental picture of your significant other cheating is a hell of a lot different than coping with the concept.”
I feel a fierce stab of anger at what he had to see, and about what he’s been carrying around. I step forward and wrap my arms around him, pressing my cheek to his chest. “I’m sorry.”
I feel him shrug. “It was a long time ago.”
“Yeah, but you loved her. It had to suck.”
He’s still for a long moment, then his arms lift and he slowly returns the hug. “That’s not why it sucked.”
I frown, not following. “What?”