What the hell am I supposed to do with that?
Without permission, my brain takes control, reminding me of the one time in my life that I’ve worked so hard to try and forget. I squeeze my eyes shut as the memories pour in, but I can’t keep them out.
Confessing my love to Tyson.
Tyson choosing Brit over me.
The difficult memories are quickly replaced with even more painful ones, a
nd I grip my shirt over my heart as adrenaline pumps through my body.
Dallas.
The smell of stale beer and cigarettes overwhelm my senses, and for a brief second I swear I can smell Dallas’s pungent breath as he growls my ear.
My head smacking the ground.
Dallas’s cold hands, pushing and pulling, fighting and ripping—
“Harley?” Warm hands land on my shoulders, startling me, but I can’t open my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I pull on the invisible mask that I haven’t had to wear for quite some time. It feels foreign and I hate wearing it again. “Baby, are you okay? What’s wrong?” Tyson’s voice is laced with concern, and when I’m confident that my armor is firmly in place, I glance up.
“I’m okay.” I offer him the best smile I can muster, and his face relaxes a bit. “I just don’t feel all that well,” I say, dropping a hand to my stomach.
“Do you want me to get grab you a Tums?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not really heartburn, but I could use some water.” Tyson hurries away, and a tiny voice in the back my head yells at me to just get this out in the open. I take a few deep breaths, mustering up the courage, and before I know it Tyson is back.
“Here you go, babe.” Tyson drops onto a chair next to me, opens the bottle of water and slides it over to me.
I take a swig, but the cool liquid goes down rough—presumably because my heart is blocking the way—and it does nothing to assuage the nausea. My stomach rolls, warm saliva filling my mouth, and I bolt toward the bathroom and collapse on the cool tile. Hugging the porcelain, I heave as my stomach expels every last bit of breakfast I had managed to stuff down.
In a matter of seconds, my hair is whisked from my face and a soothing hand lands on my back. Tyson doesn’t say a word—he’s learned over the past couple of weeks that when I’m throwing up, the last thing I want is to be talked to. Right now, I’m especially grateful that he stays silent.
I spend the next several minutes mentally calming myself down. My stomach jerks several more times, but nothing else comes up, and when I’m certain there will be no more vomiting, I push up from the floor.
“Are you okay?” Tyson asks, offering me his hand. I nod and take it willingly as he guides me into the bedroom and toward the bed. He watches me carefully for a few seconds, and as his sympathetic eyes roam my face, I decide that I have to get everything out in the open before it continues to make me sick.
“We need to talk,” I say. Tyson’s eyes widen a fraction, and he rubs a hand along the back of his neck.
“Okay.” He nods, and his next words catch me off guard. “I need to talk to you too.” Once again my stomach rolls. I have no idea why I’m assuming the worst though. He’s never given me a reason not to trust him—at least not until now. “You go first.”
Biting my lip, I contemplate the best way to go about this … and then I realize that I shouldn’t be nervous. He’s the one that’s keeping secrets.
“Where were you after work yesterday?”
Tyson quickly averts his eyes before looking back at me. I know—I just know—that if he lies to me, it’ll break every ounce of trust that I have in him.
“I was with Brit.”
My heart races inside my chest, and I shove away from the table, causing my chair to topple over. “You lied to me,” I hiss.
“No.” Tyson’s eyes nearly bug out of his head and he stands up. “I didn’t lie to you—”
“Yes.” I nod. “Yes, you did. You got home from work, I asked you how your day was and you told me all about what happened at the hospital. You never once mentioned Brit. Why didn’t you tell me about her?” I ask, my voice getting louder and my words faster by the second. “Are you fucking her?”
Tyson flinches as though I just slapped him. Funny, because right now I’d really like to slap him. “What? No! Absolutely not. How could you think that?”
“Well, what the hell do you expect me to think? I looked at your phone and there it wa—”