Every Time I Fall (Orchid Valley 3)

But she has a reason to think she should still text you like that. I back toward the door. “I just can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

I fumble with my keys to get into the house, but he doesn’t try to stop me.

Shutting the front door behind me, I lean back against it and sink to the floor, my body desperate to catch up to my heart. I knew this would hurt.

I don’t know how long I stay there, but after a while, my phone buzzes in my purse over and over again. I turn it off without looking at the messages and crawl in bed.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Abbi

I’m dragging when I get to work the next day, but when I sit down at my desk, I force myself to unlock my phone and read the messages waiting for me. I look at the screen through blurry eyes.

Dean: I don’t know exactly what you saw or how, but I wanted to make sure you had the full picture. Here are screenshots of every text I’ve exchanged with Amy since before I first kissed you. I don’t want to be with her. I want to be with you. But we need to talk about this.

Beneath that message are images of exactly what he promised: screenshots of the texts between him and Amy. Evidence that he didn’t reciprocate, that he even tried to shut her down.

“Abbi,” Layla says, peeking her head into my office. The look of concern on her face tells me that my misery is apparent on mine. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I have a client here who wanted to get the chef’s take on their menu choices for their reception next month.”

I shove my phone in my purse and my thoughts of Dean to the back of my mind. I can’t figure this out right now anyway.

I make it through my brief meeting with Layla’s bride and groom, working on autopilot as I agree that, yes, chicken is served at a lot of weddings but that it’s generally a crowd pleaser, too. After I leave them, I start my prep work in the kitchen, but I can’t concentrate and am flat-out miserable, thinking about those texts.

I should’ve let him talk. I shouldn’t have assumed the worst without hearing Dean out. As much as it might hurt to show him my heart and put my feelings out there, that’s what I need to do. This is why seeing that text hurt me. This is why I think we might have something worth fighting for.

I excuse myself from work early. I can trust the staff to keep things running smoothly through the Friday dinner rush, even though I’d normally never ask them to.

Friday and Saturday nights are part of the job, but I have something more important tonight. I stop at the store and grab everything I need to make salad, lasagna, and garlic bread. My mom always says you need carbs if you wanna hash out something big. I pull up to his house before five. I don’t think he’s been getting home until closer to six lately, so I send him a quick text so he knows to expect me.

Abbi: I’m at your place. I’m going to make us dinner and we’ll talk. I’m sorry I thought the worst.

When I let myself in the front door with the key he gave me, I find it already unlocked. I glance toward the drive, but there’s no sign of his truck. Maybe he just forgot to lock it this morning. But when I step inside, I see Trixie’s outside, jumping up on the sliding glass door on the opposite side of the living room.

Has she been locked out all day?

“I’m in the bedroom,” a woman calls out. I know that voice.

My stomach pitches, and when it settles back down, dread and a sick understanding settle with it.

I drop the bags of groceries in the foyer and follow the sound of Amy’s voice to Dean’s bedroom.

The sight that greets me is even worse than what I imagined. Amy’s sprawled out on top of the gray comforter, completely nude except for a pair of lacy panties and matching black heels.

Dean and I slept together under that comforter just two nights ago. On Monday, he wrapped me in it when I was wet from the shower and shivering. And on Tuesday he didn’t even get his shirt off before he spread me out on it so he could drop to his knees beside the bed and kiss me between my legs.

I never thought about who else he’d had on that comforter. Never thought anyone else would find her way there again but me. Idiot.

“Abbi,” Amy says, jumping out of bed and grabbing her robe off the chair.

The sound of my name snaps me out of my horror-induced paralysis, and I spin around and run for the front door. I feel her behind me.