I didn’t go to work today. For the first time in years, I called in sick. It’s not a lie. I’ve been nauseous since I woke up this morning. Nauseous and heartsick. Guilt pools like battery acid, corrosive in my stomach and dread coils like barbwire in my throat. It hurts to swallow, and I can barely breathe.

The worst part is that in my dreams, I still couldn’t shake Jared. I want to hate him. To forget him. To ignore him, but nothing works. He’s embedded in my head, insinuated himself under my skin. Sunk into my bones. I still feel him, a phantom moving inside me. I want to compartmentalize. To consign Jared to a corner while I address this disaster with Zo, but it doesn’t work that way. Memories of him, of us together, saturate every moment. Even the ones while I wait for Zo to come home.

“Hola.” Zo drops his bag and walks over to the couch where I’m seated, legs tucked under me.

“Hola.” Genuine pleasure makes me smile. Despite what’s about to happen, I’m glad to see him.

“I missed you.” He pulls me up from the couch, muscular arms wrapping around my waist. His lips descend, but I turn my head at the last minute so his kiss lands on my cheek. I can’t. Not with this secret, this unspeakable betrayal between us.

“Banner?” He draws back, his expression puzzled, concerned. “¿Qué pasa?”

“Nothing,” I answer out of habit, so used to things being right. So used to being fine and able to handle whatever problem I’m facing. But I created this problem, and there’s no fixing. “That’s not true.”

His frown deepens, concern in his touch. I relish it because I know it won’t last.

“Sit.” I gesture to the couch. After the briefest of hesitations, he does, and I join him. “I have to tell you something.”

“Okay.” He touches my knee. “Just tell me, Bannini.”

The words wait in my throat, a lit match suspended over gasoline. I think that’s the only way I’ll get them out, if they burn through my skin and singe the air.

“I . . .” I lick my lips, shallow breathing through this moment charged with anxiety and shame. “Zo, I . . .”

A sob combusts in my chest and into the tension of the room.

“Baby, what?” Zo cups my face, pushing my hair back with one hand. “What the hell? Did someone hurt you? Are you—”

“I slept with someone else.”

He goes completely still, and the only sound in the room is the tortured hiccup of my breathing as I struggle to contain the sobs. I want to withdraw and lick my self-inflicted wounds, but that cowardice isn’t an option. Not with Zo staring at me, stunned. His hands tighten around my face, and for a moment I think all that strength will be used to crush my bones. Maybe he feels that violent urge because he drops his hands from my face like I’ve burned him, like he’s afraid of what he’ll do if he keeps touching me. He walks to stand by the mantle over my fireplace, turned away. In the silence after his hands leave me, one word slithers into my ears and under my skin.

Whore.

That’s what I called Kenan’s cheating wife. So easy to say, to stand in judgment when you think you’re immune. I’ve always resisted every temptation, but nothing prepared me for Jared.

I hazard a glance up to where Zo still stands, elbows propped on the mantle between keepsakes and photos of my family. His head rests in his hands. The snow globe he brought from Vancouver, a winter sunset ending a fairy-tale day, mocks me from its prized position.

“Please, say something,” I beg softly, breaking the taut silence.

His shoulders stiffen, and for a second, I think all he’ll give me is the proud line of his back, but then he looks at me, his face an ice sculpture carved in sharp, cold lines. My tears have always been his weakness, but the hot tears pouring from my eyes won’t melt the frozen terrain of his face. It’s a tundra. Desolate.

“¿Cómo pudiste hacerme esto?” he asks, his voice hoarsened with emotion. “A nosotros?”

How could you do this to me? To us?

“Zo, lo siento mucho!”

I’m so sorry.

“Sorry?” His harsh laugh mangles the air. “You’re sorry?”

His face twists into a mask of his fury. With a roar, he grabs the snow globe and hurls it across the room. The heavy marble base dents the wall, and the dome shatters, an explosion of glass and liquid and snow splattering the surface. I flinch and draw in a sharp, shocked breath. I know Zo won’t hurt me, but it’s an act of violence, killing the tenderness that has existed between us for a decade.

No, Zo didn’t kill it. I did. With my selfishness. With my weakness.

“You fuck someone else,” he rasps, breathing heavily like his rage is wearing him out. “And you offer me an apology? You share your body, share your . . .”

His words falter, and there’s a question in his voice. In the tortured lines of his face. “Share your heart? Do you . . . you love this man, Banner?”

Tags: Kennedy Ryan Hoops Romance
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