Before we finish, another idea strikes me. “Anyone using the cabin this weekend?”

“In the Poconos? Not me. Mira’s the only one who goes up there really, and she’s so busy with her opening, she’s not going to want to leave town. Are you thinking about going up?”

“Yeah. I think I’ll take Alayna.” The stress of the past few weeks is taking its toll on me. On her too. We need some time alone.

“Good idea. Do you need a key? I can have mine couriered over.”

I have one somewhere, but rather than try to search for it, I take him up on the offer. “Thanks. I’d appreciate it. And Dad,” I pause, not sure how to say what else it is I want to say. Finally I settle on, “Thanks for everything else too.”

After I hang up, I stare at the phone for several long minutes. After the years of tension and resentment between us, I wonder, did we just reconcile? God, is there nothing that Alayna won’t have a finger on in my life? I’m not complaining.

With Celia shit handled for the moment, thoughts return to the other major weight on my mind—Stacy. I’d had Jordan find her contact information first thing on the day after I learned about the video. Then I emailed her. And called. When she didn’t respond, I emailed and called again. Every day. My messages were, well, threatening. Finally, yesterday, she sent me the video.

Today, I’m still processing what to do with it.

I turn to my computer and open the file. I’ve watched it several times now, but I’m compelled to watch it again. It’s both worse and better than I thought it might be. It’s not exact footage of my conversations with Celia regarding Alayna, for instance. But what it does show is also damning if a person put together the pieces.

I try to see it the way Alayna would. First, she’d be hurt. It’s me kissing Celia. I wouldn’t want to watch her kiss another man, and if it were someone I knew she had a history with—David, for example—it would be so much worse. So there’s one reason why she should never see the video.

After that, she’d want to know why I was kissing Celia. I’d always said I was never in a romantic relationship with her. I wasn’t. I could say that I lied before, that Celia and I actually did have a fling. But I’ve never been a fan of lies, and that’s what it would be. If I told her the truth, that I was helping Celia with a scam, then Alayna will think I was still playing then. Even if she understands that I truly wasn’t, she won’t miss that the video takes place outside the symposium where I first saw her. She’ll know Celia was with me that night.

How far of a leap would it be for her to go from Celia and me at the symposium to Celia and me playing a game with her?

Again, it’s paranoid. But I would leap to that conclusion. I’m more analytical, sure. Still, Alayna’s smart. I wouldn’t put it past her. And that’s just a risk I can’t take.

Alayna can never see this video. Whatever I have to do, I’ll have to convince Stacy to get rid of it. It has to be destroyed.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The bar at Lester’s is much different than the type I usually frequent. There’s a pool table and darts in the back corner. The patrons wear jeans. I’m the only one in a suit, let alone a suit that probably costs the entire amount that the register will take in tonight. The music blares from an old jukebox—hits from the nineties that seem familiar. I’d prefer a live band. Jazz or a piano player would be nice. But I’m not here for the ambiance. Lester’s fulfills the two requirements I have at the moment—they have a good bottle of Scotch, and it’s only half a block away from the loft. I’ll be drunk when I leave here. Hopefully, the short distance will ensure that I pass out on my own property.

I shake my head at myself. Me, turning to liquor for comfort. It’s quite comical. To think that only yesterday I was curled up with Alayna in the mountains, making love under the stars, flirting with the topic of marriage. Tonight, I’m here. What a difference a day makes.

I’d known something was wrong the moment I’d walked into the penthouse. I found her outside on the balcony. Drunk. Ha. She’d chosen the bottle as her friend as well. I hadn’t realized the irony until right this moment, when I’ve just ordered my third this hour. We’re so alike, she and I. And so different. She’s made mistakes with us, but I fully believe hers have been with the best of intentions. I can defend my own evil ways—and I will if it comes to it—yet my excuses really hold no weight. How could I ever explain such a level of deceit?

I don’t have the answer. That’s why I’m sitting here, alone, in this fucking bar. I don’t have the answers.

She saw the video.

I have to say it over and over to remind myself that it’s not just a nightmare of what might happen, but is the actual fact of the matter now. She’s seen it. And worse, she knows the lengths I went to in order for her not to see it. I’d practically bribed Stacy to get rid of it. I’d lied to Alayna. Outright lied. I thought I’d covered my ass, that she’d never find out. I was wrong.

God, was I wrong…

So I was unprepared.

I’m usually good on my feet. Preparation isn’t mandatory. But I had no words for Alayna. Snippets of our conversation replays over and over in my mind. Looks can be deceiving, I told her. I’m not admitting anything. You haven’t figured out anything.

Fuck, I’m such an asshole. What else could I have said? Nothing. I have no answers, I said. The subject is closed.

And then…Jesus, I cringe at the memory of this…I blamed her for the lack of trust. Did I mention I’m an asshole? Worse than that. I’m a horrible person. Willing to throw her under the bus to hide what I’ve done to us. What I’m still doing to us.

The bartender checks on me. I gulp the last of my glass. “Another,” I say.

I stare dazedly into the mirror behind the bottles. The reflection that meets me looks like fucking death. What does Alayna even see in me? How does she not see me for the vile creature that I am? I don’t blame her for pushing me further tonight. I would have pushed her if the roles were reversed. Because it’s evident that I’m hiding something. I’m hiding everything. I can’t even tell her how I feel about her because it’s all tangled up in this lie. I’m drowning in this charade, and I don’t know how to get a breath.

I did the only thing I could do. I called a timeout.

A fucking timeout.

What am I supposed to do with that? Do I believe that hours away from her will help me come up with a bigger and better lie? Do I think it will give me the balls to come clean about everything? Or am I hoping that the break will make her forget all her questions? I laugh out loud at the absurdity.

“Something funny?”

The question comes from the woman on the stool to my right. I hadn’t noticed her come in. I barely notice her now. “An inside joke,” I say, dismissively. Which is stupid. I know that engaging at all, even at a minimum, only encourages more conversation.

I’m correct in my assumption.

“Tell me about it, sugar. Lola’s got a good ear.”

She refers to herself in third person. I roll my eyes.

“Come on, honey. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to talk to someone.”

I snort—the alcohol is definitely taking effect. “I’m here because I want to get loaded.”

“But that’s not all. Otherwise, you’d be drinking alone somewhere.”

I look her over now. She’s older than me, forties, I’d guess. Not bad looking. Her hair, nails and boobs are fake. Her skirt is too short, but she has nice legs.

The bartender returns with my drink, and Lola places her own order. I can tell she’s hoping I’ll offer to buy it for her. I consider it. Not because I’m thinking of hooking up with her—even if she were the hottest supermodel, I wouldn’t bang her. I’m with Alayna. Even with a timeout, I’d never be unfaithful. Besides, no one else does it for me anymore. The only woman I’ll get hard for I left in tears in my penthouse apartment. I broke her fucking heart. When I promised myself I never would. When I told her that I’d never leave. I left.