The Affair

Chapter 23.2

Saturday, July 23, 2022, 8:38am

William jerks suddenly, snapping from a bad dream. Consciousness has a price. He gives a long-winded groan through his exhale, hands at his face to cup his forehead. The headache is visceral, but any nausea must have been slept off by how stable he feels.

He yawns, stretching out his arms, feeling a body next to him. His head flicks over, eyes snapping open. Two plastic eyes greet him, a glossy amber, stitched into the the head of a stuffed wolf.

A scared noise slips from his throat, like a man seeing a real wolf in his bed. He throws back the blanket and is up in a second. The mound in bed stirs, revealing a dainty arm from under the covers. A woman sits up, face hidden by brunette locks until she turns to him.

"Fallon?" is all he can say, the following words broken and meaningless.

Her head tilts with a pretty smile. "Morn'n, sir!" She crawls a touch closer, sitting up on her knees, butt seated on her heels. "How's your head? Kinda looks like you drank a lot last night."

He doesn't respond right away, just stares at her. He traces his steps in his mind, hoping to recall something that would clue him in on how in the hell Fallon is here, in his damn bed, on June's side. It's all fuzzy, and the ache at his temples does him no favors.

"My poor daddy..." Fallon says, seeing his struggle.

Closer she crawls, rising on her knees to meet his face. She kisses him like a statue, arms hooking around his neck. He stands frozen, stiff and dazed, but she doesn't seem to mind.

She pulls back, batting green eyes. "Water and tylenol are on the table. Give me a couple minutes and I'll have your coffee ready. Then we can talk about breakfast!"

Her bare feet plap against the floor as she trots away, growing fainter as he heads downstairs. It's quiet in the room now. On the nightstand is two water bottles, and two white pills. He twists off a cap, downing the pills, downing the bottle in a single pull.

Grabbing the second, he heads for the bathroom. Water hisses from the tap, cold and refreshing as he splashes it against his face. He cleans away the oils and pats his skin dry. His eyes find the man in the mirror—and it's not a pretty sight.

He groans as his skull tightens. "What the hell is going on? When did she even get here?" he thinks, cutting the water.

Every bad scenario threatens his thoughts, each one leading to June coming home and finding Fallon. His stomach folds at the thought. The house would turn into a full-blown category five hurricane. Fallon's fate would be sealed, and so would his.

He leaves the bathroom fresher than before. His phone shows the call records from last night—several calls from Fallon around 11:00pm, the last one he actually answered.

Nothing from June. Still.

Fallon appears around the corner, balancing a mug of coffee like a waitress on her first day. Carefully, she sets it on the nightstand.

"Sorry, sir. I kinda overfilled it," she stammers, giggling behind the words.

She always does, and it's never an issue. "It's fine, hon," he says, lifting the mug to his lips. It's hot, fresh, slightly milky, with a touch of sweetness.

An awkward tension lingers. Fallon just stands there, watching him with half a smile.

"Fallon... The coffee is perfect," he adds with a lilt.

She nods, nibbling on her bottom lip. "Um... Sir, about last night," she starts, voice cautious, like a child with a request. "So, like... I came over like you asked me to... It was pretty late, you know, a-and you weren't around when I walked in. Uh... So, I walked upstairs." Her eyes try to meet his but retreat almost instantly. "There was, um... A gun. On the stairs."