Broken Rules

Chapter One

Have you ever thought about what it would be like to find your significant other cheating on you? Have you wondered how it would actually feel, what you would do, and how you'd respond?

Would you be like Renée Zellweger from Bridget Jones's Diary, in her ridiculous bunny costume, shocked and embarrassed? Or maybe you'd be like Zooey Deschanel's character from New Girl, surprising him in a trench coat only to find another woman walking out of his bedroom. Or like that one scene from The Wolf of Wall Street, when Leonardo DiCaprio's wife catches him with Margot Robbie in the back of a car. Rage slapping and yelling.

For me, well, it's a little bit of all these reactions combined – Renée's shock, Zooey's confusion, and Leo's wife's anger – all intertwined into one overwhelming experience.

But mostly just shock.

"Oh god, Beckett, faster!" A woman's voice echoes through the closed bedroom door as I find myself standing in front of it. It's the door to our bedroom, in the apartment he convinced me to move into two months ago.

I think my body might be frozen because I can't seem to move my limbs. I can feel the panic surging through me. My brain urging me to take some sort of action, to do something—anything. But I'm paralyzed. I should confront them, burst into the room, or even just walk away.

"Fuck, Cierra. Always so fucking needy," Beckett says to her.

I take a sharp breath in through my teeth and shake my head slightly. I never imagined something like this would happen to me. Not me, Juniper Jenkins. I consider myself a good person. I follow the speed limit and recycle my plastics. I mean, I even clean out the microwave at work when it gets too messy. I am a good person.

So to find my boyfriend of two years – a boyfriend who has told me he loves me. A boyfriend whom I go to weekly family dinners with – it's shocking.

"I'll be right back," I hear him say muffled through the walls. His footsteps pad their way over to the door, towards me. And I suddenly panic. I start scanning the living room, torn between darting for the front door or hiding behind the couch, but I'm glued to the floor.

And then the door swings open, snapping my attention back up to him. He's standing there, completely naked, his chiseled footballer's physique glistening with perspiration, blonde hair tousled. His erection erect, and for some reason, somewhat smaller than I remember. I think maybe it always has been, but I've never wanted to admit it; after all, he is my boyfriend.

Or I guess was.

"Juniper," he says, his eyes widening as he spots me. He quickly covers himself with both his hands.

I glance from him to peer through the door that's slightly ajar into our room, where a woman quickly pulls my green toile sheets, the ones I bought from Urban Outfitters when we moved in, up to cover her body. I had asked Beckett if they were too girly, but he had been distracted on his phone when he said he didn't care. Now I'm wondering if he was distracted by texting her.

She looks between me and the back of Beckett, her face tinting a shade of pink. She's pretty. Blonde-haired and blue-eyed. A stark contrast to my chestnut brown hair and light brown eyes. I've always thought women with blonde hair were prettier; they always seem more interesting, more beautiful. Apparently, Beckett thinks so too.

He quickly steps back to reach the door and shuts it closed, as if he thinks shutting the door will hide the fact that I just saw her in our bed, naked.

He clears his throat. "What are you doing home from work so early?" he stammers, one hand frantically combing through his short hair, the other futilely attempting to cover his junk.

Why am I home early? What does it matter if I come home early?

I shake my head slowly, my brows pinched together, my eye remaining fixed on the closed bedroom door. I'm speechless. There are simply no words for a situation like this.

"It's not what it looks like, June," he says after a moment of silence.

"It's not what it looks like?" I finally manage, my voice wobbly and hoarse. And I wish I sounded more like Leonardo DiCaprio's wife right now. I slowly turn my gaze to meet his clear blue eyes. "Are you saying that it doesn't look like there's a naked woman in our bed?"

He shifts on his feet, his eyes dropping to his hands that are covering himself. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out as he shakes his head. He's clearly panicking. I can see the wheels turning in his head, trying to find the right words to make this situation sound okay.

"Well, I, uh," he stammers, squeezing his eyes shut. "It was an accident, June, okay?"

I raise my eyebrows. "An accident?" I huff out a laugh. "Where exactly were you trying to stick it, Beck?"

He sucks in a deep, shuddering breath as if he's going to give me an actual explanation, but the words remain trapped in his throat.

I shake my head at him, biting my lip, then turn my back and head toward the front door. He follows, still frantic, still naked, still trying to cover himself as he tries to catch up.

"June, baby, wait!" he calls out. "Let me explain."

I stop just short of the door, my hand resting on the handle, my keys still in my grip from when I came home five minutes ago. I turn to face him squarely. "Do you really want to try to explain why you're having sex with another woman?"

He hesitates. "Um, well..."

"Oh my god," I mutter through clenched teeth as I swing open the front door and stride out, leaving it wide open with him standing there naked.

"Shit, Juniper," I hear from behind me. "Wait."

I wrap my arms around myself, hugging the bright blue sweater I have on, as I quickly dart down the staircase of our apartment building. The cool misty rain of Seattle, Washington, embraces me as I step outside. Unlocking my car, I collapse into the driver's seat, shutting the door behind me. I bury my face in my hands as a heavy silence envelopes me, the kind that wraps around you like a thick blanket. The weight of what has just happened crashing down on me.

My boyfriend of two years is cheating on me.

Tears stream down my cheeks as I grip the steering wheel tightly. My eyes drift back up to the apartment building, when from the corner of my eye, I see Beckett. He's now in shorts, barefoot, bounding down the stairs, pulling a t-shirt over his head as he rushes toward me.

"Shit."

I start the car and shift it into reverse. As I begin to pull away, he's at my window, pounding on it desperately.

"Juniper, come on! Please, wait!" He pleads. But right now, all I can think is how tempting it would be to just run him over with my car.

With trembling hands, I quickly use the sleeve of my sweater to brush away the tears streaming down my face, my heart thundering in my chest. I shift the gear into drive, and I accelerate out of the apartment complex.

"June!" I hear Beckett call out again in the rearview mirror, his voice slowly fading into the distance.