The Fling

88

Abigail stared at me as tears streamed down her cheeks. When she spoke, her voice was shaky. "I was hoping maybe we could work through this, but I guess we can't."

She was correct. There was no way I'd ever be able to move past the fact that she had sex with Bert. If she'd gone out to a bar with Mia and Eloise, got drunk, met some random guy, and went home with him, I'd be crushed, but given the break situation, I could maybe forgive her with time and serious couple's counseling. Even that would be hard considering my jealous nature.

What made this so horrible was who she fucked. I'd been insecure about Bert for a long time, because as horribly as he'd treated her, she still clung to the fact that he was part of her family. His sperm produced their children, and that meant he had a hold on her that I could never replicate, especially since she wasn't ever letting my sperm in the door. It didn't matter that he cheated, lied, stole from his parents, and was only a marginally good father. His role as bio-dad carried tons of weight and created an unbreakable bond. For fuck's sake...one nice day at Disneyland together and she was willing to give up what we had to screw him.

But how had I been so blind? The signs were there and they'd been flashing like neon while we were in Palm Springs. Reagan insisted that something shady happened and it turned out she was being honest. My love for Abigail, and the trust I put in her, caused me to ignore the possibility that Reagan was telling the truth. Then there was the tattoo fiasco. Of course she didn't want to replace her wedding date when there was still something between her and Bert. The mediation made sense now, too, as did her reaction to my decision. Those weren't tears of joy and relief from hearing I wanted to be with her forever; they were a product of her guilty conscience. It all fell into place and proved that I was a goddamned fool.

"You're right," I said hostilely. "We're done. I need to know something before you leave, though."

She gave me a small nod. "I'm willing to answer any questions. I owe you that much."

"Why the hell did you agree to going to Palm Springs with me? Why did you let me tell you over and over again that I love you and then say those words back? Why did you let me make love to you after you'd been with him?" It made me sick to think that he'd been inside her not long before I was.

"Because I love you, Shawn! I wanted that time, just the two of us, especially since I thought we were going to break up," she replied emphatically. "What I did with Bert wasn't about you! It was me being an idiot and letting my emotions get the best of me! I met with my therapist afterwards and she said this happens between exes a lot more than you'd think. Humans are often the weakest when it comes to those who damaged them. Bert hurt me when I thought our marriage was solid, so it's possible a tiny part of me still wanted his love to prove something to myself."

"Well you can have all his fucking love now! Go home to him, Abigail. Restart your life together. Your family can be like it once was, and I'll be nothing more than the fling you had to try to get over him!" She reached for my arm, but I shook her off. "Do not touch me!"

"I don't love him. I love you! Didn't you hear me when I said I regretted it right away? I don't want to be with Bert! Even if we tried, too much has happened and we no longer have the feelings we used to! I don't think he hooked up with me because he wants me back! He probably did it to hurt you and Reagan, which is why he told her! If you two ever got into a argument, he'd probably bring it up to hurt you!"

"So that's the only reason you told me? You knew it might come out?" I snapped.

"I was always going to tell you if your decision was the one it turned out to be, but there would be no reason to put you through this if we were going to break up. Do you understand that, at least?"

I had to admit that this logic made a little sense, and if my decision had gone the other way, I'd be happier not knowing they had sex. "I get that part. I don't get why you faked that you love me."

She looked at me with shock. "My love for you is not fake!"

"Bullshit! If you loved me the same way I love you, you wouldn't let another guy- the worst possible guy- stick his dick in you! That's not how love works!"

For at least a minute, we stood there in silence. Both of us were crying, though my tears flowed from anger and betrayal while hers were probably from guilt. I felt no empathy for her, however, because I wanted her to hurt as much as I did. When it became clear neither of us had anything more to say, she picked up her purse and walked out my front door.

A tiny part of me wanted to chase after her and tell her that if I took some time too cool off, I might be willing to attempt to make things work after all, but I had enough self-awareness to know that even if I could forgive her, I'd never forget what she did. It would haunt me forever, and I doubted I could look at her quite the same. Bert would be a part of our lives, and seeing him would be a constant reminder of what transpired between them. All trust would be gone, and I couldn't feel secure in her love, if she even had any for me. No matter how hard we tried, this would end us, so it was better to cut my losses now.

I went to the window and watched as she cried in her car, thankful that she couldn't see me through the tinted glass I had installed for privacy. It was a long time before she composed herself enough to drive, and despite everything, I worried that she wouldn't make it home safely.

Once she was gone, I turned and looked around my house, feeling strangely numb. An hour ago I'd been on cloud nine because I thought my future was set. I was going to marry the love of my life, officially become a stepdad to three of the greatest kids in the world, and we'd be a family. Shit. The kids. I wasn't going to see them again. The warm hugs they'd given that afternoon turned into goodbyes without any of us knowing at the time. I hoped that they'd recover from this faster than I would. It was going to take me a while to open myself up to love again, and as raw as I felt, the potential to ever love someone as much as I loved Abigail seemed impossible.

Jesus fucking Christ, I loved her so much. Even after what she did, that love was still there. But I hated her, too. I hated that she betrayed me, and I hated that I wasn't enough to stop her from doing it.

I locked all the doors, turned off the lights, and made my way upstairs. Stripping down to boxers, I crawled into my bed in a fetal position, letting the tears come. I wanted to call the two people I'd spoken to earlier in the day. but it was the middle of the night in Toronto, and waking my parents or Brian would alarm them. I didn't need anyone catching the next flight to California because they were worried about my mental state. Tomorrow, I'd reach out to my loved ones to let them know what happened, and then I'd try to process it. Maybe I'd go home for a while. Los Angeles was too connected to Abigail, so distance might help. I could sell this house and stay away permanently if I chose to; it's not like I didn't have options.

At some point I fell asleep. The sun streaming through my winow woke me, and I was struck with grief all over again when I remembered what happened the night before. I impulsively checked my phone to see if Abigail called or texted, but there was nothing. I went into my contacts and blocked her before deleting all our messages and unfollowing her on social media. I hadn't been quite so cold hearted after my last breakup, but this was different. This time my heart had been shredded by something the person I loved had done, and that required cutting all remnants of her from my life.

After throwing on pants and making myself some coffee, I went to the large closet in my laundry room to retrieve the palm tree I'd packed away with my other decorations. I walked out the front door to toss it in the garbage can, which was in the driveway by the garage, and spotted something shiny on the pedestal of my stair railing. It was the bracelet I'd given Abigail for Christmas. I picked it up and threw it in the trash along with the ornament, exhaling as I closed the lid. It wasn't an imaginary dove, but this act might eventually help me let go of a love I thought was forever.