“Hey, hey,” he shushed as he carried me into the living room and lowered me onto the love seat. I sank into the leather and clung to his side.
“Did Mike call you?” I sniffed.
“A friend of mine sent me the link.” He winced. “Lill—”
“I know. It’s bad.”
Sam carefully untangled himself from my grip. “Stay,” he commanded, as if I were a dog. “I’m going to get you a Xanax.”
I didn’t argue, grateful for a friend with pharmaceutical connections. From the kitchen, I heard the ice maker, then the crinkle of a water bottle. He returned, with a glass and a small yellow pill. “Here. Take this and take a deep breath. You’re shaking.”
I needed something stronger than water. Vodka or, better yet, tequila. He nudged the glass toward me, and I took it. “Jacob’ll never forgive me.” I placed the pill on my tongue, then drank half the glass.
Sam was still standing there, and my gratitude to him dipped slightly at the judgmental look on his face. “This is where you tell me that I’m wrong, and he’ll get over this within a week.”
“He’s a teenager. He doesn’t—and won’t—understand adult relationships, not for a while. He’s going to be pissed, Lill. That’s just how this is going to go. He’s going to be mad and embarrassed, and it’s going to last awhile.”
He was right, which only made me more despondent. I moved to the couch and collapsed on the dark leather.
“Any words of wisdom?” I asked as I waited for the antianxiety medication to kick in. I should have called him and gotten one of these last night. I had stared up at the guest room ceiling for hours, my mind racing through how big a disaster this was.
There was, after all, the giant bomb that it had delivered to my marriage. But there was also, pathetically, the side effect to my secretlife. It wouldn’t survive this. There was no way that I could return to the docks, to David, after this. I would be spitting on my family every single time I made that choice, instead of staying home and focusing on my marriage and our son.
And the horrible, horrible thing of it was that loss of David, of my life as Taylor—that hurt as much as my guilt over Jacob’s pain. The level of my selfishness, of my self-absorbed focus, was disgusting. I hated myself, even as I continued to mourn the loss.
“How’s Mike handling this? Has he threatened to leave?”
I waved away the thought. “You know Mike. He’s making a list. Attacking the problem.”
The Xanax was starting to work, and I let out a soft, contented sigh.
Sam eyed me with concern and held out a tissue. “Have you been taking your medication?”
“Yes,” I snapped—even though I hadn’t taken my antidepressant or my mood stabilizer yet this morning, or yesterday. In the last few weeks, I’d taken it less frequently, my time with David bringing me a happy high that I hadn’t experienced in years. The buzz of a new relationship was a drug in itself, and probably helped out by the vitamin D and endorphins of my new job.
Right now, what I needed was a drink. Something to distract me from all this. I used the tissue and then let it fall to the floor. Sam’s eyes followed the drop. He tried to stay in his seat, but his neat-freak habits couldn’t resist—and he dipped to pick it up. He was so much like Mike. Why, in my past, had I gravitated toward such precise men? Was that why I liked David? Was it his charming ease and disarray?
There was a quote about that. Something about beauty in chaos. My life had had no chaos. Maybe I’d intentionally created my own, with the vandalism to Fran’s car and my affair.
Affair.Such a dirty word. It hadn’t felt like an affair. Taylor had felt like a role I was playing, one that wasn’t real and would eventually end, but that didn’t have actual consequences or lasting effects.
Obviously, that had been wishful thinking on my part. “The video’s been up for almost a day. Do you know someone who can get it taken down?”
“Do I know someone at TikTok?” Sam carried the tissue to the kitchen trash can and repeated the question slowly, as if it were a dumb one. “No, I don’t.”
“I thought you do ads or something for your houses on there.”
“I do, but that doesn’t mean that I have a personal connection there. The ads are self-serve.”
Whatever that meant.
“Did you report the video?” He started to run the water at the sink, and I knew without watching that he was obsessively soaping up every knuckle and palm, plus on and under each nail. He was a man who wore driving gloves for no other reason than to protect his palms and steering wheel from unnecessary damage. I felt a sudden surge of anger over the water, which was still running—had my tissue been that germy?
He reappeared in the doorway and dried off each finger with a red hand towel. “So? Did you report it?”
“I don’t know. Mike or Jacob probably did.” I was still in the clothes I’d slept in, and I discreetly sniffed my shirt. I needed a shower. Maybe I’d grab a smoke first. A smoke and a drink. I straightened in the seat, embracing the idea.
“Well, I reported it as nudity, but I’m not sure if that will stick. Whoever edited the video was smart. There’s a lot of innuendo there, but not anything more than PG-rated content.” Sam folded the hand towel into thirds, then in half.