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Prologue
With a rumble of the engine, Beau McCallister pulled his truck to a stop beside the back porch. He climbed out and bounded up the steps, his boots thudding against the wooden planks. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the house as he entered through the back door.
“Liz? Is Eric here?” he called out, hanging his hat on a peg before striding toward the living room. “Liz?”
He made his way toward the bedroom, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the quiet house. The door opened and his wife emerged, pulling the door closed behind her. She hastily tied the belt of her robe.
“Hi, I didn’t expect you home yet. How’s your dad?”
“Surgery went well. He should be able to go home tomorrow or the day after.” Beau replied, taking in her disheveled appearance. “Why are you in your robe?”
“Uh, I was going to take a shower.”
“I see.” A frown creased his brow. “Is Eric here?”
“Eric? No. Why?” Liz looked confused.
“His truck’s outside.”
“It is?” Her surprise seemed genuine, but something nagged in Beau’s gut. He headed toward the bedroom door, but she placed a hand on his arm to stop him.
“Let’s go downstairs. You can tell me how everyone is.” Her voice was calm and even.
Beau took a deep breath and grasped her arms, moving her aside to open the bedroom door.
“Beau—”
But he had already stepped inside and glanced around. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw that the bed was unmade. Turning to face his wife, he could feel his anger rising.
“Why isn’t the bed made?”
“I, uh, took a nap.” Liz’s voice faltered slightly.
“You never take a nap. What is going on? Where is Eric?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, her eyes darting away from his intense gaze.
Without another word, Beau stormed toward the bathroom and flung open the door. His worst fears were realized when he came face to face with his closest friend standing there.
“You want to tell me why you’re in my bathroom, Eric?” Beau’s voice was cold and controlled, despite the anger simmering beneath the surface.
“Beau—”
He turned to face his wife, his eyes blazing. “Are you fucking him?”
“Beau—” Eric began, but Beau cut him off.
“Shut the fuck up. I’d love to hit you, but I don’t think I’d be able to stop, and neither of you are worth going to jail for. You might as well tell me because it sure as shit looks like you’ve been screwing my wife. How long?” Neither Liz nor Eric could meet his gaze. “How long?” Beau demanded, his voice rising in volume. Beau’s fists clenched at his sides as he stared at the two people in front of him, his voice trembling with barely contained rage.
Silence hung heavily in the room before Liz’s sobs broke through. Eric’s eyes were fixed on the floor. Beau could feel his heart breaking into a million pieces, knowing that ten years of marriage were now tainted by infidelity.
“Get out,” he said through gritted teeth, pointing to the door. “Get your shit and get out of my house. Ten fucking years down the drain.”
“You’re never home,” Liz shouted, her own anger rising.
“Do not put this on me,” Beau snapped back.
“Well, it is on you! I’m always home alone—”
