Page 47 of The Logic of Loyalty

“I think—I think that you need to leave.” The silence of our room suffocates me, even as her clean scent gives me the fresh air to breathe. “I-I don’t think it’s s-safe for the baby.” Paige hiccups on a sob as she stands there, directly in front of me. “In such a sh-short amount of time, I’ve stopped trusting you.” Her voice is soft and so broken. She swallows before continuing to eviscerate me. “I think you need to leave.”

“Paige, I can’t go. You remember what happened when you were pregnant with Jacob. You can’t be here alone. I need to be here. I need to monitor—think about what almost happened last time.” I’m pleading, panic clawing up my throat.

“Last time, you would never have stood me up for another woman.”

I recoil at her words. “Paige, seriously, you know—you know that I have to be here.”

“I know that you need to leave. We can talk—” She wipes her face, collecting the fallen tears on her hand. “We can talk about the details another time. I need to go back to bed and figure everything else out another time. I’m tired, Trevor. I’m so damn tired.”

“We can talk more later?” I barely croak out a reply.

She dips her head in a small nod, then turns from me, walking to our room and stopping at the entrance. “And Trevor?” She doesn’t even look before continuing. “You need to talk to Bethany about your suspicions as soon as possible.” Paige shuts the door quietly behind her.

I walk out of here while the sun is still down, but the moon glows brightly enough to act as a somber guide to … nowhere. Where am I supposed to go? My family—the only family that matters—belongs in the house I’m actively walking away from, each step farther from my home and down this quiet road is heavier than my last.

I scan the path ahead of me, and my eyes catch on a particularly round rock, glowing pale gray in the moonlight. I watch it as I move closer, the dull roar of a southern summer night the backdrop to my riotous thoughts.

I’m exhausted. I’m delirious. I’m hoping this is all some kind of psychotic break where I finally snapped under all the pressure, and my wife didn’t just accuse me of cheating on her with a woman I work with. One I thought I knew, who I obviously don’t. One who—I gulp down more regret in a dry swallow before forcing myself to finish the thought—I fully believe betrayed my sister. And I blamed my sister.

I stop and close my eyes as shame settles over every part of me. My skin prickles with the feel of it weighing me down where I stand. I’m shrugging my shoulders and shuffling my feet in an effort to shake it off, but it seems to settle more heavily upon me, wrapping around me like a cloak and tightening like a noose.

My eyes catch again on the perfectly round stone. I’m closer now, practically standing on it, so I try to kick the damn thing. I put my frustration, heartache, and helplessness into the forces and flow through. My foot flies right over it.

“Fucking hell!” I stare at the smooth perfection of the stupid fucking rock as my mind wanders through the current state of my life.

I thought it was like this stupid stone. Flawless, perfect. But Paige is right. I’ve shined my life to resemble perfection while it’s rotting underneath. This week has started to uncover the filth. That dinner has uncovered more of it. It’s been festering and growing while I’ve desperately patched and repaired and worked to cover every crack and shine every blemish before it touched the people I love.

That dinner. The nuances that I willfully ignored or promised myself I’d make up for in other ways, in other places in our lives. I did it all to fulfill my obligations, but there were giant, waving, red flags. The mocking looks, silent dismissals, and even the Goddamn seating arrangement were pieces of the passive-aggressive shit I’ve been putting my family through for years. My wife. My son. Even, I’m starting to realize, my sister.

My son. My new baby. My pregnant wife. “Jesus, what have I done?” My throat starts to close as my breathing picks up.

After everything we went through, everything I sacrificed to ensure he could come home, alive and healthy, and to have a home to come to, I still subject him to this? The familiar sensation of drowning on dry land starts to come over me, and the thoughts continue to suffocate me.

Paige is pregnant, and she wants me gone. What if she wants a divorce? She won’t have my insurance anymore. She’ll be alone. What if it all happens again?

My vision blurs, starting at the edges and swiftly closing in. This time, I embrace it, hopeful for sweet oblivion rather than the torment I’m currently feeling.

Oblivion isn’t given to me. Instead, memories assault me with their sharp clarity, pulling me back to what used to be the worst days of my life.

Chapter Seventeen

TREVOR

Nine Years Ago

“Something’s wrong. Trevor?”

My wife’s fear-filled voice cuts through the silence of the truck, and I turn from the work I have spread out on the dashboard in front of me to take her in. She’s sitting up in the back of the Suburban we’ve transformed into a bed. Her hand massages her neck, and she squeezes her eyes shut. A grimace of pain or discomfort crosses her features.

“What’s up, baby?” Instead of responding, all in one motion, Paige jerks open the door nearest her, leans over, and starts vomiting. “Holy shit, baby! What’s going on?” I jump out the front door, my work falling to the ground behind me, and race around the front of the vehicle to where my six-month-pregnant eighteen-year-old wife crouches over, heaving into the bushes. I grab her hair, hold it up and away from her face, and run my other hand across her flushed neck. “Paige, is it more morning sickness? Did you take that puke medicine this morning?” An immediate and visceral energy courses through my body, making my hands shake. I need to help. Should I get it for her? What is wrong? She should be in a real bed.

“Trevor …” Her voice fades out before she starts heaving again. What’s happening? “This—this is different, Trev. Call the doctor.” Paige leans back into my body and starts to shiver. I snatch my phone from my back pocket and dial our doctor while I wrap my arm around her body. I’m surprised to feel that she’s actually put on some weight as I pull her toward myself.

“Hello, Doctor Sean’s office. How can I help you?” a startlingly calm voice answers.

“I need to talk to the doctor right now, please. I believe that it’s an emergency.” My arm is holding a shaking Paige, adding an urgency I’m certain is clear in my voice.

“Is the patient in labor?”