Page 52 of The Logic of Loyalty

“Something else happened Friday?”

I scratch the scruff of my beard. “They were having a cozy chat against my kitchen cupboards, whispering about the concert.”

“The Savage Sixty8 concert.”

“He was talking about taking her and how they could enjoy the drive⁠—”

Bethany swipes her hand across the air. “Enough.” Her expression is blank. Or broken. “You—” her eyes go distant as she pulls out another of my stupid, stupid choices. “You brought her to my home yesterday? You heard that, saw them. Then brought her … Why? Why would you do that?” Her eyes line with tears as she looks at me in disgust. “Was it some kind of sick game to you?”

“No! No. Not a game. Not at all.” My father’s voice from that morning echoes in my mind while I try to find the best way to answer the question.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Your panties are in a fucking twist, so you can’t even drive someone across town? Are you slow? That fucking stupid? Jesus Christ. Your mother wants you to bring her, so bring her. You don’t want to annoy me today, boy.”

I needed to take a few minutes to calm down after that conversation. Nothing went right that day. “I know this is not really helpful, and it will seem like a cop-out, but I didn’t have much of a choice.”

Bethany scoffs, her hurt turning her vicious. “You didn’t have a choice. Right. God, here I was trying to figure out how to tell Paige what I saw in that office and feeling like the worst person for not immediately saying anything, but it was fine because I figured there was no way I actually saw anything. You’re so in love with her, so I hoped … But then you guys knew all of this about Bobby and didn’t say anything to me?”

“No, no. Paige had no idea. We didn’t know. I had a plan in my head. I was going to tell you on Saturday, but when I got home … some news knocked me off kilter.”

“So off kilter that you just forgot to say something about my boyfriend propositioning my best friend?”

“I should probably tell you what else I think may have happened, but I don’t have any proof.” She’s silent, so I continue. “There was a used condom wrapper and a box of condoms left in my car. After Friday night. It also—” I try not to gag with the new knowledge of why. “It also smelled like sex in my car when I got back into it. It didn’t register until later, but I believe Krista may have pulled someone into my car while I was busy⁠—”

“You think that Krista had sex with my boyfriend in your car.” I nod, but when I open my mouth to explain, she interrupts me. “Get out.”

“What?”

“Get. Out. The Shop is right down the road. I need to go home to relieve Edna of Jacob duty.”

“Bethany, don’t blame Paige. Please. Talk to her if you need to talk to someone. She needs to talk to someone⁠—”

“Get out, Trevor. We’re done here.” Oddly, instead of starting the car again, she slides out of her door and heads to the little gazebo in the churchyard.

She doesn’t look back.

Chapter Nineteen

PAIGE

Trevor didn’t come back. Not the way I half expected him to. I did, however, get multiple emails from him throughout the morning. He casually moves to emails when a phone is not an option. Part of me wants to block him, throw my phone out the second-floor window. Hell, from the roof. Maybe go to the river or the lake the county over, row to the middle of the—never mind. I don’t have the emotional or mental capacity, much less the physical fortitude, for that kind of effort.

I managed to fall asleep after he left, but it wasn’t a resilience thing. It was a first-trimester-of-pregnancy thing.

I scratch my head—I have to take a shower—and flip through my go-to movies, but nothing sounds good. My e-reader is packed full of stories I’ve started and stopped, and I had to move my uneaten healthy food out of the way for my chips and ice cream. Taking another scoop of salted caramel ice cream, I sniffle.

Dammit. Don’t think about it.

I have to think about it. The logistics, at the very least.

“Trevor cheated on me. My husband cheated on me.” How much of his story do I believe? How do I decide how much is too much, where I need to break apart my already minuscule family?

The sweet and salty combo of my treat works to soothe some of my ache to an extent, but this is a gaping wound. This treat is a Band-Aid.

“Trevor! Why!” I throw my spoon at the wall and scream at the top of my lungs. Again, a Band-Aid.

Why didn’t he listen to me? Why did he let this woman so close? Why did he prioritize everything before his own chosen family? I tilt my head back against the couch and groan. Even if what he said was true, does that make everything suddenly okay?

At first, a ping on my phone makes me believe that Trevor is messaging me again, but when I glance to make sure, my eyes widen at the time.