Page 86 of The Logic of Loyalty

I sit in my parked car and consider that phone call, the weeks, the whole year. Have I really brought her anything beyond disappointment? Can I start making changes right now?

I tap the dashboard and look around the busy exterior of Joe’s. Is Bobby still here? What did Paige just deal with? I turn off the car and pocket the key. I’ve started locking my car … for reasons.

The atmosphere in the bar is off. Normally, I love to come here for a drink with Paige, Carter, and Becky every so often. Right now, though, it feels wrong. Then I hear his voice. Of course he’s here.

“Beth says it’s when a guy spends his time and shares emotional shit with a woman who is not his woman. You get what I mean? There’s no fuckin’. Maybe kissin’, maybe thinking about fuckin’, but none of the real physical shit happening. Though, if you’re thinking about it, it counts too.”

Bobby talking about Bethany like he has a right makes me furious, and I trudge through the tables, straight for him. I’m only a few feet away when the rounded shoulders of my friend redirect my pathway to the bar. Bobby spots me before I’m seated. “Oh, hey, Trev!” Bobby calls, a little mockery in his voice, “We were just talking about you.” Maybe I will kick his ass. I grunt at him, not trusting myself to be even-tempered. I collapse in the seat at the bar next to Carter, who immediately adds to my agitation.

“Trev, is it true?”

Is what fucking true? I look at him to see him indicating Bobby and his friend. That I want to fuck someone who isn’t Paige? Not even close.

I open my mouth to respond, just to close it and consider the first part of what he said … emotional shit with a woman who is not my woman. I did that. I crossed that boundary.

I meet Carter’s concerned gaze—really take in my oldest friend and the mess he got himself into, but all I seem to see is a reflection of myself, of my stupid fucking choices and failure of setting boundaries. How often has he told me how much he admired my marriage? How often did he watch as I picked work and made excuses to my wife? Did he watch me rely more and more on Krista? Did I praise her to him? “Carter. You have no fucking right to say a Goddamn word to me about this. You’re just as dumb or even dumber than I am, so don’t say shit to me until you can figure out your own problems.” Shut up, Trevor.

“Sure, brother.” He nods his head, remaining calm while I’m coming out of my skin. I’m talking to myself. It’s me. I did it. I did this.

Scrambling to regather my equilibrium, I remember the gossip I zeroed in on at the bank today. Tell him straight up, help him figure out the next steps. Help him get his head out of his ass.

“You should know, people are talking about Taylor and Becky. Taylor is really playing the part of an innocent and making Becky out to be some kind of witch hunter. I heard people talking about it at the bank. Important people.” Members of the school board, gossiping with their pals.

“Are you fucking with me?”

“No, it’s … not good.” I consider the dynamics I’ve gathered in bits and pieces—including details about my son’s school. “With Ronnie out of the school right now, she’s missing an important ally.”

Carter’s affable face goes hard, his brows furrowing as he focuses on something unseen. Fucking salvation?

He looks at me again, his brows furrowed as he purses his lips. “So, uh … I saw Paige leave earlier looking really upset. You might⁠—”

The women next to us zero in on him, reminding me of Paige’s earlier complaint about gossipers. “Fucking hell, not you, too!” I stand, knocking the stool to the ground, gaining the attention of the bar. I’ve not left my woman, nor will I, fuckers. “Listen, Carter, and everybody that can fucking hear me right now. I’ll say this slowly for the most dense of you in the room.” I look directly at Bobby so nobody can mistake my meaning. “I. Didn’t. Do. Shit! Everyone can keep my wife’s and my names out of their stupid fucking mouths. I didn’t do shit, and she definitely didn’t do anything to deserve the shit that’s being thrown her way.” I eye that group of women who were at the bar, and take in the others around the bar. Most of them are locals, gossips. When I spot Ms. Wells, I know I hit the jackpot. I turn away and stomp out of the bar. Keep it simple. Keep it memorable. Shut. It. Down.

“Hey! Hey, Trevor!” I freeze my steps on the sidewalk in front of the bar and gather what remains of any human functioning I have left. When I turn to confront the speaker, I see a primly dressed woman approaching me from the direction of Joe’s—a vaguely familiar woman. “Hey, I don’t know if you remember me, but we went to school together. You graduated with my older sister?”

Unexpected warmth fills me when I recognize her. “Patty? Little Patricia? When did you get back to town?”

Her smile grows at my recognition. “Not long ago!” Her smile drops. “That part doesn’t matter. I need to tell you something. It’s about Paige.” Everything around us fades as I zero in on her earnest face.

“Didn’t you hear me in there? Paige didn’t do anything, no matter what you’ve heard people spoutin’ off about.”

“No, no. I know that. Or, I figured. I want you to know that I saw her and Bobby talking—” I move to interrupt her, but she starts talking faster. “I’m pretty sure she was puking in the bathroom, but the women I was with weren’t very nice. I went back to the table with them, but I circled back, and—and she looked so uncomfortable in that hallway next to him. I wanted to—to confront him, but he’s really intimidating, you know? So I was gathering my courage when he hugged her? She didn’t look happy. At all.” Her hands are decimating a napkin, pulling it apart piece by piece, but fisting the threads.

My body locks up tighter and tighter as she speaks. I can’t bear it. When it’s clear she’s done, I nod woodenly. “Thank you, Patty. I appreciate you telling me.”

She dips her chin at me and waits for me to say more. I have nothing more to say. With a searching glance, she seems to get what she needs, so she turns and flees back into the bar.

The events of the summer, the problems I’ve invited into our lives? It’s time to put a stop to it all. Instead of going back to The Shop, I find a spot in the alley and lean back, hands fisted in my suit pocket. From here, I can watch the door for my opportunity, but quickly duck out of the way.

A quick scan of my surroundings gives me a good idea of where to go from here. Pulling my phone out, I call the bar.

“Joe’s.”

“Hey, Art. Get me Joe, please. It’s Trevor.”

“Trevor? Weren’t you just⁠—”

“Yeah, I need to have a word with him.”