“And you were. I just feel really guilty about what my body decided I needed. Jesus, in all our planning, I never saw this coming.” Did I? Fuck if it hadn’t felt natural. Maybe even inevitable. Fuck, fuck, fuck…

“It’s an emotional kind of night,” he said, squeezing her feet. “Nobody could expect you to just slip into the role or whatever, given everything that’s on your mind.”

But they wouldn’t expect her to fucking make love to her supposed sleazy piece on the side, either.

“I’m sorry, Sam. Maybe I should go. Let you get to bed, and maybe you’ll feel a little less freaked out in the morning?”

Say yes. Tell him to go. That was her brain’s contribution. Something softer and more dangerous whispered, Ask him to stay. The last thing you want to be right now is alone. Frozen by the choice, she said nothing.

On the counter, her phone buzzed and chimed. Then again – a call, not a text.

“Fuck. That’s him.” She let it ring, rubbing her face.

“I don’t know how your marriage works,” Bern said slowly, “but I don’t know that you need to tell him, necessarily. Not if the truth would hurt him.”

“I’ve never had a decent reason to lie to him before… and I don’t know that I could if I wanted to.” Or if she even wanted to. Truth only. Always. Her body chilled to imagine it. Please, God, don’t let her have ruined Mike’s kink for him – or, far worse, his trust in her. “He’ll believe me, that it was just impulsive. Just my emotions getting the better of me.”

Bern nodded.

But yes, you’d really better go. Because how could Mike believe that him staying, after, could be blamed on impulse? Bern, sleeping in their bed? No, that couldn’t happen. By some twisted magic, Bern could fuck Sam, but sleeping beside her? Way out of bounds. There was no ambiguity on that count.

She stood. “You need to go. I’m sorry. You’ve been so lovely, but we have to call it a night.”

“Sure.” He carried their glasses to the breakfast bar. “I’ll show myself out. Just… just be kind to yourself, okay, Sam? We didn’t plan this, and you’ve had a fuck of a shock today.”

She nodded, then turned away, busying herself tidying the coffee table. She slapped the laptop closed.

His quiet good night was the last thing she heard before the door clicked shut down the hall. She eyed the clock, feeling alone and cold, worse than before he’d arrived. So many different kinds of hurting.

It was eight thirty, and Mike had probably just seen her text when he’d called. Before then, he’d surely been hoping for an e-mail by ten – not only hoping, he’d have been hungry for it. And she had none fit to show him. Instead she’d have to call and disappoint him, tell him, I’m sorry, but something terrible’s happened.

And when he asked her what she meant, God only knew if she’d tell him the whole truth behind why she was crying.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Mike hit the road at four the next morning, with the sun not even a promise yet in his rearview mirror. He’d slept only a couple of hours, waking around two and never really falling back to sleep. He couldn’t sleep, not knowing Sam was back home, alone and grieving.

He’d seen her through only one other loss like this one – her grandfather. The man had been eighty-five, though, and ailing. This was her cousin, a woman she’d grown up with, a woman even younger than her – how did you even process that? Mike’s job may have left him cynical about violence and death, but he could still hurt for his wife. He ought to be with her now, drawing her a bath, cooking their meals, walking with her, patiently sitting through movies he’d normally veto.

I should have been there last night. He should have been there when she got that phone call, ready to close her in his arms the second she hung up. Instead she’d spent that horrible evening all on her own. And after all that, she’d thought she’d owed him an apology – like he even cared about the video and their games, once he’d heard the news. Like his sexual desires held any sort of candle to the loss of a loved one.

The five-hour drive from Philadelphia seemed to go on forever, though in actuality he made excellent time, stopping only for coffee and gas. He was pulling up along the curb just shy of nine, the summer sunshine misleadingly cheerful, and his heart feeling leaden as he mounted the front steps.

He pushed the door in. “Sam?”

Nothing. She might be sleeping in, exhausted from a long night of crying. “Samira?” He jogged up the stairs, but found their bed empty. She couldn’t have driven to Newark to see her parents – she’d have told him. Her pajamas were folded sloppily atop the dresser, and Mike found the bathtub bone-dry, which was odd. Sam almost always showered first thing —

“Oh, duh.” He went back downstairs and found her running shoes missing from the bin by the door. “Nice detective work there, Heyer.”

She felt up to a run – that was a good sign. His heart lightened by a few degrees and he headed to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. A big one. Could be a long Sunday. While he was at it he turned on the TV and Sam’s Pandora account, and cued up her Roberta Flack station. It was the one she always defaulted to when she was blue, and he wanted everything about this day to be easy on her.

A rattle drew his attention as he dropped two slices of bread in the toaster. Sam had left her phone on the counter, and a text alert lit up her screen. Mike glanced at it, curious.

Bern. He frowned, not sure why the man would need to contact her at nine a.m. on a Sunday.

Maybe he doesn’t know why she canceled on him. He ought to cut the guy a little slack. But he still roused Sam’s phone and read the message.

I don’t know about you, but I slept like shit. What’s going on over there?

Mike frowned, having only a vague sense of what that meant, and not liking it. As a man who spent his life taking the shortest and most direct route toward answers, the correct response was clear. He opened Bern’s contact icon with a tap and hit CALL.

Barely a ring before – “Sam, hi. Are you —”

“It’s not Sam, it’s Mike.”

A pause. “Oh. Hey.”

“Sam’s out. I saw your text.”

“Right.” Silence.

Mike couldn’t blame the guy for sounding off – he knew he was using his on-duty voice, and Bern had yet to really meet Mike outside of the bounds of his kink. Those two sides of him were night and day. Still, he wasn’t feeling very friendly just now.

“So you slept like shit,” he said to Bern.

“I…”

“Sorry if my wife wrecked your big plans last night, but there was a death in the family. She probably did sleep like shit. So I’d appreciate if you put your own agenda on hold until she decides to contact you. She’s got plenty on her mind already without worrying about your needs or mine or anybody else’s except her own.”

“Um, sure. Sorry. I’ll just wait to hear from her.”

“Good.” Mike paused, realizing he was bullying the man who’d had no small part in actualizing his darkest fantasies. Balancing Bern in his mind as both rival and lover was a fucking head trip. Mike was a black-and-white sort of person, and he didn’t know how to blend the persona and the man. How to parse the fact that he sometimes wanted to punch this guy in the face, despite having also sucked his cock.

“I’m sorry if I’m being a dick about this. I’m just looking out for Sam.”

“Of course.”

Mike heaved a heavy sigh. Best to let the guy know he was exasperated, not psycho. In all honesty, he didn’t like speaking to him man-to-man. He much preferred their fabricated roles. “Okay. See you sometime, probably.”

“Okay.”

“Sorry to get in your face.”