“Auggie goes first,” Zander says, surprising me. I think both Auggie and I startle at the comment but for completely different reasons. Zander slides me a glance that says he knows exactly what he’s doing. It may be almost six years since he was in similar shoes, but he remembers the anxiety like it was yesterday and is trying to help Auggie in the only way he knows how.
My heart swells with pride at the kind heart he has, and I’m reminded of how very far he’s come. And the knowledge that Zander could overcome and thrive encourages my hopes that Auggie will be able to have the same success.
“Z’s right. Auggie gets to go first,” I say.
And the best part about it is that in a house constantly full of bickering, they just showed it to be one weighted more heavily with love and compassion.
“Hello?” I answer the phone as I crawl along the highway, traffic moving at a snail’s pace in the last few miles to the house. I’m so exhausted. Presuming it’s Colton calling me back, I answer on the Bluetooth’s first ring, not waiting for caller ID to pop up on the Range Rover’s GPS screen. My calls have been going straight to his voicemail since I’ve left work so when I answer, I fully expect to hear the lecture right off the bat about how I need to take my maternity leave now. And I’m lucky because as vocal as he is on it, he understands the reasons behind why I haven’t. I have a feeling the compassion is waning the more out of breath I am and the more swollen my feet become.
That’s exactly why I’ve been telling him I’m perfectly fine to go to my checkups without him so he doesn’t hear Dr. Steele tell me I need to start taking it easier. And maybe that’s why I answer right away, so he thinks everything is okay instead of the actual throbbing in my rapidly swelling toes and ankles.
“Rylee Donavan?”
“Yes. Who’s this?” I try to place the female voice on the other end of the line but come up empty.
“This is Casey at TMZ and—”
“How’d you get my number?” I ask, cutting off the tabloid reporter, my guard instantly up.
“We’d like to know if the tip we received is true and how you’re dealing with it all?”
Curiosity and unease meld into a ball of discord. I stutter a response I know I shouldn’t even ask. “Wh . . . what are you talking about?”
“The video proving your husband’s infidelity.”
And it’s like my ears don’t hear what she says over the roar of disbelief and flash of hurt that burns in my chest. “Video?” And I reiterate the word more to myself, lost in my own world of upset than to her.
“The sex tape.”
I know it’s not possible but I gasp and stop breathing all at the same time. I disconnect the call instantly. My heart drops into the pit of my stomach. I struggle to catch my breath. Luckily I’m turning off on Broadbeach because my thoughts are so scattered and the adrenaline is pumping so fast that my hands are shaking.
Normally I don’t let bullshit like this get to me—after all I am married to a man who was once known as one of the racing world’s top playboys.
Colton wouldn’t do that to me. He loves me. He loves us. We’re each other’s world.
And yet despite knowing this, something about the phone call unnerves me. Staggers me. Resonates in my ears when it shouldn’t.
How did they have my number? What video is she talking about?
I’m too close to the house to call and even if I wanted to, I don’t think my fingers are steady enough to push the right buttons.
Calm down, Rylee. It’s all I can tell myself because this isn’t the first rumor that has been spread about Colton and whatever hot woman he’s been in the same vicinity as. But it’s the first time I’ve been sought out to give a response before I knew anything about the scandal.
When the gates on the driveway shut behind me, I sigh, equal parts relief and anxiety, and scramble out of the car as fast as my pregnant body can. When Sammy opens the front door before I even put my key in the lock, I know way more than a purported rumor from TMZ is going on.
Even worse, he just nods at me without saying a word and steps outside closing the door behind him so Colton and I are alone. Not a good sign at all.
“Colton?” I call his name as I drop my purse on the table before following the sound of his voice in the office. So many things run through my head as I cross the short distance and none of them are welcome. I’m ready to barrel into the room and demand answers regarding the rumored cheating that the rational part of my brain knows must be wrong.
“They’re fucking crazy if they think I’m going to believe them,” Colton asserts, fist pounding against the desk. My feet falter and my demands die on my lips when I see him: back to me, broad shoulders framed against the window, head hung down, body visibly tense. The scene beyond him of the ocean is serene but in just the instant I’ve been in the room, I know Colton is anything but.
The sight of him physically upset like this isn’t normal. It throws me for a second and makes me fear the phone call I received might just be real. The uncertainty I felt in the car comes back with a vengeance, vibrating through my body in a flash of heat and wave of dizziness. The words I was determined to say when I saw Colton are lost to worry as I try to wrap my head around the sudden assault to my perfectly imperfect world.
“I don’t care what you think you’re seeing, CJ, it’s not fucking possible. Zip. Zero. Zilch.” Anger vibrates off him and slams around the room’s walls as he listens to his lawyer on the other end of the line. Leaning against the doorjamb, I attempt to steady myself, my emotions caught in turmoil as I try to read into the conversation without knowing any additional information. “I don’t need a fucking road map . . . What you don’t get though is that I’ve never even put myself in the situation where someone could even imply such bullshit!”