Page 112 of Forever Fighting
“Are these new?”
“He was wearing that shirt this morning. That’s all I know.”I drop into a squat and blow out a breath because legit, my vision is hazy and I don’t want to pass out in my ER. I have to think and I can’t think that well right now because my brain is all fucked up.
“Braelyn, what the fuck?”
I cover my face with my hands and breathe through my fingers because I don’t have a paper bag handy.
“It was the woman I caught with Adam.”
“In these pictures? I thought she was blonde.”
“Not the woman in the pictures. The woman who gave me the pictures.” I launch into an account of what just happened, and by the time I’m done, Quinn’s hand is locked on my shoulder in a ninja grip.
“Braelyn, Jesus. I’ve had some patients and their families do crazy shit, but that’s up there. Are you okay? From her, I mean.”
“I have no clue what I am from her. Adam says he’s taking care of it, but I’ll have to double that up and likely file a report or something. I don’t know. I’m not a Fritz. Not really. Forest will help me with this.”
“I realize you’ve recently been cheated on, but Roman wouldn’t cheat.”
“I never thought Adam would cheat either. Seriously. If someone had asked me if he was cheating, I would have replied never in a million years.”
“Babe, think about this for a moment. We’re talking about Roman Fritz. The man who tattooed an infinity symbol on his ring finger for you. A man who married you and didn’t even blink twice about it when he doesn’t even date. He’s forever fighting for you, planning your future, and reworking his entire European situation around you. It’sRoman.”
I sigh and stand. “I know. I do. My head knows this. But my heart is so tired. It’s been through so much, and it doesn’t know what to believe. You’re literally holding a picture of a woman kissing him. His eyes are closed. His hands are on her. It doesn’tmake sense to me, but visual evidence is telling me something else. Or honestly, I’m too messed up after everything that happened with Katy and then this for me to figure it out.”
“Go to his fight, bring the pictures, and talk to him.”
I nod because that’s all I can do. I have to believe there’s an explanation for this. Even if right now it doesn’t feel like that’s possible.
35
ROMAN
“Chef, one of the patrons at the bachelor party pinched the waitress’s ass after they all got belligerent with her when she cut them off from ordering more alcohol. They also ordered two tomahawk steaks, ate them, and complained that they weren’t cooked right so they shouldn’t have to pay for them. What do you want me to do?”
I glance up from the plate I’m finishing to take in Eliza, my manager. It’s been like this all fucking day. One thing after another. My motorcycle had a flat this morning. Then a woman came up to me in my local coffee shop and all but attacked me. She hugged and kissed me before I was able to pry her away. It was the most ridiculous thing ever, and in the process of her doing this, she spilled not only her coffee on me but mine—thankfully, I didn’t get burned. The owner of the shop had to kick her out. I’ve never had that happen before.
On top of that insanity, the restaurant at the resort in Mexico is set to open in two weeks, and there was a problem with the flooring, so now everything might have to be pushed back. And now this fucking bachelor party.
Grown-ass men acting like drunken babies.
“I’ll handle it,” I tell her, and her eyes round because most of the time, I stay back here in the kitchen and rarely go out front.
“I can handle it,” she assures me. “I just didn’t know what you wanted?—”
“It’ll be fun,” I tell her as I wipe my hands with a clean dish towel.
“O-okay. Thanks.”
She steps back and allows me to pass her but stays hot on my heels since she’s the manager as I coast through the restaurant, ignoring the photographs and whispers as I pass. I get a few hellos and I nod in return, but as I reach the private room where the bachelor party is six drunken assholes deep, I’m reminded why I don’t like people other than my people.
Except that all comes to a screeching halt when I see who one of the drunken assholes is. Adam.
“What are you doing here?”
He gives me a cocky smile despite the dollop of steak sauce he has on the side of his mouth, his eyes glazed, and he looks more than a little drunk. The three empty bottles of wine on the table along with empty shot glasses, explain that.
“You know you’re not the first person to say that to me today. I was a hero.”
