Page 17 of Wreckage and Rain

I’ve noticed every bit of it.

I just kept waiting for it to fix itself.

Tonight, I handed her the exact picture she has probably been trying not to imagine and told myself it was harmless because I could explain every piece.

I can’t open the slide deck after that.

Calloway’s changes can wait until morning. I’ll be at my desk by six and have it done before he wakes up.

I start the car.

I don’t drive home right away.

I circle downtown with the radio off, building and rebuilding the explanation I’ll give Summer.

It was work.

Nothing happened.

Cheyenne is a colleague.

Every version sounds worse than the one before it.

By the time I pull into the driveway, most of the lights are off.

Summer

I hear the front door open.

His keys land in the dish. His shoes cross the hallway.

I keep my hands in the sink.

“What the fuck was that, Colt?”

He stops behind me.

“Summer.”

“You told me you were at the office.”

I shut off the water and turn around.

“You said you were grinding through it. You told me to eat without you. Then I walked past our restaurant and found you sitting across from her with wine and a candle between you.”

His face tightens.

“I know how it looked.”

“Don’t.”

“I’m not trying to—”

“Don’t tell me how it looked.” My voice breaks, and I hate that it does. “Tell me why you lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie.”

The answer comes too quickly.