Page 98 of Faultlines

After a long while, she speaks again. “I didn’t tell Dad what’s going on, but he’s worried. You should talk to him when you’re ready.”

I nod. “Can you—can you stay with me for a while? I don’t want to be alone.”

“Of course.”

Eventually, I rest my head against her shoulder and close my eyes.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CRUSTAL ADJUSTMENT

Ethan

The red numbers on the alarm clock read 3:17 a.m. I roll onto my back and rub a hand over my face. Sleep isn’t coming.

My phone rests on the nightstand. I reach for it before I can talk myself out of it and open the video Sloane sent. The clip lasts less than thirty seconds. I watch it to the end anyway and then I replay it. Each time, I try to see it through Claire’s eyes. I imagine her watching me with Brooke, touching her like it was the most natural thing in the world. By the fourth viewing, every excuse I’ve been telling myself for months finally falls apart.

I’d convinced myself I was escaping a distant marriage. Every justification I made feels weak.

I drag myself out of bed. The bruise beneath my eye has darkened overnight, spreading purple and blue across my cheekbone.

I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My eyes are fixed on the mirror without really seeing what’s in front of me.

Brooke has been texting me all weekend, and I haven’t responded.

The drive to work feels endless. I arrive early hoping to avoid people, but it’s pointless. By mid-morning, enough employees are in the office that my black eye is impossible to ignore. No one asks about it. A few stare too long, their gazes lingering like a foul taste. A junior architect, clutching a rolled set of blueprints, almost speaks but decides against it.

I spend the morning pretending to review drawings, but accomplishing nothing.

Around ten-thirty, a sharp, distinct knock sounds on my half-open door. Reid steps into my office. His eyes are immediately drawn to my eye.

“Damn. Jensen or Peter?” he asks, pointing.

“Jensen paid me a visit… it’s well deserved.”

He sets a pastry box on my desk before taking a seat. “I went to see Claire yesterday,” he says.

“How is she?”

He studies me. “Not good.”

I look down at the untouched pastry box. His answer doesn’t surprise me.

“Lucy told me Claire listened to your voicemails.”

My head lifts. “She did?”

For the first time all morning, I think there might be a chance she’ll call me. “Did she say anything?”

“No.” He looks away. “She kicked me out. She was angry that I knew and didn’t tell her. I couldn’t... I didn’t know what else to say.”

I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling. “Did you know Sloane took a video? I’ve watched it a few times, trying to see it from Claire’s perspective,” I admit, my voice flat.

He raises his eyebrows. “Why would you do that to yourself?” he asks around a bite of a scone. I’m glad one of us still has an appetite.

I turn toward the office window. “Because I wanted to see what she saw. I wanted to put myself in her shoes.”

“And?”