Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
No friendly text messages.
No calls.
No FaceTime chats.
Nothing.
Why? Because best friends don’t sleep with their best friend’s husband.
Eve Castillo journal entry
Rose never should’ve married Cole.
He had secrets. We both did. Rose didn’t know that Cole and I had met before—that we’d hooked up on a dating app almost half a year before she’d met him. We linked up at a bar, had a couple of drinks, and slept together that same night.
She married him so fast. I mean, I just blinked and boom. She was asking me to be her maid of honor ten months after meeting him. She’s so in love. I don’t know how to break it to her that Cole and I have slept together.
And not just once, several times.
I got tired of Cole and sort of ghosted him, so meeting Rose’s new boy toy for dinner for the first time was a shocker. He glanced at me all night with this hungry look in his eyes. I don’t know how Rose didn’t notice.
But like I said . . . something is changing.
The good side of me wants to tell her. But the other part of me . . . it whispers for me to never tell her a damn thing. The last thing I want is to ruin her happiness.
CHAPTER FIVE
“How are you feeling about that, Rose?”
I looked from the bowl of Jolly Ranchers on the coffee table to my therapist, Dr. Cristine Nether. Her umber skin was deep and rich, her thick hair pulled back in a classy ponytail. She was such a pretty woman who could’ve passed for a model, really. I started coming to her office a week after setting Cole’s belongings on fire. After slapping him so hard I still felt the sting in my hand for nearly twenty minutes afterward.
It was Diana’s idea. She knew Cristine personally and Cristine agreed to squeeze me in every other week so I could have a chat with her. It was odd calling it a chat. It was more like she asked me questions and I answered them to the best of my knowledge while feeling a little guilty each time. Honestly, Cristine’s job was no different than mine. Interviewing. Nodding. Responding when necessary. Gathering information to study later. Only this was an ongoing interview, one that didn’t make me feel all that comfortable.
I’d visited Cristine four times now. The first time I came, I ranted to her until I was parched. I don’t know what it was that made me word-vomit. It could’ve been her sure eyes or maybe her soft smile. The scent of lavender and undertone of lemon in her office that relaxed me. The cozy chair and how my butt settled into it nicely, making me never want to leave. The bowl of Jolly Ranchers that were so inviting.
I’d chosen the watermelon Jolly Rancher the first time. I sucked on it as Cristine waited for me to speak. Then I remembered Cole buying me a pack of Jolly Ranchers when I was on a deadline, so I spit it out in the trash can, returned to the love seat, and spouted off.
But today was different. I wasn’t that angry woman anymore. Today I simply felt . . . frustrated. But not about Cole.
“She always does this,” I finally said. “She never answers her damn phone when people need her, and I feel like she’s selfish. I’m sick of it.”
“Have you considered that she might be tied up?” Cristine asked.
“Please,” I scoffed. “She always has her phone on her.”
Cristine paused. “If that’s true, shouldn’t that make you worried about her? Perhaps something has gone wrong.”
“No. I don’t care about her or what she’s doing anymore.”
Cristine didn’t react, but she did stare at me like she was waiting for me to be honest with myself. I couldn’t stand when she did that. The judging-me-without-judging-me thing. She was too good at her job.
“I don’t care enough to figure it out,” I said after a while.
“You know, Rose”—she sighed, folding one leg over the other—“it’s hard to let friendships like the one you had with Eve go. It’s okay to feel brokenhearted about that too. You didn’t just split apart from your husband. You also split from a long-term friend. That was a relationship you cultivated over many years. You don’t simply stop caring about that person because they wronged you.”
“I don’t want to care,” I told her, eyes burning. Great. The tears were on the way. “I just . . . I don’t get why I still bother checking on her, or calling her, or looking into anything she does, when she practically ruined my life and any chance of happiness that I had.”
“I get that.” She paused. “And you still haven’t spoken to her since that night you caught her?”
“No. She tried getting in touch with me for about a month, but I think she gave up when she realized I was never going to answer.”