“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think? Text her, see if she will meet up with you. Maybe you can talk some sense into her. Look, I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but she actually does like you. Respects you. I think on some level she realizes she can’t compete with you for Grant. I mean, I think she knows she messed up big-time.”

“Does she know you’re telling me all of this?”

Tara shook her head. “I made the decision, thinking it would help if you spoke to her.”

“I am the last one Braithe wants to hear from. You have this all wrong.” Rainy released the knot of hair wrapped on the crest of her skull and her hair tumbled down.

Sturdy, steady Braithe with her marbled brown eyes and sophisticated maturity didn’t seem the type to connive and scheme, but Rainy supposed that was why she’d been able to get away with it.

“I don’t want anything to do with her, or you, or any of you, ever again,” Rainy said.

“I should have known,” Tara said, her face red. “People like you tout feminism and claim you give a shit about other women, but in the end you only care about yourself. You’re willing to leave her behind because she didn’t fit your narrative.”

“That’s such a load of bullshit, Tara. No one helps the person who stabs them in the back!” But Rainy was staring at an empty screen: Tara had hung up on her. A vicious anger was ripping through her, violent and affirming. She paced the small room until she wanted to scream. You don’t have to stay here, she thought. This is Vegas. You can do pretty much anything you want. Grabbing her bag, she headed out of the room.

21

Now

“Why are you being like this?” The hurt in Grant’s eyes was enough to rip the last of her reserve from where she loosely held it. Rainy’s hands made knots in her lap. She stared at the computer’s keyboard instead of the grainy image of him on the screen. They’d barely managed a connection, and now they were fighting.

“Why didn’t you tell me that the two of you were a thing?”

“It was a long time ago, Rainy. She’s married to my best friend. And you and I don’t talk about the past—we just don’t.”

That was fair. She never asked questions because she didn’t want the same asked of her. But something like this seemed like more of a problem: I used to sleep with the woman we see every week.