I did what he told me only because that was what I was going to do anyway. I needed to figure this out. I needed to come up with a plan because confronting him with the text alone was not enough. I was smart enough to know that. I needed to know more. I needed to find out first who was K. Brunson. All this time I wondered if something was going on with Jeremy and Dana. But it wasn’t Dana. It was K. Brunson.

Or maybe it was Dana. Maybe that was some kind of code name.

And then...another thought. Of Rena. And her husband.

K. Brunson.

Why was there no first name?

K. Brunson.

Was my husband involved with a man?

“Oh, my God,” I moaned.

“What?” Jeremy said. “Ginger, what?” he asked me with some urgency.

“Pull over.”

“Why?”

“Just pull over,” I screamed.

Looking into the rear view mirror, Jeremy made a quick swerve making the tires scream. Then, on the side of the road, the Jag’s tires crunched the gravel below and before the car even came to a full stop, I opened the door — but it wasn’t in time. I released all of my emotions in a pool of puke, half of it spilling onto the side of Jeremy’s Jaguar.

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

That text had knocked me stone-cold out. From Friday night, when I’d stopped puking on the side of the road (and the side of the car) Jeremy had finally been able to drive us home, until this moment about sixty hours later, I had been in this bed in our guest room, tucked beneath the covers, rising only to go to the bathroom. I hadn’t eaten much, though Jeremy kept bringing me food.

For the last sixty hours I’d done only two things — think and weep. I’d taken myself through a gamut of emotions and a dozen questions that all made my head and my heart ache.

But now, it was time for me to get up. Because depression did me no good. Staying in bed solved no problems. Crying until every tear had been squeezed from me answered no questions.

And that was what I needed most right now — the answer to my questions.

“Babe.” I glanced up at the doorway. “You’re up.” He grinned as if he were so glad to see me.

My response: a blank stare and no words. I’d been silent this whole weekend, parting my lips only to speak to Jasmine and Jayden when they’d called on Saturday and yesterday.

“Still not feeling well?” He stepped into the bedroom and eased down onto the bed next to me.

I closed my eyes and wondered why didn’t I just say something? Why didn’t I ask him about the text? Why didn’t I just go straight to the source?