“Wait.” A pause. “You’re not still with her, are you?” I ask, trying to sound surprised.

He still doesn’t say anything. He’s looking everywhere but my face. I’m trying to keep my eyes on his, but it’s hard when all they want to do is drop to the sweat dripping down his bare skin.

“She’s not who you think she is,” I say, firming my voice.

He glances at me sideways, anger flaring in his eyes. “I think I know her better than you.”

With that, he turns away and heads down the hallway to the locker rooms. He pulls his shirt off because I guess there’s no point anymore and uses it as a towel, mopping sweat from his eyes. Immediately, I notice the scratches on his back, along the side of his waist. Something drops inside me. I know those kinds of marks. Every woman knows those kinds of marks. They’re scabbed over now, dark and ugly against the smooth butterscotch of his skin.

My jaw tightens. I’ve never hated a girl as much as I hate that bitch in this moment. It’s like she did it on purpose, trying to mark her territory. The more I try to get rid of her, the more she shows up.

I stay on Nate’s heels. “Oh, yeah? Well, did you know she was a serial cheater?”

He looks back at me. “That’s bullshit. She never—”

“You don’t have the best track record of realizing when your girlfriend’s cheating, you know.”

He stops and frowns at my reminder, but I’m right, and he knows it. “That’s because I trusted you.”

“Don’t you trust Brandi? You said you love her. Your blinders are up. You can’t see what I can see.”

He swallows and ignores my question. “Brandi didn’t send those emails.”

“Or the nudes, right? What, they sent themselves?”

“I don’t know how they got them. Maybe...”

I wait for him to finish but he never does.

I sigh. “Why do so many mental gymnastics when it’s right in front of your eyes? Brandi isn’t like you. She’s—”

“She’s what?” His eyes flare with something I’ve never seen before, a level of defensiveness he’s never had for me.

I lick my lips. “Look, you grew up in a nice neighborhood, in a nice house, with both of your parents. She was practically raised by wolves and—”

“And that makes her a murderer?” His eyes narrow, just a fraction. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“No, but it’s probably made her desperate for love. Any kind of love. She clearly thought she was in love with my father. It’s all in the emails. The cops showed them to me. I read them all. It’s so fucked up.”