I turned off the shower and reached for a towel, drying myself vigorously. My body felt stronger than it had in a long time, harder and leaner. Still, it couldn’t compare to Max Beausoleil’s physique. He would always be bigger, tougher, more masculine than I was. But maybe she didn’t want that. Maybe his perfection bored her. It was possible . . . doubtful, but possible.

My robe was on the back of the door, and I wrapped it around me. It was winter, and the old bungalow was drafty. If my books ever took off, I would buy a new house on the water. At the rate I was going, that wasn’t going to happen. The book had structural problems that needed my full attention, but my mind was consumed with thoughts of Freya. It was her fault that the book was a mess in the first place. She had come into our lives and turned everything upside down.

I emerged into the hallway in a billow of steam. The air was chilled, almost icy. Jamie should have turned on the furnace. In bare feet, I moved to the living room thermostat, where the real source of the cold front sat on the sofa, her mouth set in a grim line.

“Stop lying to me, Brian.” Jamie’s voice trembled with hurt and anger. “I know you were with Freya at the canyon.”

There was no point denying it. “It’s not how it looks,” I said quickly. “We were just talking.”

An incredulous laugh erupted from Jamie’s throat. “Do you really expect me to believe that? How long have you been fucking my best friend?” The vulgarity was out of character, but appropriate, given the circumstances. But I chose different words.

“I’m not . . . sleeping with her,” I said. “I slept with her. The night you slept with Max.”

My wife’s olive face blanched as guilt, confusion, and shame flitted across her features. But I knew my own pallor was even paler, even sicker. Articulating what happened that night, saying the words out loud, made me want to puke.

Jamie swallowed audibly. “Why did you lie to me? I’ve been racked with guilt.”

“Poor you.” My sarcasm was cutting. “Freya told me how much you wanted Max. She told me you were bored with me, desperate to have sex with someone else. That you’d missed out on so much, because of me.”

“No. . . .” But her voice was weak.

“Freya said the swap would make you happy. That no one would get hurt. But I got hurt, Jamie. The thought of you and . . . him.” My throat clogged, and I couldn’t continue.