Page 69 of Chasing Smoke

The phone drops from my shaking hands onto the floor.

“What the fuck?” Ansel whispers from beside me.

My hand presses to my stomach. Nausea increases, bile rising. I’m gonna be sick.

I bolt up off the floor and rush into the bathroom, dropping to my knees in front of the toilet seconds before I vomit. I reach for the flush handle but then vomit again.

Steady hands pull my hair back from my face and rub my back.

I wanted to know everything, and now I do. Not only was my husband having an affair, but before all of the concerned messages she sent, asking why he wasn’t answering her, they were discussing the baby on the way.

Numbness washes over my body as I sit back. As though I can’t quite make sense of the information I’ve just been handed, even though it’s all right there in the form of text messages and ultrasound pictures she sent to Caleb.

Based on the dates of those pictures, that child must be about eighteen months or so now.

God, a piece of Caleb is running around out there, but he isn’t part of me. What a mindfuck. All the months that I got my period and mourned another month of no pregnancy. This woman, this stranger to me, has a part of him, and I don’t.

Jealousy snaps its leash inside me, desperate to escape my new reality.

Accompanying the jealousy is a profound sense of betrayal. And anger. So much anger.

“How could he do this to me?” I slump away from the toilet.

Ansel leans over me and presses the lever to flush the toilet.

“I can’t believe this,” I whisper.

“I don’t know what to say.”

I can’t stand the pitying expression Ansel’s giving me, so I walk over to the vanity and pull out my toothbrush. I put toothpaste on it and run it under the water and start brushing my teeth.

I stare at my reflection. All trace of the woman I was before I found the phone has vanished. I look exactly how I did after Caleb first died—filled with so much sorrow and desperation and confusion.

I’m pissed at him for taking away the small amount of peace I’d managed to claim for myself. Happiness feels like chasing smoke. It’s right there, I can see it, but when I reach out to grab it, it slides through my fingers.

Ansel climbs off the floor and stands behind me while I finish brushing my teeth. He’s watching me so intently, waiting for me to break. When I’m done and I’ve rinsed my mouth, I put my toothbrush back in the holder.

“I’m so sorry, Collins. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now.” He wraps me in his arms from behind and rests his chin on my shoulder.

I meet his gaze in the mirror. He doesn’t even know the half of it. But I’m not ready to talk about that just yet.

Ansel’s arms bring a comfort I needed, and I lean my weight to press against him. He’s warm and stable and safe. The more comfort I take from him, the more the raw emotions take hold. My throat aches from the lump forming there, and my eyes burn as more tears fill them. Tears Caleb doesn’t deserve from me. A single tear tracks down my face, then the floodgates unleash.

I’m mildly aware of Ansel turning me in his arms. My body is racked with sobs as I release it all. His shirt grows wet from my tears, and he just holds me, rubbing my back and telling me that it will be okay.

And I know it will, I do. I’ve already survived the death of my husband. I can survive this betrayal too. But right now, I’m all frayed edges.

At some point, the tears run out, as though the well has run dry on both my tears and my torment. I have nothing left to give in this moment.

I pull my head back a bit but remain in his arms, meeting his brown eyes. He’s looking down at me as though he would do anything to make me feel better.

I pull his head down so that his lips meet mine. He’s tentative at first, not returning the kiss, but when I lick the seam of his lips, he relents. When his tongue touches mine, I know why I kissed him. Because I’m tired of feeling bad, of being sad, and just for this moment, I want to feel something different. Something that feels good.

I’m the one still living, and Caleb did plenty of it while on this earth. It’s my turn to feel alive.

I deepen the kiss and walk him backward until we reach the bedroom. Once we’re beside the bed, I give him a little push, and he flops down onto it. I straddle his waist.

Our lips meet again, and this time the desperation in our kisses increases tenfold. He hardens beneath me, and I grind down on his length. Not wasting any time, I reach for the hem of my sweater and lift it over my head, leaving me in my bra. Ansel glances at me with heavy lids and drives his hand into my hair, dragging me forward to meet his lips again.