The problem momentarily solved—or at least out of sight—I took the stairs two by two, my emotions battling for space.
Betrayal and fury won out. I burst into his room just as he was stepping out of the bathroom, his hair dripping wet, a towel around his bare shoulders and a pair of boxers slung low on his hips. The breath whooshed out of my lungs as I skidded to a stop.
He froze, halfway between the bathroom and his dresser, taking in my murderous expression.
“I knew I couldn’t trust you,” I said.
He picked up the towel, scrubbing across his dripping hair. His moves were too casual, too relaxed. Everything was falling apart and he just stood there. “I don’t know what you’re referring to,” he said.
I started unbuttoning the shirt I’m wearing—his--yanking it over my head and grabbing my own from where it sat, rumpled on the floor half-under his bed. Jesus, I’d let him yank my shirt off and he was someone else’s husband. “I’m talking about the fact that you’re fucking married.” I spun on him, glaring.
He worked his jaw, and I hated him for it. I hated that he was trying to calculate the best way to answer. “How did you know?” he said.
“So it’s true?” I cried out, pulling my shirt down.
My shoes. I didn’t know where I’d put my shoes. “Jesus” I said, my voice breaking. “I should’ve listened to my instincts and stayed the hell away from you.”
“Taryn,” he said, his voice calm. Level. Just as demanding as ever. “Talk to me. How did you find out?”
“Ha!” I said, laughing in an ugly way. “Maybe the fact that your wife is standing on your front stoop with a giant rock on her finger?”
I spun around to leave, walking to the door as fast as my shaky legs would carry me. But then his hand was on my arm, forcing me to stop. “Taryn, please, just listen to me. I can explain this.”
Please. The pleasantry sounded foreign on his tongue, and we were so past pleasantries. I turned on him, shoving him back. Away from me. I needed space. Room to breathe. “You can explain a wife you forgot to tell me about before you took me to your bed?”
As if she knew we were talking about her, the doorbell rang again. I pushed him, but he didn’t move, didn’t flinch. I needed to leave, needed enough space to calm down.
“Stop,” he said, each hand gripping my shoulders, forcing me to stare at him dead-on. “Listen to me.”
I crossed my arms, staring him down, just like he wanted. But it was a challenge, not acceptance. “You have thirty seconds, and then I am so gone.”
“I wasn’t in a good place when I left town. I didn’t want to go at all.”
The doorbell rang again, and then again and again, and Landon flinched.
“Then why did you?” I said, trying to ignore the gorgeous woman trying to get into this house—or was it her house? Trying not to start comparing myself to her. “And cut the crap this time, okay?” I continued. “Even if you felt you had to make something of yourself, you could’ve told me. You could’ve said goodbye. Even Matt didn’t know where you went.”
“Matt is why I left,” Landon said, a vein throbbing in his right temple now. “After you and I…. after we were together, I woke up around dawn. I knew he’d be upset about us, and I wanted to spare you his reaction. We were still figuring things out. It was between us, not him.”
I snorted. “Oh please, you’re saying that if it wasn’t for my brother, you wanted to stay over for breakfast? You weren’t the type. You’re still not the type.”
His wife was banging on the front door now, the sounds rattling through the house.
He rolled his eyes. “You know it was never that simple. I snuck out because I didn’t want to start a scene. I didn’t want to leave you like that, but I was going to text you later, make plans with you.”
“And?”
Landon sighed. “When I walked out the front door or your house, I found Matt sitting on the hood of my car. Waiting. He must’ve woken up at some point after I came over and saw my car. I guess I should’ve been thankful he didn’t walk in on us while I was in your bed. I’m still not sure why he didn’t, except that he probably didn’t want to actually see me with you.”
I stared at him, holding onto my fury. I knew Matt was protective of me. Always had been. “And then what?” I said, my stomach clenching.
“We exchanged words. He took a few swings. I knew I deserved it, so I let him land one before I stopped it.”
“How very chivalrous,” I said, snorting.
“Your brother can throw a damn good punch. I had a black eye for a week.”
I didn’t respond, just stared. Waited for the words that would somehow make the girl downstairs not matter.