“Come on in and have a seat.” He steps back to give me room to walk into his suite.
The sitting area has a chair and a small couch, so I choose the chair. He sits on the couch in the seat closest to me, rubbing his palms together to expel some of his nervousness. “You said you have something to tell me. I’ll listen to what you have to say, and then I’m leaving. Understand this up front: I’m not here to reconcile with you.”
“First of all, I’m so sorry for what I did to us. Actually, sorry doesn’t even come close to describing how I feel about it. Regret consumes me—regret that I hurt you, destroyed us, and lost my one true love. I’m an idiot for not seeing what I had in you years ago, for taking everything we had for granted, and betraying you like I did.”
“I’m not here to torture you or make you get down on your knees and beg for mercy,” I reply. “For the sake of your own happiness, you have to let go of your regrets. It’s really guilt fueling it, but it’s in the past now. I’ve moved on and that’s exactly what you need to do, too.”
“Layne, I know you said we don’t have a chance at happiness together, but I know we do. This part may be hard for you to hear. God knows it’s hard for me to say. But it’s something you need to know before you decide to kick me out of your life forever.”
“All right.”
I take a deep breath and hold it until my lungs start to burn and force me to exhale and repeat. Bobby stands and walks over to the window, staring outside while I watch his profile. He clenches his jaw tightly, the muscles ticking and flexing in his cheek, then he releases a long whoosh of air to calm himself. Just watching him makes my anxiety kick up a notch.
“Fuck, this is hard.” He runs his hands through his hair before throwing them up in the air over his head. “Okay, here goes. When you were finishing law school and doing your internships, you spent a lot of time in the office with rich, successful men. They must have been hitting on you left and right. My career felt like it was stalling and I felt like a failure, like I didn’t measure up to those guys you were spending a lot of time with.
“By the time you asked me to get you pregnant because you wanted a baby so badly, I was at an all-time low. If I couldn’t even support myself, I knew I couldn’t give you the one thing you wanted most in the world. The longer it went on, the more depressed and desperate you became. Part of me started to blame you for our problems conceiving, because thinking it was my fault made me feel like even more of a failure. At the same time, part of me was also glad it didn’t happen because I wasn’t certain I wouldn’t feel trapped. Mainly, I was just selfish. I wanted things to stay the way they had always been. I just couldn’t let you go.
“Wait. Stop,” I demand. “Just fucking stop.”
Nervous energy, anger, frustration, and pure rage feel like bombs exploding in my chest. I want to lash out at him. I want to hurt him irrevocably. I can’t process everything he’s just said, much less hear the next part that begins with the day I caught him fucking my best friend.
My initial question has been answered. I know I could’ve lived without knowing all of this. Even with the affair, I could’ve eventually chalked it up to a learning and growth experience for us both. Though the end of our relationship was terrible, I still could’ve appreciated the time leading up to it, the years I spent with my first love. But now? Now it seems like one big lie, a farce, a sham, a con.
I don’t even know this man.
“Layne. Please let me finish. I’m sorry, I know this hurts you, but I have to tell you everything.”
I refuse to cry. I will not shed one single tear. I’ve given him enough tears to last a lifetime. The hardness in my gaze and in my voice leaves no room for doubt. “Make it quick. Get to the fucking point.”
“When Cyndi showed up at my apartment upset over her breakup with Brett, I thought you’d be close behind her. It never occurred to me that she was there to talk to just me. I assumed she called you first since you were her best friend and you told her to meet you at my place. She said you were working late with Daniel, the hotshot lawyer who could pass for a fitness model. My insecurities hit me full force because you didn’t tell me you were working late with him.”
“Because I wasn’t. That doesn’t even make sense that you’d believe that. You know that Daniel handles murder cases and other high-profile jury trials. You and I talked about that at length, and I explained why I wasn’t interested in handling those types of cases,” I interject.