I watched Clarke as he sat in his seat, beside Dante, his elbows resting on his knees, his shoulders hunched, pulling the lines of his shirt tight. I didn’t know what to say to him. I felt like I should say something, but the shitstorm of drama that I had caused seemed too big, too impossible to resolve in the time that stretched before us.

He lifted his head and looked at me, and I saw the thin edge of emotion that he straddled. “The newspapers…” He swallowed, his beautiful mouth tightening for a beat. “They said that you said you didn’t know who the father was.”

The conversation that I had dreaded for a year was finally here. “Yes,” I managed, hoping he would stop talking, hoping we would go back to silence.

“Why?” He adjusted the end of one shirtsleeve, pulling it tight, his eyes dropping briefly. “Why wouldn’t it be me? Who else could it be?”

When he looked back at me, it was two sets of eyes in total. Dante also watched, every muscle in his body ready to pounce. This was a test. I realized it instantly. Not from Clarke. Poor, beautiful Clarke just wanted to know what the hell was happening in his life. But Dante, he watched to see what I was made of. I wished I knew. I looked down at my pink Nikes and bought a sliver of time.

I had always hoped that Nicole would be the one to confess. If I took away that option, telling Clarke about Paulo, would it ruin any chance of him trusting Nicole again? Or had I already ruined that moment by bringing up the paternity at all? It was pretty much assumed, from my quick glance at social media, that Nicole was the Unfaithful Slut of the Week.

“It was Paulo.”

85. Spilling the Beans

“It was Paulo.”

That bomb didn’t come from me; it came from Dante, who muttered the words, his voice dark. My head snapped to him, my eyes widening, any inner debate over spilling the beans on Nicole’s lover ended. Clarke’s attention turned from me and zeroed in on Dante.

“Paulo?” Clarke sounded surprised.

“This couldn’t have been a surprise.” Dante stood and faced him. “How often was he at your house? And her getting this role?”

I didn’t know why Dante was getting so self-rightous. He had kept the secret, same as me, all of us guilty in this situation except Clarke. Clarke sank back in his seat, his head resting against the wall. He looked beaten. Lost. I watched his brow pinch and wondered if I had looked that defeated and broken, in the aftermath of discovering Vic’s affair. But then, I’d been caught completely off guard. Clarke, he’d spent almost a day sitting, waiting for the guillotine to fall.

Waiting to find out who the executioner was.

86. She Doesn’t Deserve Children

Clarke clammed up. I watched him sink against his seat, his gaze shuttering, his arms crossing, his mouth narrowing into a thin line. Our group fell back into silence, nothing said until a nurse walked out and asked for me.

“I’m Chloe.” I stood up, hesitantly raising a hand.

“Mrs. Brantley has asked for you.”

I glanced at Clarke, then back at the nurse, who had already turned, her scrubs pushing through the double doors. I grabbed my purse and darted after her, worried about being left. I didn’t glance at Clarke when I scurried past. Didn’t want to see the questions in his eyes. I didn’t want to know why she had asked for me, didn’t want to see her, was too terrified of a negative outcome to ask the nurse about the baby.

“The baby is fine.” The nurse spoke over her shoulder, waiting on a hospital bed to cross our path.

“It’s fine?” A swell of emotion filled my chest at the news, and I sent a silent thank you up to heaven.

“Yes. Mrs. Brantley has an ulcer, one that flared, probably due to stress and a daily ibuprofen habit. But she’s stable now. Still in some pain, but the medicine will kick in soon.”

She stopped outside a room and nodded me forward. I steeled myself and stepped into the room, ready for battle. Instead, I found a different woman. Not the enraged, screaming banshee from hours earlier; Nicole had sunk into a large bed, tiny among all of the IVs and equipment. Her room had a window and she looked out it, her gaze barely flicking to me when I entered.

“Does Clarke know about Paulo?” she asked quietly.

“Yes.” I didn’t bother telling her that it was Dante who shared the news, or that Clarke had pulled it out of us. At that moment, she didn’t seem to care and I was running out of the energy to deal with all of this.

“I don’t want to talk to him,” she whispered the words and wrapped her hands around her stomach. “I’m just so tired. Of everything.”

Well, that made two of us. I sank into a recliner next to her bed and closed my eyes. The last few days had been such a whirlwind; I’d hardly had a moment to rest. I wondered where all of her friends were. Then again … I wasn’t sure Nicole really had any friends. Acquaintances? Yes. Fellow social maggots? Yes. True friends? No. Another domino on top of Nicole’s stack of sadness. I had a fleeting thought of Chanel and wondered where she was.

“Is he staying?” Nicole’s question was so subdued, so quiet and naked in its vulnerability, I almost missed it.

“Who? Clarke?” It seemed like a ridiculous question. “Here at the hospital? Yeah, he’s in the waiting room.” Wanting to see you. An addition I should have added, but I was chicken.

“He should leave me,” she mumbled. “After everything…”

I didn’t know what to say. I completely agreed with her. During the last year, I’d asked myself a dozen times why the damn man stayed. On one hand, it was endearing, his commitment and devotion. On the other hand, it was stupid. But what did I know? I’d stayed with Vic for two years. There were probably plenty in his inner circle who had laughed behind my back, who had questioned my intelligence level. I couldn’t really judge Clarke for anything. “This could be a fresh start for you two.” I ventured. “You could be honest with him. Faithful.”

She snorted, a little taste of old Nicole fighting to the surface. “Like I have a choice?” She scowled. “My body is going to be shot after this.”

This. That was her reference to the baby. I swallowed every response that bubbled in my throat and mentally circled, in bold red pen, my date of resignation. Next Monday. She should be out of the hospital by then. Maybe I could kidnap Chanel on my way out. With all the baby and affair drama, they probably wouldn’t even notice.

I glanced at my watch and decided to move this pity party along. “I’ve got to run.” I stood, snagging my purse off of the floor. “I’ll send Clarke back.”

Her head lifted off the pillow. “Where are you going? What is more important than this?”

“I’m sorry. An appointment,” I lied, moving for the door quickly, before she had a chance to retort.

Her last words were shouted at me, the demand slipping through the door right before it shut. “Don’t send Clarke back here!”

I considered the order, and then, in one of my final acts as Assistant to Nicole, discarded it.

I saw Carter the minute I stepped from the taxi. He stood on the front steps of our building, his hands in his back pockets, the pose accenting the tight fit of his shirt on his shoulders, the muscles of his arms, a slight peek of abs visible above the low hang of his jeans.

I stopped before him and looked up into his face. “Hey.”