Chapter 2

My uncle's voice came through the receiver, tinged with cautious joy. "Connor, have you really made up your mind?

"Before your father passed, you were the one thing he couldn't stop worrying about. What happened back then left such a deep mark on you, and I've always been afraid you'd get trapped in your own head because of it. Now that you've finally come around, I really..."

He paused to steady his voice. "I'll book the flights for you. Does tomorrow afternoon work?"

I blinked my dry, aching eyes. "That works. I'll go back and pack. I'll see you at the airport tomorrow afternoon."

After I hung up, I found a nearby hotel and checked in. The bed was clean. No one had ever lain in it, and there was no trace of anyone else's scent.

That night, I slept unusually well.

I slept straight through until the next afternoon, then headed home.

I pushed open the door and found the living room empty. Jennifer wasn't there, and neither was Hunter.

I went straight to the master bedroom to pack.

The moment I opened the door, I froze. Even though I had braced myself, the sight still cut straight into my chest.

The sheets lay crumpled in a heap at the foot of the bed, and a pillow sat crooked to one side. A pair of white CK men's underwear hung over the edge of the mattress. It was the brand Hunter always wore.

Dark and light stains marred the fabric. Every one of them made it painfully clear just how far the two of them had gone after I left.

Numb, I stepped closer. That was when I saw the words written across the underwear in black marker: 50min.

At that moment, something inside me died for good. There was no mistaking it. The underwear belonged to Hunter.

That glaring number dragged me straight back three years, to the day Hunter moved into the house. That night, the two of us had lain in bed and talked about everything that had been on our minds.

He had told me he had just started seeing someone, but her job made their relationship complicated. She couldn't be seen with him in public, so they rarely had a chance to meet.

Around that time, I had noticed that Hunter's underwear often had numbers written on the waistbands. The number changed each time. Sometimes it was 35, sometimes 48, and once it had been as high as 72.

Eventually, my curiosity got the better of me, and I asked what the numbers meant.

He had smiled and said, "However long my girlfriend can last in bed, that's the number I write down. It's a code between the two of us."

Back then, I had laughed it off and teased him, happy that he had found someone he liked.

So it had started all the way back then. That woman had been Jennifer all along.

But what had Hunter been thinking when he bragged about it to me? Had he been laughing at me? Mocking me? Or pitying me?

Almost without thinking, I turned and walked into Hunter's room next door.

I opened the closet. Rows of identical underwear hung neatly across the entire wall, with numbers scrawled across every waistband.

Some had little hearts drawn beside the numbers. Others had been traced over twice in red ink.

It looked like a calendar meant for only one person to understand.

I wanted to cry, but not a single tear came. My eyes burned and ached as though they might burst.

Then my phone rang.

I answered with my eyes still red, and an urgent voice came through the receiver. "Is this Hunter Clayton's family? He's in critical condition and needs emergency surgery. You're listed as his emergency contact. Please come to the hospital and sign the paperwork as soon as possible!"