Chapter 2 - Morning After

Quiana

The first thing I felt was the cold.

It crept across my shoulder, raising goosebumps along my skin before I instinctively pulled the duvet higher. My eyes fluttered open, and for several seconds, I stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, my mind sluggish and heavy with sleep.

Then I moved…and froze.

The duvet slipped slightly from my chest.

I was naked.

A sharp breath caught in my throat, and I sat up so quickly that the room spun around me. My gaze flew across the bed.

Zack.

He was lying beside me with his back turned, one arm thrown carelessly above his head. His breathing was deep and steady, his disheveled appearance a reminder of how drunk he'd been when he came home.

My pulse quickened as the memories returned in scattered pieces.

The foyer. His drunken eyes. His voice.

Cameron.

The fall.

His hands around my waist.

His lips against mine.

I gripped the duvet tighter. I had told myself to stop. I knew he wasn't seeing me, yet I hadn't pushed him away. Instead, I'd kissed him back, and the warmth of his body, the way he'd pulled me closer, had made resisting almost impossible.

Then the memories became hazy.

Warmth.

Whispered breaths.

His hands.

The softness of the sheets beneath us.

After that, nothing I could piece together clearly.

My eyes dropped to the floor.

My dress was crumpled near the foot of the bed. His shirt lay beside it, his belt discarded not far away.

My stomach twisted.

We had crossed a line.

I looked at Zack again. There was something almost cruel about how peacefully he slept while I sat there trying to understand what we'd done.

For a few hours, I'd allowed myself to forget everything that was wrong between us—the coldness, the resentment, the way his eyes changed whenever Cameron's name was mentioned. I'd forgotten that, in his mind, I was the woman who had taken everything from the person he loved.

I'd even forgotten that he'd called me her name.

Until now.

The name seemed to linger in the room.

I looked away, swallowing against the tightness in my throat. Even when his arms had been around me, some part of him had still been reaching for her.

I climbed out of bed carefully and wrapped the duvet around myself before bending to collect my clothes. My dress was badly wrinkled, and I stared at it briefly, remembering how carefully I'd chosen it.

For him and our anniversary.

A bitter smile touched my lips.

I shook my head and gathered the rest of my things.

When I caught sight of myself in the mirror, I stopped.

My hair was a mess, my lips slightly swollen, and a faint redness marked the skin near my neck.

I immediately looked away.

Whatever had happened between Zack and me hadn't been a dream.

I dressed quickly and reached for the bedroom door.

Just as my fingers touched the handle, a rough voice came from behind me.

“What are you doing here?.”

I turned.

Zack was awake. He had pushed himself against the headboard and was rubbing his temple, his expression dark with the remnants of a hangover. His eyes moved over me before drifting toward the rumpled bed.

For a moment, confusion settled over his features.

Then he looked back at me.

“What happened last night?”

The question hit me harder than I expected.

“You don't remember?”

He shook his head.

“Not much.”

I tightened my fingers around the door handle.

“You came home drunk.”

“I remember coming home.”

“You called me Cameron.”

His face tightened.

Silence stretched between us.

“Do you remember kissing me?”

His jaw clenched, and his gaze dropped.

“No.”

I let out a slow breath, keeping my face composed.

“You don't remember anything after that?”

He shook his head again.

“I see.”

He looked at me.

“Quiana—”

“What?!”

He hesitated, his gaze moving toward the bed once more.

“Did we…”

He couldn't finish. Neither could I.

The silence between us said enough.

He finally looked at me.

“Did we sleep together?”

I stared at him.

“You're asking me?”

“I was drunk and I don't remember.”

“Oh, wow.”

Something in my voice made his expression harden.

“Then what do you want me to do?”

I looked at him for a moment before shaking my head.

“Nothing.”

I turned toward the door.

“Quiana.”

I stopped but didn't look back.

His voice came again, colder this time.

“Don't misunderstand last night.”

My chest tightened.

I slowly turned to face him.

“I wasn't.”

He studied me.

I forced a small smile, though it hurt to hold it.

“You were drunk, Zack. I know exactly what last night was.”

He said nothing as I opened the door.

“And for what it's worth,” I added without looking at him, “I won't ask you to remember it.”

I walked out.

The moment the door closed behind me, I pressed my back against it and closed my eyes. My breath trembled, but I refused to let the tears fall.

I pushed myself away from the door and headed for the bathroom.

I locked myself in the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror for a moment.

The woman staring back at me looked exhausted.

I turned on the shower, and the rush of water filled the silence.

As I stepped beneath it, I let my head fall back.

Last night was a mistake. A drunken mistake. Nothing more.

Still, the memory of Zack holding me lingered, and I couldn't quite shake the ache it left behind. For those few moments, I'd forgotten that he hated me and believed I was responsible for what happened to Cameron.

I pressed my palm against my chest.

It still hurt.

“Never again,” I whispered.

The words disappeared beneath the water.

By the time I returned downstairs, Zack was gone.

His coffee sat untouched on the kitchen counter, and the house had already returned to its usual silence.

Then my phone rang.

It was Laila. I answered.

“Hello?”

“Quiana?”

Something in her voice made me straighten.

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

I looked toward the dining room.

The anniversary dinner was still there, cold and forgotten. The flowers had begun to droop, and the candles had burned down to little pools of wax.

“I'll survive.”

There was a pause.

“That bad?”

I swallowed.

“Worse.”

Laila sighed softly.

“What did Zack do?”

I leaned against the counter.

“He came home drunk.”

“On your anniversary?”

“Yes.”

“And you waited for him.”

“I thought he might come home.”

“You always think he'll come home.”

The words weren't cruel.

That almost made them worse.

“I know.”

Laila's voice softened. “Quiana, you don't have to keep pretending you're okay with this.”

“I don't.”

“Then what are you pretending?”

I didn't answer.

“Did something happen after he came home?” she asked.

My fingers tightened around the phone.

“Yes.”

“What?”

I swallowed.

“I don't know how to explain it.”

“Tell me, girl.”

A shaky breath escaped me.

“We kissed.”

There was silence.

“Quiana…”

“He was drunk,” I rushed to add. “He didn't even know who he was kissing.”

Laila was quiet for a moment.

“And you?”

I looked toward the staircase.

“I knew.”

That was enough.

Laila exhaled slowly.

“You still love him.”

I looked away.

“I wish I didn't.”

She was quiet before saying, “That's not the same thing as saying you have to keep hurting yourself for him.”

I wiped beneath one eye before the tear could fall.

“I know.”

“Come over,” she said, her voice worried.

I smiled faintly.

“Not today.”

“Then I'll come to you.”

“No.” I replied softly. “I just need some time.”

There was another pause.

“Fine. But I'm here.”

“I know.”

“And don't shut me out.”

I closed my eyes.

“I won't.”

We ended the call.

My gaze landed on the gift I'd bought Zack. It was still sitting beside the untouched champagne glass.

I walked over and picked up the box, running my thumb over the smooth wrapping.

I'd imagined him opening it and smiling. I'd imagined, just once, that our anniversary might remind him that beneath everything that had happened, we were still husband and wife.

Instead, I'd spent the night waiting for him.

I carried the gift upstairs and placed it inside the drawer.

I didn't throw it away. I couldn't.

When I closed the drawer, I stood there for a moment before my phone rang again.

I glanced at the screen.

Zack.

My heart stumbled.

I stared at his name for several seconds before answering.

“Hello?”

There was silence on the other end.

Then his voice came through, low and controlled.

“Quiana, I need you to come home.”

I frowned.

“I am home.”

“No.”

Something about his tone made me sharpened.

“Come downstairs.”

“Why?”

Another silence.

Then he said the words that made my stomach drop.

“Cameron is here.”