Shawn

Gil is a damn fool—I swear. But besides J, he's one of my favorite people. He's super sweet and always knows how to keep me laughing.

We made it to his apartment after stopping by mine to grab a few things.

Shawn

"Really, Gil? These are the gayest chairs I've ever seen. What the fuck are these?!"

I laughed way harder than I should have at my own joke.

"Honey, this ass don't sit on nothin' but the best."

He turned on some music and headed into the kitchen.

"You hungry, boo?"

"Starving."

"I can whip something up real quick. Gotta get some food in me before this drank and trade, honey."

"Aren't you just a regular old housewife in the making?"

"Anything for you, zaddy," he said, letting out a high-pitched, very girly laugh.

I laughed and took another look around his place. His crib was nice. For someone so young, he was doing extremely well for himself. I walked into the kitchen, hopped up on the counter, and just watched him.

"What, bitch?"

"You said you had something to tell me..."

His face lit up.

"Oh, yes! So Dunk and I had a little moment alone at rehearsal today. She told me about what happened in the bathroom. Smooth move."

"Fuck—she did?" I groaned. "I'm so wack for that shit, right?"

"I think so," he said.

I scoffed. "Shut the fuck up."

"Buuut," he added, "you definitely had her faucet drippin', girl."

I hopped off the counter and stood next to him.

"Please don't ever use dripping and faucet in the same sentence again," I joked. "Are you fucking with me, though? She said I turned her on?"

He smiled as he grabbed two beers from the fridge and handed me one.

"I swear. She said you must've picked up on her nerves, 'cause you apologized and walked away. But you definitely misread her today."

I scratched my head, thinking. Damn. I'd wanted her from the moment I saw her. That woman was sexy, classy, talented, smart... the list went on. I tried to act confident around her, but I'd never really believed I had a chance.

"So what do I do now, Gil?"

"Bitch, you tread carefully. She's still married, and even though things are rocky, she doesn't know what she wants yet. Let her come to you—on her own time."

He was right. I couldn't force this. I didn't want to force it. And honestly, I didn't even know if she wanted me like that.

I pushed the thoughts aside, held my hand out to him, and smirked.

"Wanna dance sexy?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

Janet

It was quiet—too quiet. The silence felt unsettling, especially after all the fighting, yelling, and crying that had filled this house when I still lived here.

I looked around, my eyes landing on the empty end table where the vase Mother gave me used to sit. Then I looked at the wall. The paint was ruined, cracked straight through. I'd been standing right there when he threw it at me.

I traced the cracks with my eyes, remembering.

"Sweetheart."

His voice startled me. I jumped, turning quickly to face him.

"I'm so glad you're home," he said, walking toward me.

Muscle memory kicked in, forcing me to take a few steps back.

"René, why did you send for me?" I asked.

I kept my voice calm. I didn't want to make him angry—though sometimes there was no preventing it.

He reached for my hand, and I flinched.

"I wanted to see my wife. I miss you. You haven't been home in weeks."

I could barely look at him. There was a time I never would've believed he could hurt me. He used to talk about how much he despised men who abused women. I don't know what changed him. Maybe it was the drinking—what once made him loose and fun somehow twisted into anger and aggravation.

I'm afraid of my own husband.

He stepped closer, and I smelled alcohol on his breath.

"You've been drinking."

"I had one drink. I was nervous—nervous to see you. Nervous about what I wanted to say."

"And what is that?"

"Baby, I want things back the way they used to be. We were so in love—we couldn't spend a moment without each other."

Tears swelled in my eyes. I fought to hold them back as he continued.

"I'm sorry, baby. I really am. I want to fix this. I want you back. Please."

"René... you really hurt me."

I couldn't hold it in anymore. I covered my face and broke down, sobbing. He pulled me into his arms, holding me as I cried.

I don't know what I'm doing anymore.

This man isn't good for me—but maybe he's sincere. Maybe he really wants to change. Even flirting with the idea of giving him another chance terrified me, and I cried harder.

What the fuck am I going to do?
The question repeated in my head over and over.

After a while, I finally calmed down. René brought me a glass of water and sat beside me on the couch.

"So," he asked softly, "what do you think about what I said?"

"I just need some time to think, René. I'm not saying no—I just need a little time. Please."

I braced myself for anger, but he held it together.

"Okay. That's fair. Do you have plans tonight? I can make us dinner reservations."

"The kids invited me out dancing tonight."

"Then I'll join you."

"I don't think you'd like it."

I didn't want him to go. The last time we went out with friends ended badly—he got so drunk he picked a fight with the bartender and passed out in the VIP section. Gil and Shawn had to help me carry him to the car.

"I haven't been out in a while," he said. "I'd like to come."

He took my hand and led me toward the bedroom.

I froze in the doorway.

I didn't want to go in there.

My hand went to my side as I glanced at the bedpost. He'd nearly broken my ribs once, slamming me into it.

"Uh... sweetie," I said carefully, "I promised Gil I'd get ready at his place with him and Shawn. I'm gonna call my driver and head that way. Plus, the outfit I want is there."

"Shawn will be there?" he asked.

He hated her. Said she looked like the kind of woman who stole other men's wives. If he knew about what happened in the restroom today, he'd probably kill us both.

"Yes," I said. "She's one of the kids—and one of my closest friends. Can you please be nice to her, René?"

He gave me a look. I didn't say another word.

Preston arrived within fifteen minutes, and relief washed over me.

"I'll see you at the club," I said, trying to hurry out.

He grabbed my arm.

"You can't leave without kissing your husband."

I did it.

The kiss made my skin crawl.

I forced the most convincing smile I could manage and hurried to the car.

Preston adjusted the mirror to look at me.

"Are you okay, Ms. Jackson?"

"I am now," I said quietly. "Please—just get me out of here."

"Yes, ma'am."