A Model Romance (True Love Book 3) (24 page)

“He found a yoga studio in the city that he really likes, and the owner gives them access to a large private studio to do specialty training. Brian has really noticed a difference in his flexibility.”

I throw her my best, “get the hell on with it” look. She nods.

“Brian saw Wickham there on Thursday morning.”

Ah-ha. This is the big build-up, they all know Wick does yoga. So what? They’d never know what type of yoga he practices, and even if they did, it’s no big deal.

“I know, Melanie. Wick is really into yoga. He got into it as a type of therapy. It’s really helped him a lot, and I’m glad Brian has enjoyed it. Is that your big news? Trust me, you’re going to love a flexible man!”

I start to laugh, but she doesn’t join in. She still looks way too serious.

“I’m not finished, Becca. Brian saw Wick there with a woman. Not only that, he overheard an interesting conversation. You know Brian, he’s never one to spread gossip, but he was concerned enough that he told me about it.”

My throat becomes dry, and my palms are sweating. I don’t want to hear this.

“He said that he walked out of the studio to grab some water, and he heard a guy who sounded just like Wick. When he looked around the corner, Wick was standing in the hall outside one of the studios having a deep discussion with a blond woman. He said her hands were all over him, and she was telling him she loved him over and over again. Brian said Wick looked up, so he hid behind the wall. When he looked back, they were kissing.”

I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. This can’t be possible. He was working all week, and he’s been complaining that he’s had no time to go to the studio for a session with Eric. My shoulders are tensed, tight as a drum, sending a shooting pain to the back of my skull.

Poor Melanie looks like she’s about to be sick. This has had to be eating her up inside, thinking that Wick would do something this despicable.

“I thought about not telling you, but I could never live with myself. I don’t know what it all means, and you can do whatever you want with the information, I’ll stand behind you. Wick has never struck me as the cheating type, and I
know
that type all too well. Does he have any ex-girlfriends that you know of? I thought I’d remembered you saying he never really dated anyone.
Jesus
, I can’t stop talking. Say something to make me stop talking!”

She’s wringing her hands, and she stands up once again to re-arrange the pillows.

It had to be Pam, but what the fuck? He would have told me about going to the studio and seeing her, right? He told me that they agreed they didn’t care for each other, so now out of the blue, she’s professing her love for him? Unless,
unless
… it
isn’t
out of the blue. Maybe he’s been seeing her the whole time. It would explain how he could so easily put me off me sexually if he was still “experimenting” with her.

“Do you mind if I call Brian? I want to hear the words from him. I believe you, but I need to know what
he
thought he saw.”

She shakes her head, “Of course, Bec. I understand, I’d do the same thing.”

I dial his number, and he answers quickly. He must have known we were having this conversation.

“I’m sorry that Mel had to tell you about what I saw. I hope you know I like Wick a lot, he’s a great guy, and I only mentioned it because I love you and I was concerned.”

“I know that, Brian, and I love you too. Can you tell me exactly what you saw?”

He reiterates what Melanie said, with one exception.

“Whoever that woman was, she knew about you. I heard her say, ‘She isn’t right for you, Wick, I am. You know how good we are together.’ She seemed a little nuts, Bec.”

I take Melanie’s hand, and pull her in for a hug. She’s sniffling as I leave. It takes all my strength to lift my leaden legs and get to the car. I feel like I’m more dangerous on the road right now, than if I’d drunk four bottles of wine. I’m hurt, confused, and I feel betrayed by the one man who swore on his life he’d never betray anyone ever again. I guess it’s true, that a tiger can’t change his stripes.

Chapter 21

Wick won’t be over until later tonight. I have all afternoon to stew, and that’s not good. I’ve been on my computer trying to spy on Pam. I found her Facebook page, she and Wick are friends so it wasn’t so difficult, and I spend a couple of hours pouring through it: typical pictures of family and friends, but none of the two of them together. She’s very pretty, and has an incredible figure. But I’m just adding fuel to the jealousy fire by snooping.

He texts me a couple of times during the day.
I miss you
and
I love you.
Even through text, I don’t offer much in the way of a response.
I’ll see you later
, is the best I can do.

I can’t wrap my head around it. He’s been so honest and forthcoming since our trip, how could he lie? He never told me he was going to the studio, but I assumed that he was too busy because of his work schedule. I would hope that a chance meeting with Pam is something he would mention, but I’ve expressed my insecurities about their relationship, so I just don’t know.

At noon, he sends me a text saying that he’ll be finished early and should be at my place around three. I need something to occupy my mind for the next three hours, but every time I try to focus on something else, he creeps back in. My stomach is filled with dread, and I just can’t shake it.

I open the freezer to stress-eat some Ben and Jerry’s, when I notice a vodka bottle. I know the notion
one little drink will help calm my nerves,
is the biggest lie I can tell myself when feeling like this, but I pour a heavy dose into a drinking glass over a little ice, very little, and add a quick splash of orange juice to make it seem less as if I’m drinking straight from the bottle. The next thing I know, Wick is standing above me, attempting to wake me up.

“Becca, love, are you OK? Come on, you’re really frightening me.”

My eyes grudgingly open to a face filled with panic. At first glance I’m thrilled to see him, but then the anger and dread flood to the forefront of my brain. He’s been lying and possibly cheating on me. Behind him I see the empty vodka bottle on the counter. Shit. I sit up, and try to form a sentence.

“Wickham. What the fuck …” The words slide from my mouth without much form.

He’s confused.

“Becca, are you drunk? Why were you drinking in the middle of the day?”

He couldn’t have given me a more perfect opening. If I were sober, I could eloquently express my feelings, but, alas, I am not.

“You’re a fucking liar. Did you fuck her, Wick? Did she lick your balls, too?”

Now he’s even more confused, and laughing at me, which pisses me off even more.

“Don’t fucking laugh at me! Do you laugh at Pam?”

His face pales.

“Why do you keep bringing her up? I told you: That was long ago, and I didn’t have a relationship with her. You and I can’t move forward if you’re stuck in the past. I’m begging you to stop.”

“No!
You
stop! Brian saw you with her at the studio when you told me you were working! He fucking saw you kiss her!” I belt out. I’m not quite sure how much of this is intelligible, it sounded garbled coming out of my mouth–but he heard it.

He gives me a weird, sad smile, grabs his keys and walks out.

What the fuck?

My head is pounding from screaming, so I lie myself back down and pass out.

* * *

When I wake up, the sun is going down, and there are no lights on. My head is in a vise. My eyeballs are so dry I can hear them when I blink. I have a haunting memory of confronting Wick. Part of my mind is trying to trick me into thinking it was just a dream, but my gut knows it wasn’t. I try to recall what I said exactly, but I can’t. I know it couldn’t have been good, because he’s not here. I look at my cellphone to see if he left any messages.

Two texts from Melanie, curious about how it went, but that’s all I see. Nothing from him. I really fucked up. I wanted to have a mature conversation about all of this and get to the truth of what happened. Now, he’s seen me as some sort of drunk psycho, throwing accusations at him. It will be difficult to regain the moral high ground.

After a thorough vomiting, I take a long, hot shower. My eyes are swollen as if I’ve been crying. I can’t lose him, but I have to know the truth.

I feel little better after the shower and crawling into some nice comfy sweatpants. I have to get this over with. I call his phone: no answer. I send text after text: also no answer. He’s ignoring me. I’d rather be screamed at than ignored any day. I don’t think this is going to get me anywhere, I have to go see him. Now is not the time for vanity; I grab my car keys and drive over to his place looking like an extra from a zombie movie.

My heart clenches when I see his jeep out front. Warring emotions of wanting to kill him and wanting to hug him jumble my thinking. I lightly knock on the door, and he answers. No shirt and low-slung, ratty jeans. I take that as a challenge to my fortitude.

“Hi. Can I come in?”

He nods, and takes a step back so I can enter. He closes the door, but remains stuck in the same spot. I feel his eyes boring into my back as I walk in and sit down. This is not going to be easy.

“I apologize for before. I had a bit too much to drink,” I begin. He snorts at my comment. “And I don’t remember much of what I said. I’m guessing it wasn’t kind.”

After a long pause, he comes to sit on the couch, but as far away from me as he can.

“Why were you drinking so early today?”

“I couldn’t wait to see you, but I had some things on my mind. Things we need to discuss, Wick,” I reply with a little more backbone this time. I have to remind myself that there is a
reason
I’m upset.

“Yes, Becca, we do. Why are you so hung up on Pam? I’ve told you time and time again that it’s you I love, but and she and I have a history together that I can’t change.”

“Brian saw you with her at he studio this week, Wick. That’s not what I would call ancient history.” (You go, girl!)

I stop patting my own back when I see his face. It’s true. He did see her, and he lied about it. Well, a lie of omission, but a lie all the same.

“He said she was hanging all over you, saying that she loved you. Is that true?”

His beautiful eyes are glazed over, dull. He’s not yet said a word. He looks down at his large hands, and inspects his nails.

I wait. And wait. And wait some more.

I don’t know what he expects me to do or say, but it’s clear he’s not talking. This is more like the Wick I first met: Closed off from communication.

I get up and pour myself a large glass of water to ease my cotton mouth, and plop back down in the same spot. I kick off my shoes to indicate I’m not going anywhere without some explanation.

He’s had enough of the standoff apparently because he rises, walks to his bedroom and closes the door. Not a word the entire time. I don’t know how to deal with this. I want to fight, yell, cry and throw things. I need this to be cleared up. All I want to do is run into his bedroom and snuggle deep into his arms, but I can’t. I wish he had the same need, because if he did he’d come clean and make me understand. In my eyes, his silence is an admission of guilt.

I remain steadfast that I’m not going anywhere until he tells me what happened. It’s late, but with my afternoon blackout, I’m not very tired. I grab the throw at the end of the couch, and snuggle up to watch some infomercials. He’ll have to talk to me at some point.

I wake up with the sun darting through the window, and piercing my eyes. It’s early, but I feel pretty good. Much better than I did yesterday. His bedroom door is open, but I don’t hear him. I look out the window and see that his Jeep is still here. He must have gone for a run. I take the opportunity to go to the bathroom to freshen up. I fully intend to take up residence on his couch until he gives in. I love him too much to throw this away without an explanation.

I steal a banana from the bowl in the kitchen, and sit back down on my new home-away-from-home. I return Melanie’s many texts, with one of my own, “
I’m working on it
,” to settle her down. Otherwise, she’ll lay siege to my phone all day with questions.

The front door opens, and he strolls in, sweaty from his run. I sit up tall and smug, ready to start the conversation, but he walks right past me to the bathroom. I know Scottish men have a reputation for stubbornness, but this is ridiculous. He must have to work today, so what does he expect me to do?

He walks out of the bathroom, stark naked. I swallow hard. A dripping-wet body on display is not a fair way to fight. I assume he’s going to get dressed, but instead, he walks in the buff to the kitchen and proceeds to make himself breakfast. Two can play at this game.