Michael and Travis jolt to their feet in some kind of nonverbal standoff. I tug on the sleeve of Michael’s coat, but he bats my hand away. His breath rasps as if he’s having trouble getting air.
“You son of a bitch,” Michael seethes, hands clenched into fists. “All this time…”
Every eye in the restaurant turns our way. My cheeks burn with shock and embarrassment as I motion for help from the waitress, who has frozen to a stop. Letting out a groan, Travis removes his wallet, flings out a wad of twenties.
“Time for me to go,” he says. “This should cover your lunch. Stay and enjoy. It’s on me.”
“Arrogant bastard—”
“Colleen,” Travis says, ignoring Michael, “it was a pleasure.” But his eyes won’t meet mine.
Michael twitches, clutches the edge of the table, then tips it over. Glass shatters everywhere. His face is flushed red, and fat veins throb in his neck.
I’ve never seen him this way.
Without another word, Travis charges out of the restaurant. Patrick tries to speak to him at the door, but Travis pushes past, leaving everyone gaping in his wake.
The waitress and a busboy are there, gathering up shards of glass and china. But I’m watching Michael, terrified at the hard clench of his jaw and the fire in his eyes. He looks possessed, a man consumed by rage. He looks—I hate to think it—like he could kill. Michael really is capable of snapping, isn’t he? No, I correct my thoughts. He’d never do anything that extreme. I know the kind of man he is.
But I don’t know what to say to calm him down. There’ll be no bringing him back from this ledge.
“Grab your coat,” he snarls. “We’re leaving.”
He leaves me in the booth and storms out of the restaurant.
I sit for a moment and then I stand. I apologize for him, avoid eye contact, take my coat from Patrick at the exit, and slip into the chilly afternoon air.
Michael stands waiting for me. “There’s something you should know,” he says. He’s walking so fast, I can barely keep up. He doesn’t seem to care. “I’ve been waiting for a good time to tell you this, Coll, but there hasn’t been one. I suppose this afternoon couldn’t get much worse. Might as well get it all out now.”
I jog to catch up. “Can we slow down?”
“Do you remember when we first got together, and I told you that Joanna broke up with me by texting? I was telling the truth. But I lied about what she said.” He crosses the street without looking, earning a honk from a taxi turning at the light. I wave apologetically, stumbling after him. “She didn’t go to stay with her sister in Los Angeles. I told you that because I didn’t want to admit the truth—not to anyone.”
Anxiety pinballs through my gut. “What’d the message say?”
He stops at the door to his building. “She said the baby wasn’t mine. She was leaving me for her lover, so they could start their family together. She never told me who she was sleeping with, but now it’s clear—it was Travis. The baby was his.”
“Oh my God.” I cover my mouth with my hand. I can’t stop shivering. “Michael, I’m so sorry.”
I don’t know whether to run to him, wrap him in my arms, and tell him everything’s going to be all right, or give him space to blow off steam. I’ve never seen him so angry.
“When Joanna first told me she was pregnant, I traced back the date of conception. I was in London on business. Gone for twenty days. I confronted her, asked how that was possible. She said doctors can never know the dates exactly—they must’ve misjudged the timeline. She told me it happens all the time.” His tone was brittle with rage. “Travis might not even know the baby was his. All this time, he never said a goddamn word. Invited us to his home for