The Pool Boy - Nikki Sloane Page 0,91

clue what to say, and it wasn’t something I wanted to leave on a damn voicemail either.”

The living area was open to the kitchen, and it was next to a stack of bills where I discovered the only framed picture he had on display. It was the two of us on our honeymoon in Greece, the Parthenon looming in the background. It was a great picture of our happiest time.

But we weren’t those people anymore.

I gestured toward the frame. “I can’t imagine Derrick likes that.”

Clark’s silence was painful and telling.

The animosity inside me waned. “You’re not together?”

His eyes turned glassy. “A few months ago, he, uh . . . went back to his wife.”

“Oh, Clark . . .” He’d told me he’d fallen in love, and despite everything, I hurt for him. I meant it genuinely. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” He wiped away a tear as if angry at it. “Don’t you think I got what I deserved?” He forced out a rueful smile. “I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it. I pushed everyone away, and you were the only one who knew about us, so . . .”

“Was that why you called?” Really? He’d wanted relationship advice from me, his ex-wife? I shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d always put the emotional labor on me. The divorce hadn’t changed that.

“I understand why you didn’t answer,” he said quietly, “but before Derrick, you were my best friend.” He swallowed a breath. “I’m sorry for how often I called. At first, I was going to try to apologize.” He was terrified to admit it, but maybe he was tired of holding it in. “I was struggling with a lot of shit, and I didn’t handle any of it well, but I found after a while, hearing your voice helped.”

Oh, wow.

“You called . . . so you could hear my voicemail message?”

Color rose in his neck. It always happened when he was embarrassed. “I can’t explain why, but whenever I was having a bad day or missed talking to you, I’d call. I figured you’d either eventually answer or block my number, and then I’d be able to move on.”

I reeled from what he’d said, unable to find words.

“And when my calls started going straight to your voicemail, I still couldn’t move forward.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was awful to you. I had so much guilt and shame I didn’t know what to do with it, and so I let Derrick convince me it wasn’t my fault. It was yours.”

Oh, Lord, he began to cry. In twenty years of marriage, I’d only seen it once before, during the elevator ride down to the lobby on the worst birthday of my life. This unleashed emotion from him was just as unsettling as it’d been then, but it was also raw and real, and although he’d put me through hell, I couldn’t help but pity him.

“I’m sorry,” he said between ragged breaths. “I tried not to, but I loved him with everything I had. So much, I got lost in him.”

And now that Derrick was gone, Clark was simply lost. It was undeniable the way he ached, and I was struck by how my ex and I had never spoken this way about each other when we’d dated or were married.

I’d never gotten lost in him.

“Please forgive me,” he said.

“Part of me wants to,” I confessed. “But you don’t get to ask for that. No matter how shattered I felt, or how awful you were to me . . . I kept your secret. I didn’t tell a soul—other than Derrick’s wife—and she had every right to know.” I put my hand on my hip. “You didn’t tell Jenna about Troy and me because you thought she deserved to know. You did it to hurt me. I’m not ready to forgive that.”

Bless his heart, that just made him cry harder. “I know. I’m sorry.” He drew in a gulping breath. “I was upset. Everyone moved on except me.” He sniffled. “You’re a better person than I am.”

“Yes,” I said simply. “And hopefully I’ll be able to forgive you someday, but that day is not today.”

Eventually, Clark’s crying subsided, and he straightened awkwardly. It wasn’t the closure he hoped for, but I’d given him a year of unearned loyalty. I wasn’t giving him anything else.

His eyes were red and his cheeks blotchy, and he cleared his throat as he wiped away his tears. It was an attempt to return to