Page 106 of The Check Down
RealKateVolkova93, with a blue certified check.
Griffin’s ex-girlfriend. His only other serious relationship.
When I read the caption beneath the picture, blood rushes in my ears.
Can’t wait to cheer this guy on in Buffalo this weekend! #goblues
What. The. Actual. Hell?
The pitying expression on Trinity’s face when I hand her phone back makes me want to chuck my half-empty mug of peppermint tea against the wall.
He didn’t invite her to the game, right?
Despite the way it aches, my heart tries to convince me that he would never, but my brain swirls with enough doubt to drown out any certainty that tries to take root.
After Helen and Trinity attempt to explain the photo away, I return to my office, where I stare at my laptop for a solid half hour, unable to function. My phone buzzes with messages and calls, but I ignore it.
I roll my neck and square my shoulders, and as I navigate to the inbox on my personal email, a calm numbness coats my insides. When I hang up after calling the number listed at the bottom of the message from Collins, I don’t even cry.
When I make it home that afternoon, Griffin’s truck is there.
And when I hit the top step, I find him sitting on the couch with his head in his hands.
My heart splinters when he straightens.
He springs up and moves my way but stops short before he touches me.
“Baby, I’ve been calling and messaging you for the past three hours.” His voice is strained. “It’s old—the picture.”
“I know.”
He flinches. The move highlights the redness in his eyes.
“Then why haven’t you—” He shakes his head, takes a deep breath, and starts over. “I don’t know what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours, so I need you to talk to me. Please.”
When I dump my purse on a stool, I notice a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and two flutes on the bar. But my curiosity takes a back seat to the myriad of questions that storm in my head.
“Why the hell did she post that?”
His shoulders melt away from his ears, almost like he’s relieved I’ve spoken. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her or messaged her since we broke up.”
“Is she going to the game Sunday?”
He rakes his fingers through his short hair. “I hope the fuck not. I reached out to demand that she delete that post—”
My stomach knots. “You reached out? So youhavemessaged her.” My voice is shrill, and I’m being unreasonable. But I’m too hurt to care.
Eyes screwed shut, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Today was the first time.” When he looks at me again, his irises are mottled gray. “Seth has reached out to her manager, too. But we can’t force her to take it down, and I can’t ban her from the game, as much as I’d like to.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, and he fists his hands at his sides. We’re both unsure about how to proceed.
I break first. “Why’d the two of you break up?” It’s a question I’ve often pondered, though I wasn’t sure I really wanted the answer. Until now.
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know, but…can I hold you for a minute first? Please?” His voice cracks on that last word, and my resolve withers like the leaves on his family’s soybean plants. In three strides, I’m locked in the comfort of his arms.
Body sagging with relief, he shudders an exhale, and the steady thump of his heart eases my worries. When he slumps to the couchand pulls me with him, I straddle his thighs and rest my body against his.
“She fucked my best friend.”