Chapter 1

When my husband, James Carter, walked out of the bedroom with his pillow, his steps were so quiet that I barely noticed him. He even closed the door behind him.

He didn't say a word. There was no hysterical questioning, no throwing things, no losing control.

After I said, "Ryan's drunk. Let him sleep in our room tonight, and you can crash on the couch," he just stared at me for three seconds.

Just those three seconds.

His eyes, which always held a smile, suddenly turned into two dry wells, with no reflection left at all.

Then he turned around, grabbed his pillow from the bed, and threw out a single sentence.

"Emily, I'll never sleep in this bed again."

The door clicked shut, leaving me alone inside.

I stood there, totally lost, not understanding how things ended up like this.

Ryan Harper was my childhood buddy. We grew up together, practically inseparable from elementary school. Fifteen years of history between us.

Today, he scored the biggest deal of the year at his company. He got so hyped, knocked back a few drinks, and totally blacked out.

I hauled him home, planning to dump him in the guest room, but it was stuffed with all the bags my mom left last week, piled up like a storage unit, couldn't even squeeze a foot in.

Watching Ryan wobble at the doorway, barely able to stand, I really had no other choice. So I told him to just crash in the master bedroom for the night.

Our bed was huge, king-sized, with more than enough space for him to take up one side.

To me, it was just helping out a friend. No big deal.

I made it clear to James. "Honey, Ryan's totally out of it. You saw the guest room; my mom's stuff is everywhere, we can't even step in there.

"We can't just dump him at a hotel in the middle of the night, it's not safe. It's just for one night, he'll be gone by morning."

I thought he'd just get a little jealous, maybe mutter, "You're always spoiling him," then shrug it off and let me do my thing.

That was how it always went before.

But this time, he just looked at me, so calm, almost like he wasn't himself anymore.

Then he turned around, grabbed his pillow, and walked out.

Not a single extra word.

*****

I pushed open the bedroom door, and the smell of booze mixed with Ryan's pine-scented cologne hit me hard. He was sprawled out on our wedding bed, snoring like a freight train.

He was hugging my pillow, like he was cuddling up to someone.

For the first time, seeing that felt like a slap in the face.

I walked over and shook his arm. "Ryan, wake up! Get up!"

He mumbled a bit, rolled over, and hugged the pillow even tighter. "Emily, stop bugging me, let me sleep a little longer."

I yanked the pillow out of his arms and tossed it onto the floor. "Ryan! You're sleeping in my bed!"

Maybe I was too loud, because he finally cracked his eyes open, and it took him a minute to actually see me. "Emily? How did I end up at your place?"

"You were wasted, I had to drag you home!" I shot him a glare. "Get up, go sleep on the couch!"

"The couch?" He let out a drunken burp, his face scrunching up in disgust. "That crappy couch is so tiny, how am I supposed to sleep on it? I'm just gonna crash here, it's not like I'm a stranger.

"Where's your husband? Just let him take the couch, he's a grown man, squeezing in for one night won't kill him."

He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Like James was the one who didn't belong here.