He cheated i chose two firefighters novel Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Brennan’s POV

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It’s been a month since she disappeared from my life. Every day I catch myself spinning the same questions: where is she, what is she doing, who is she letting close. Has she already replaced me?

I squeeze my eyes shut and my mind tries to punish me–her body in someone else’s arms, her laugh meant for another man. I shove it away. She wouldn’t do that. Not this soon.

We’ve barely signed the papers. She still loves me.

I’m the one who didn’t wait.

I turn my head and there’s Sloane, sprawled asleep beside me in the bed that used to be

ours. My stomach twists. God, I’m pathetic.

When she got home from the hospital, I kept my distance for a few days. I told myself it

was anger, but it was guilt

her to it. I’d watched her

break and I’d been part of

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The first time I went to her place, I told myself it was only to check on Eve. To make sure the little girl was fed, clean, safe. I’d half expected CPS to be waiting on the doorstep to take Eve away, but somehow Sloane had kept her. I don’t know what she said or who she convinced, but her daughter stayed.

Then one visit became another.

Days blurred into nights and my feet kept finding their way back to Sloane’s house. Maybe it was loneliness. Maybe it was habit. I’d show up “just to check,” and end up lingering.

Soon she was coming to my place too. We’d talk like strangers trying not to touch anything sharp–small talk, work, weekend plans, nothing that mattered. The kind of conversations

you have when you’re avoiding the only subject that’s real.

Last night Eve was supposedly sleeping over at a friend’s. Sloane arrived with a casserole like we were playing house. We ate. I opened wine. The line I should’ve held snapped so easily it scares me.

One minute we were standing in my kitchen, the next I had her folded over my table, driving

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into her from behind like I’d lost my mind. Afterwards we got into the shower, and I told myself I didn’t care anymore–then I took her again under the hot spray. Later I dragged her into bed and did it one more time.

Why did I do that?

Because I’m weak.

Because I miss my wife so much it hurts, and instead of sitting with the pain, I grabbed the closest distraction and let it swallow me.

I’d been doing better. I’d started therapy. I’d even called Natalie–Scar’s friend–and told her everything I was trying to fix, hoping she’d pass it on. I’d been clawing my way back, inch by

inch.

And then I wrecked it all in one night of stupid, hungry lust.

I stare at the ceiling and let out a slow breath. I’m screwed. How do I get Sloane out of here without setting off a war? I don’t want her. I don’t want a relationship. I want my wife.

Scar and I–no matter what we’ve done to each other–belong together.

Something warm slides over my chest. I open my eyes to Sloane’s hand, her nails grazing my skin.

“Morning,” she murmurs, voice rough and satisfied. “You hungry? I can make breakfast… or we can go out.” Her hand drifts lower, confident, practiced.

Before she reaches what she’s aiming for, I catch her wrist.

“Sloane. Last night–last night was a mistake. It can’t happen again.”

She jerks upright like I slapped her, yanking the sheet up to cover herself.

“What are you talking about? That was incredible. Don’t pretend you didn’t want it.”

“I’m not saying it wasn’t…” I scrub a hand over my face. “I’m saying it never should’ve happened. I’m in love with my wife.”

She laughs, sharp and bitter. “Your ex–wife, Brennan. EX. And you and I are happening, whether you want to admit it or not. We work. Eve adores you. You could be her dad.” Her

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eyes brighten with a sudden, triumphant glint. “We could have a baby. You didn’t use anything. I could already be pregnant.”

My blood goes cold.

She’s not wrong. I’m an idiot. Four years of not thinking about condoms, four years of

marriage, of safety, of believing I was building a life with a woman I wanted kids with

someday. Habit and selfishness had done the rest.

I force my voice steady. “We’re getting Plan B. I’ll go to the pharmacy and buy it.”

Her face hardens. “Are you serious? No. I’m not taking it. You can’t make me.”

She throws herself out of bed and yanks on clothes. I do the same, heart hammering. She

storms into the hall; I follow.

“Sloane, stop. Think. I don’t love you. I’m not having a baby with you.”

She whips around, fury bright in her eyes. “Then you should’ve thought about that before

you came in me!”

She rips open my front door and slams it behind her.

I stand there for a beat, shaking with rage and panic. Then I call work and cancel again. At

this point I’m begging to be fired–I’ve missed too many days this month–but there’s no

way I can sit in front of clients and pretend I’m functional.

I’m not.

I leave my house like I’m walking into a fight and drive straight to hers. When I get there, I pound on the door until she flings it open.

“What?” she spits. “You come to repeat how you don’t want me? How you don’t want a

baby?”

I push inside, crowding her back until the door is behind me. I shut it. My restraint snaps.

My hand closes around her throat and I slam her against the wood hard enough to rattle it.

“Brennan-” her voice fractures. “You’re hurting me.”

..

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I lean in, words low and deadly. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re coming with me to the pharmacy. You’re buying Plan B, and you’re swallowing it where I can see it. After that, we’re done. Completely. I don’t care what story you tell Eve, but after today, you and your daughter are out of my life.”

My eyes flick to the coffee table. Her keys.

I release her, snatch them up, and nod toward the door. “Move.”

Her bravado crumples. “Bren–please,” she whispers, voice turning sugary and desperate as I pull her outside. “Don’t do this. We could be happy. I’ll make you happy. I’ll take care of

you. I’ll cook, I’ll clean. You can do anything you want to me–anything. As rough as you want. We can even bring other people in. It could be fun. You’d never need another woman

you marry me.”

if

I stop so abruptly she stumbles. I put my face close to hers, each word clipped. “I don’t

want you.”

Her eyes flash. “You want her? The woman who left? You always picked me over her.”

“Because I thought you needed help,” I snap, shoving her toward her car. “I wasn’t supposed to touch you. I wasn’t supposed to want you.”

It’s a lie and we both know it. The dreams I’ve had–hot, relentless, shameful–prove I’ve wanted her. But wanting isn’t choosing. I never meant to act.

She cries in the passenger seat as I drive. In the pharmacy I keep hold of her hand like she’ll bolt. I buy the pill. I grab a bottle of water too.

Back in her vehicle, I make her tear open the box and take it with me watching. Her shoulders shake as she swallows, sobbing like I’m ripping something out of her.

When we return to her house, I get out, shut the door, and walk away.

No matter what it costs, I am not chaining myself to Sloane for the rest of my life.

***

Sloane’s POV

The second Brennan disappears into his house, I fling my door open and sprint inside mine.

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I hit the front bathroom, brace my hands on the sink, and jam my fingers down my

throat

until everything in my stomach comes up. Acid burns, my eyes water, and I gag until there’s nothing left.

When it’s over, I flush, wipe my mouth, and smile at my reflection.

If I’m pregnant, I’m keeping it. A baby will lock him down. He’ll marry me.

I brush my teeth carefully, wash my face, and fix my makeup like I’m getting ready for a normal day. Humming, I head to the kitchen.

The front door opens and Eve’s voice bounces through the house.

“Mommy! I’m home!”

“Hi, baby.” I keep my tone bright. “Did you have fun at your sleepover?”

“I did!” She drops her bag and beams. “What did you do, Mommy?”

“I had a sleepover too,” I say smoothly. “With Uncle Brennan.”

Her smile stretches even wider. “You did? Are you best friends again?”

“We are,” I tell her, stroking her hair. “And you know what? We should bake him cookies. What do you think?”

“Yessss!” she squeals. “I love Uncle Brennan. He’s the best.”

“He is,” I agree, voice soft and certain. “He really is.”