He cheated i chose two firefighters novel Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Scar’s POV

Dear Diary,

I’m worn out. Worn out from the constant tension, the circling arguments, the endless dread. And still—I’m going to let him try again. One last time. I need him not to wreck this, because I do love him, but I can’t keep swallowing this kind of pain.

He insists he loves me. I want to take him at his word, but it’s hard when he’s always choosing Sloane and her little girl. My heart and my head both feel bruised. I’m giving him one more chance. Then we’ll see.

***

I got home with my stomach in knots, silently begging that he’d be inside our house and not across the street. The Uber pulled away after I got out. I glanced toward Sloane’s place. Lights were on, but that didn’t tell me whether Brennan was there.

I tried my key, and the door gave immediately.

Maybe he’s actually home.

Then the smell reached me—rich, warm, familiar. For a second I just stood there, stunned by it. I hadn’t walked into that particular scent in ages. It was the one meal Brennan made that always turned out right.

In the kitchen he was at the stove, focused.

“You made stroganoff.”

He looked over. “Yeah. I know it’s your favorite.”

I didn’t let myself soften. “Why now?”

He set the spoon down. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have gone over to Sloane’s like that—angry.”

My eyes tightened. Angry over there? Something had happened. I wanted to ask what, wanted to drag it into the light, but I didn’t. I couldn’t stand another round.

I only nodded.

“I’ve got to run upstairs for a second,” I said. “I need to throw the clothes in the wash.”

“Go. I’ll dish it up—hurry before it gets cold.”

Upstairs, I hit the bedroom like I was escaping a fire. I dropped onto the edge of the bed and stared at the wall, trying to make my breathing act normal.

What is this?

Was he about to confess? Was he going to tell me he’d done something with her? Was he going to say divorce like it was just another word?

My chest caught on that thought. Would I even agree to it? I didn’t know. My pulse was pounding so hard it made my hands shake.

I yanked together the dirty laundry, crammed it into the washer, and started it. It was busywork. A delay. But I couldn’t stay upstairs forever.

When I finally went back down, he had already taken his seat at the table. He watched me like he’d been waiting in silence. He smiled when I sat.

I lifted my fork and made myself eat anyway, even with a tight lump lodged in my throat.

“It’s really good,” I managed, voice low. “Thank you.”

I kept my gaze on the plate. I didn’t want to catch that look he’d had before—the one that came with telling me he couldn’t stand me.

We finished in strained quiet. I stood, rinsed dishes, and worked my hands under hot water as if heat could calm the frantic speed in my chest. Brennan moved to the living room.

When the last dish was put away, I followed and found him sitting there, waiting again.

“I need to talk,” he said.

My throat bobbed. “Okay.”

He tapped the cushion beside him. I sat, but I left a cushion between us. His mouth flattened, and he slid closer anyway. He took my hands, and I wondered if he could feel how cold they’d gone.

“Scar,” he said carefully, like he was delivering a lesson. “You have to stop with the jealousy. I’m your husband. You’re my wife. I’m devoted to you—only you. I help Sloane because she needs help. Eve needs a father figure, and right now that’s me. This isn’t a competition. You’re first. You just have to stop getting mad.”

I snatched my hands back.

“That’s what you’re going with? I have to stop?” My voice rose fast. “Why can’t you see she’s playing you? She’s not helpless, Brennan. How did she survive before you showed up acting like her savior? She can handle her own house, she can raise her own kid. She doesn’t need you.”

I was standing now, words pouring out like I couldn’t shut them off.

“I don’t even care if you spend time with Eve. But why are you always with Sloane too? Why does she have to be the one feeding you? Why do you run over there every time she fucking calls?”

His phone chirped.

“Don’t,” I snapped. “Don’t even look at that. If you do, go stay over there for all I care. Or sleep on the couch.”

As I slid into the back seat, I looked across at Sloane’s house.

My heart stopped.

Brennan had his back to me, standing close to her doorway. Sloane was right there in a short white robe, loose at the top, and beneath it a black silk negligee showed plainly—her breast spilling over it like she wanted the world to notice. She caught me looking.

Then she leaned forward and hugged him.

And he hugged her back.

When she let him go, he turned with a small smile still on his face. The Uber started rolling away. Brennan lifted his head, and our eyes met.

His smile vanished. Color drained from him.

I saw his mouth form my name, but I didn’t tell the driver to stop. Denial had been the only thing keeping me upright, and now it shattered: he had spent the night there. He was walking out of her house. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair messed like he’d slept.

A tear escaped. I wiped it fast.

I couldn’t show up to work looking like this. Everyone would know.

My phone began lighting up with texts.

Brennan: It’s not what you think. I fell asleep on the couch holding Eve while I was trying to bring her fever down. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.

Brennan: It was just a hug. Nothing happened. Please believe me. Don’t make what you saw into more than it was.

Brennan: I’ll see you at work

Just a hug.

How would he feel if I just hugged some random man?

And then it hit me: Judson was coming in today. New client. Ridiculously good-looking. Already in great shape, but coming off an injury and wanting to ease back in without overdoing it. Dark hair, deep blue eyes, and tall—six-four, towering over me.

His first session was today.

Maybe I’ll end it with a hug.