I set the glass down hard on the island counter, wiped a stray drop of water from my bruised lip, and limped toward Joaquin.
"She texted you?" I asked, my brow furrowing. "Not me?"
"Yeah, Love, just now. Look." He flashed his screen toward me, but jerked it back so fast I didn't even have time to read the display.
Suspicion gnawed at me. Why had Michelle reached out to him? Since when were they on direct messaging terms? They barely spoke unless Joaquin happened to be home when she stopped by. Joaquin was never close with her ex, Greg, either. So why would my best friend bypass me—the person she was closest to—and call my husband in a crisis?
"Let me borrow your phone," I said, holding out my hand.
He froze, his gaze locking onto mine. For a long second, he just stared, his eyes darti
