One Night With The Biker

Chapter 2

Summer’s POV

Lena frowned.

“Where?”

“The airport.”

Her expression changed.

“Why?”

I forced a smile.

“I just want to surprise Ethan.”

It was a lie.

The moment the words left my mouth, I knew it.

But I didn’t know what else to say.

I didn’t want to tell Lena that an anonymous stranger had sent me a picture of my husband with another woman and instructed me to go see for myself.

Because saying it aloud would make it real.

And I wasn’t ready for it to be real.

Lena studied me for another moment.

Then she nodded slowly.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No.”

The answer came too quickly.

Her eyes narrowed.

“I’m fine.”

“You didn’t even let me finish.”

“I know.”

“Summer.”

“I just need to go and pick him up.”

I smiled again.

This time, it felt weaker.

“He’s my husband. I want to be the one waiting for him.”

Lena continued staring at me.

I could tell she didn’t believe me.

But she also knew me well enough to understand that forcing me to talk before I was ready would only make me shut down.

“Fine,” she said eventually. “But call me.”

“I will.”

“And if something feels wrong…”

“I’ll call you.”

She pointed at me.

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

I hugged her before she could say anything else.

Then I walked toward the elevators.

My heart had not slowed down.

The photograph remained open in my mind.

Ethan’s hand around Natasha’s waist.

The way he had looked at her.

The message.

Go to the airport.

See for yourself.

I told myself I was going because I wanted to surprise my husband.

I told myself the picture was probably misleading.

I told myself I was being ridiculous.

But the truth was…

I was going because some part of me was already afraid.

The drive home felt different from the one I had imagined.

I had planned to pick up the cake.

Stop by the florist.

Finish preparing Ethan’s favorite dinner.

Instead, I sat in my car outside the house with both hands gripping the steering wheel.

My phone lay in the cup holder.

The unknown number remained unreachable.

I looked at the message again.

Go to the airport.

See for yourself.

I should have deleted it.

Instead, I saved the picture.

I hated myself for that.

I hated the suspicion crawling beneath my skin.

I hated that a stranger had managed to place doubt inside my marriage with a single photograph.

Most of all…

I hated that I was beginning to wonder whether I had been blind.

I finally forced myself out of the car.

The house was exactly as I had left it.

Quiet.

Familiar.

Safe.

I walked inside and immediately headed toward the kitchen.

Tomorrow was still our anniversary.

The food still needed to be prepared.

The cake still needed to be collected.

The little box of baby socks was still hidden in my handbag.

I stood in the middle of the kitchen and stared at it.

For a moment, I wondered if I should throw it away.

The thought made my chest ache.

No.

I refused to let one photograph destroy everything I had built with Ethan.

I refused to let an anonymous person turn me into a suspicious wife.

So I did what I had always done when something frightened me.

I kept moving.

I marinated the chicken.

Prepared the beef.

Made Ethan’s favorite pasta sauce.

Chopped vegetables for the salad.

Placed sticky notes on the containers.

Heat for three minutes.

Bake for ten.

Serve warm.

I did everything exactly as I had planned.

Except I checked my phone every few minutes.

No new messages came.

No calls.

Nothing.

By the time I finished preparing the food, it was almost ten.

I glanced at Ethan’s contact.

My thumb hovered over his name.

I called.

He answered after several rings.

“Hey, babe.”

His voice sounded distant.

Busy.

Normal.

I closed my eyes.

“Hi.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yes.”

The lie came easily.

Too easily.

“I just wanted to make sure your flight is still landing around seven tomorrow.”

“It is.”

There was a brief pause.

“I’ll probably be a little busy before boarding, so if I don’t answer later, don’t worry.”

I nodded instinctively before remembering he couldn’t see me.

“Okay.”

“You sound tired.”

“I am.”

“Get some sleep.”

I almost laughed.

The irony was too sharp.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve got to run.”

“Ethan?”

“Yeah?”

I nearly asked him.

Are you with Natasha?

The question reached my lips.

Then stopped.

I didn’t know what answer I wanted.

If he said no, would I believe him?

If he said yes, what would I do?

So instead, I said the only thing I could.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, babe.”

The line disconnected.

I stared at the screen.

Then I looked toward the dining room.

The table was already set.

The candles were waiting.

The flowers were arranged perfectly.

Tomorrow was supposed to be the beginning of something.

The beginning of our third year of marriage.

The beginning of trying for a baby.

The beginning of the family we had dreamed about.

I refused to believe a photograph could change that.

I went to bed.

But I barely slept.

When I woke the next morning, the first thing I did was reach for my phone.

Nothing.

No message.

No missed call.

No happy anniversary.

I stared at the blank screen.

Then I forced myself to smile.

“He’s probably still traveling.”

Or maybe he was planning something.

Ethan wasn’t always the most romantic man in the world, but he loved surprising me every now and then.

That had to be it.

I refused to let doubt ruin my day.

By noon, every dish was finished.

The house smelled of roasted garlic, herbs, butter, and freshly baked bread.

I set the dining table with our best plates.

Lit a few candles just to see how they looked.

Placed fresh flowers in the center.

The little gift box rested beside Ethan’s anniversary present.

I stood back and admired everything.

It looked perfect.

Exactly how I had imagined it.

Around five in the evening, I headed upstairs to get ready.

I showered.

Blow-dried my hair until it fell in soft waves over my shoulders.

Slipped into the casual outfit I had picked out the night before.

Blue jeans.

White sneakers.

A soft beige sweater.

The champagne-colored satin dress remained hanging on the wardrobe door.

Waiting.

Just like I was.

I grabbed my handbag and car keys.

Then I stopped.

The little box of baby socks was still inside my handbag.

I took it out.

For a few seconds, I simply stared at it.

The tiny cream-colored socks rested in my palm.

I had bought them weeks ago.

A silly little gift.

Not because I was pregnant.

Because I hoped I soon would be.

I had imagined giving them to Ethan over dinner.

I had imagined his face.

His smile.

Maybe the way he would pull me into his arms.

I closed my fingers around the box.

Then placed it back inside my handbag.

I was still going to give it to him.

I was still going to surprise him.

I was still going to see my husband.

The drive to Los Angeles International Airport passed in a blur.

Traffic wasn’t nearly as bad as I had expected.

I arrived almost thirty minutes before Ethan’s flight was scheduled to land.

Perfect.

I parked where I had a clear view of the arrivals exit instead of going inside.

I wanted to surprise him.

That was what I told myself.

I could already picture his face when he spotted me waiting.

He would probably laugh.

Call me crazy.

Wrap me in one of those hugs that always made the rest of the world disappear.

I rested both hands on the steering wheel.

My phone sat beside me.

The unknown number was still unreachable.

I looked at the message one final time.

Go to the airport.

See for yourself.

Then I locked my phone.

I was done thinking about it.

The automatic doors slid open again and again as passengers poured outside with their luggage.

Families reunited.

Children ran into waiting arms.

Couples embraced.

I checked the arrivals board.

His flight had landed.

My pulse quickened.

I stepped out of the car.

I had barely reached the pedestrian crossing when my phone rang.

I froze.

Unknown number.

The same number.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I answered immediately.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

“Hello?”

I looked around.

People moved around me in every direction.

Cars passed along the road.

The city continued existing as though my entire life wasn’t suddenly hanging by a thread.

“Who is this?”

Silence.

Then the line disconnected.

I immediately called back.

No answer.

I tried again.

Nothing.

I lowered my phone.

A car suddenly turned sharply into the intersection.

Too fast.

I stopped abruptly.

The vehicle passed directly in front of me.

My heart lurched.

For one second, I stood frozen.

A man beside me said something I didn’t hear.

I turned toward him.

He was pointing toward the car, probably asking if I was okay.

I nodded automatically.

Then the pedestrian signal changed.

I crossed the road.

Fast.

My phone remained clutched tightly in my hand.

I had no idea why I was suddenly in such a hurry.

Maybe because I wanted to see Ethan.

Maybe because I wanted to prove the photograph meant nothing.

Maybe because I was terrified it meant everything.

I reached the arrivals area and stopped near the exit.

The doors opened.

People began pouring out.

I scanned every face.

Then…

I saw him.

“There you are…”

The words left my lips in a whisper.

Relief washed over me.

He looked exactly the same.

The same confident stride.

The same overnight bag slung over one shoulder.

The same dark hair.

The same familiar face I had kissed goodbye before his trip.

Then another familiar face appeared beside him.

Natasha.

I smiled automatically.

Of course.

She had traveled with him.

That wasn’t unusual.

She was his personal assistant.

They had attended countless conferences together over the years.

They had traveled for work before.

There was nothing strange about it.

Nothing at all.

I watched them continue walking.

Then Ethan reached for her hand.

My smile faltered.

Maybe…

Maybe she had stumbled.

Maybe he was helping her.

I leaned forward slightly.

His fingers remained intertwined with hers.

No.

That wasn’t right.

My heartbeat slowed.

Natasha looked up at him.

He smiled.

Not the polite smile he gave colleagues.

Not the courteous smile reserved for business.

It was warm.

Tender.

Intimate.

Then he lifted his free hand.

And gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Every muscle in my body froze.

The noise around me faded.

The people disappeared.

The airport became nothing but a blur of movement and sound.

I stared at them.

At my husband.

At the woman who worked for him.

At the hand resting around hers.

At the way she looked at him.

At the way he looked at her.

No.

I shook my head once.

No.

This was not what it looked like.

It couldn’t be.

Ethan loved me.

Ethan was my husband.

He had been gone for three days.

He was supposed to be coming home to me.

To our anniversary.

To the dinner I had spent hours preparing.

To the little box of baby socks inside my handbag.

He couldn’t be doing this.

Not here.

Not in front of everyone.

Not after everything.

I took one step forward.

Then another.

I needed to hear him.

I needed him to explain.

I needed him to look at me and tell me I was wrong.

I needed the photograph to become meaningless.

I needed my life to return to the way it had been twenty minutes ago.

Then Ethan pulled Natasha closer.

And kissed her.

Not quickly.

Not accidentally.

Not like a mistake.

He kissed her like he had done it before.

Like he knew exactly how she tasted.

Like he had been waiting to do it again.

The world did not explode.

No one screamed.

No one stopped.

The airport continued moving around me.

A child laughed somewhere behind me.

A suitcase rolled across the floor.

A flight announcement echoed through the terminal.

And I stood there.

Watching my husband kiss another woman.

The man I had loved for eight years.

The man I had married.

The man I had spent the entire night preparing to welcome home.

The man I had planned to start a family with.

My hand slowly tightened around the strap of my handbag.

Inside it, the tiny box of cream-colored baby socks pressed against my palm.

And suddenly…

I understood why the stranger had sent me the photograph.

They hadn’t wanted me to believe them.

They had wanted me to see for myself.

I had.

And there was no longer anything left to misunderstand.