~~PEYTON~~
The next few minutes?
Should I call it a crossfire or a full-blown verbal assault?
Odin’s voice rises with each word.
He doesn’t need to say more; the underwear in his hand screams volumes.
Accusations fly, assumptions that are so far off the mark they are almost laughable if they didn’t cut so deep.
There’s no winning this.
Not when he’s holding the evidence.
He storms around the entryway, gesturing wildly, while I stand frozen, feeling the blood drain from my face.
Every glance he shoots me is like a punch.
Every word is like a slap.
And you know the funny thing about all of this is that he’s furious, beyond furious, and it’s not just because of a stupid, misplaced piece of underwear.
It’s his assumptions; it’s like he’s trying to piece together a killer puzzle.
A puzzle that isn’t so hard to solve.
“Are you just going to stand there, Peyton? Or tell me how this ended up in a box from my mother?”
Odin’s voice is dangerously low, his eyes drilling into mine.
He waves the lace at me again, his face hovering over mine.
“Tell me, Peyton, did you just decide to leave your underwear lying around for my family to find? And could this be the same panties missing from the other day when you got wasted in your car?”
I stay quiet and just blink.
It isn’t because I feel cornered or guilty or because of the fact that I cheated.
It’s just that…
I’m tired of everything.
I just want hell to break loose.
“Make me understand, Peyton.” Odin’s voice rises an octave as he grabs my shoulder and shakes it like he’s trying to revive me back to reality.
He presses into my flesh harder.
So hard that I almost wince.
“Open your fucking mouth and say something.
Peyton.
Say some—”
”Take your hands off me, Odin,” I say, my voice calmer than I feel.
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and hell, yes, I have.
“What is it that’s so hard to understand? Isn’t it obvious?” I ask and shrug my hands off, but it doesn’t slacken.
“And yes, you’re right, it’s the same underwear from the other day that went missing and Axel just returned it to me.”
His face…
it just crumbles.
All that fire in his eyes, snuffs out, replaced by this awful, empty look.
It’s like watching a building collapse in slow motion.
He takes a few steps back, the way people do when they’re trying to put distance between themselves and something toxic.
Damn, he’s so dramatic.
“Axel?” he repeats, as if trying to process a foreign language.
“Axel… returned… your underwear? You’re… you’re saying that you were… with Axel? And he just happened to have your…” He gestures at the crumpled lace still clutched in his hand.
“He returned it?”
A bitter, humorless laugh escapes him.
It’s a sound of absolute disbelief.
He runs a hand over his face, scrubbing at his eyes as if to wipe away the image that’s now seared into his mind.
“All this time,” he mutters, more to himself than to me, “all this time I thought it was some drunken mistake, some carelessness… and it was him.” He looks up, his eyes now sharp, piercing.
“You just—”
”Yes, I cheated, so what?” I cut him off.
“You want me to cry? Feel guilty? Pretend I’m sorry? I’m not.”
I watch his face, waiting for the explosion, but it never comes.
He just stares at me.
“You want the full report?
Fine.
I’ve got a boyfriend.
And his name is Axel.
End of report.”
”You hooked up with my brother.
Is this real, or are you just trying too hard to make it believable?” Odin says.
There isn’t shock on his face anymore; it’s just disbelief but not utter disbelief.
But denial.
And that…
that face made me blink.
But it only makes Odin explode.
“Don’t you dare blink again, Peyton.
Don’t you think you’re trying too hard to make me jealous, to pretend you’re moving on?
It’s just pathetic.”
”Oh, you think this…” I point at the lace.
“Was it staged? Why is it so hard to believe that not only can you cheat, Odin?”
His jaw clenches.
He opens his mouth, then closes it.
He can’t deny it, not entirely.
Not after all the times I bit my tongue, swallowed the bitter taste of his late nights and vague excuses.
Then the bombshell of an open marriage and, worst of all, bringing his fling to our bed.
Letting her cook in my kitchen and have a fucking sleepover.
“You really wanna play this game, Peyton?” he spits.
“You really wanna throw stones when you just blew up everything for a quick screw with my brother?”
”Oh, like you haven’t been throwing them for years,” I retort.
“Don’t pretend you’re some innocent victim here, Odin. This isn’t a one-sided story. You just got caught differently, that’s all.”
I brush past him, heading towards the stairs.
“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is sharp; there’s a tremor in it now.
“Anywhere but here,” I say, and I don’t stop walking.
“I’m not done with you, Peyton. So, out of all the goddamn people? You chose Axel? My brother?!” His voice cracks on the last word.
“I don’t have a problem with you having a boyfriend; after all, we’re in an open marriage.
The problem is that you screwed my brother.
Did I screw your sister, huh?
She’s pretty, fucking gorgeous, more gorgeous than you could ever be, but I didn’t!
Why?
‘Cause I respected you!
Didn’t want to cross a line and date your relative, but you…
you…
my brother!
What kind of picture are you trying to paint here, Peyton?
What are you trying to achieve with this…”
I keep on walking; I can’t ignore the sound of his voice, even if I try.
He expects me to turn, to argue, to somehow be reeled back in by his outrage.
He wants me to acknowledge his pain, his twisted sense of betrayal.
But I’m past caring about his pain.
All I feel is a numb kind of clarity.
It was an inevitable collapse; one way or another he was going to find out.
Today just happened to be the day.
I’ll take that as a good thing.
As long as I get to see him all riled up, furious like he’s gonna burst, it’s fine with me.
I can relive this moment over and over and never get tired.
“What’s with all the racket? Honestly, the neighbors probably think you’re reenacting some primitive tribal dispute out here.”
I stop dead at the sound of that voice.
Shit.
That voice that promises nothing but more trouble.
More headaches.
Olivia.
Why now?
I didn’t even hear the sound of her heels.
“Olivia?” Odin’s voice drops two octaves.
Yes, that’s what Olivia’s presence can do to you.
“Stop staring at me like I’ve grown two heads.” She spits.
Odin clears his throat.
“Good morning.
What brings you here?”
”Don’t be all formal with me,” she hisses.
“And where’s the Peyton you’ve been arguing with?”
I start tiptoeing.
I might probably escape another morning drama.
But no such luck.
Olivia’s gaze, sharp as a laser, pins me to the banister.
“There you are,” her voice dripping with an artificial sweetness that sets my teeth on edge.
Odin shifts uncomfortably beside her, scratching his head, one hand in his pocket while one foot taps on the ground.
He’s still angry, but it’s suppressed for the time being.
To be honest, I’d rather deal with Odin’s outbursts, complete with shouting and flung remote controls, than deal with this passive-aggressive poison.
At least with Odin, you knew where you stood.
Couldn’t she, at least, just keep her veiled threats and thinly veiled insults confined to text messages?
For Christ’s sake, must she show her face in here?
Olivia’s voice cuts in.
“You got words today, or just breathing heavily?”
Still standing like an ice statue and faking a smile, I manage, “Good morning.”
”Funny how you’re all ‘good morning’ now.
But when I text?
Nothing.
Radio silence.
It’s like you’re treating me like some stranger lately…”
Olivia goes on and on.
I don’t respond.
I can’t.
One second, I can hear her clearly, and the next, the sound of her voice starts to fade.
The smile I was faking starts to slip.
Olivia’s face melts into a blurry mess, and my head feels like it’s spinning, like I’m underwater or something.
A wave of nausea hits me hard, and cold sweat pops out on my forehead.
Oh god, I’m gonna be sick.