“He brought two.”

“Was he planning to share?” I bite out.

Lance shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe? Every time he brings a girl up, I take the couch in Miller and Randy’s room. And I’m gonna ask Coach if we can switch it up with the roommate situation before the next trip.”

“He brings girls up to the room while you’re there?”

He licks his lips and looks at his lap. It makes my heart ache like it’s being squeezed. “Sometimes the bunnies have their own rooms in the hotel, in case of hook ups.”

“Sometimes but not always.” It’s a statement, not a question. And I know the answer is going to hurt.

“Aye.”

“So your roommate brought up two girls.”

“Aye.”

“And what happened?”

“One of them was Tash, the woman I was involved with. He didn’t know who she was. He hasn’t met her before.”

“I see.”

“Nothing happened with her. Not with me. Not with Rookie. But there’s a picture that makes it look like something did. She wanted it that way.”

“When was the last time you were with her?”

“I saw her the night before I first came to see you at the clinic. But whatever we had was over a long time before that.”

I close my eyes and try not to react to that information. I try not to envision him with her the way he’s been with me, in my bed. “And you slept with her then?”

He shakes his head. “No. She wanted me to, but I wouldn’t. She tricked me.”

“Tricked you?”

“She brought someone with her.”

“Another woman.”

“Aye.”

His fingers go to his mouth and then drop to his thighs. His eyes dart around and shame makes it impossible for him to look at me.

I don’t want him to feel shame for his actions, for the things he’s done in the past. I don’t want him to feel like he’s worth less because of his choices. But I do want to understand why he felt compelled to make those choices.

“And this is something she did often? Even though you’d told her you wanted to be exclusive?”

He chews on his fingernails. It makes him look more boy than man. “Bring other girls?”

“Yes.”

“Aye.”

“And what happened then?”

I get more fidgeting, more avoiding eye contact.

“Lance?”

“I used to give her what she wanted.”

“Which was?”

“To take care of the situation.”

He’s not going to come out and say it, and I can’t blame him. I need to find a way to say what I want to without him shutting down.

“Did you want it to happen or did you let it?”

“Let.”

“Why?”

“What?” He glances up.

“Why would you let that happen if you didn’t want it to?”

“Because she expected it. Because I thought maybe eventually I’d be enough. Because I didn’t think I deserved to have what I wanted.”

My heart breaks for him. “What if I wanted that? Would you let it happen?”

His face crumples. “You would never want that.”

“How do you know?” I’m not asking to hurt him, but because I want to understand his thought process.

“You’re not like that. You’re too precious for that.” His voice is hard, like stone.

I place a palm against his cheek, hoping to calm the sudden surge of energy that seems to course through him. “You’re right. I would never ask that of you. I value you more than that.”

His fingers cover mine.

“Why don’t you deserve what you want?”

“I’ve done a lot of bad things. I’m trying to rearrange the way I think about it.” He sighs. “I want to be with you. I want to be what you need. That’s all I want. I tried to avoid her. I really tried, but she can’t seem to let this go.”

I key in the passcode to my phone, because I need to see whatever it is that’s causing him such distress. I check the most obvious accounts first, and then I finally come across an unfamiliar name.

“Natasha is Tash?” I ask.

Lance closes his eyes and bows his head.

I open the message. My throat tightens.

I try not to react to it immediately or look at it with judging eyes. It’s difficult, though. Everything about this picture screams lies and deceit. But then I force myself to look without emotions, ignoring my aching heart, so I can see it for what it is.

I know this woman—the one smiling at the camera. The one lying on a bed of white sheets with Lance’s big body. She’s naked, or topless at least, based on the bare expanse of her back. She was the one who came to the house the morning after I stayed the night at Lance’s a year ago.

She’s gorgeous and in amazing shape, much better than what my twice-a-week yoga routine yields. We look absolutely nothing alike.

Lance is stretched out on top of her. But while she smiles for the camera, he looks like he wants to rip someone’s head off. He’s wearing boxers. It’s better than him being naked, but not by much. A million unwanted scenarios rush through my mind, despite what Lance has told me, and despite my trying to keep perspective.

I push the phone toward him. “This is what you wanted to explain?”

“As soon as they came in the room, she climbed into bed with me and tried to take pictures. I was trying to get the camera from her so she couldn’t post them, and her friend snapped that one. I know how it looks, though, which is why I wanted to be here when you saw it.” He covers the image with his palm.