Chapter 5: The Truth No One Wants

On the way home, I ran into Jason. He could tell I was rattled, so he pulled me aside.

He spotted me in the parking lot, his face pale. He grabbed my arm, pulling me behind a row of cars. His eyes darted nervously, like he was afraid of being overheard.

He shifted his weight, looking anywhere but at me. "Kyle, I don’t feel right hiding this from you."

He wouldn’t meet my gaze, his fingers fidgeting with his car keys. I could tell he was wrestling with something big.

I was confused. "What are you getting at? Spit it out!"

My patience was shot. I needed answers, not riddles.

He hesitated, then said, "Earlier, I told you your wife and the tour guide went off alone."

He took a deep breath, glancing around again. "There’s more to it, man."

"Honestly, the rest of us thought something was up."

He lowered his voice, leaning in close. "We all saw the way they looked at each other. It wasn’t just business."

Jason gave me a look, like he was spelling it out. "We don’t have any proof, but the way they acted was pretty suspicious."

He shrugged, trying to soften the blow. "I’m not saying anything for sure, but... you get the idea."

"There was definitely something going on. I just wanted to give you a heads-up."

His words hung in the air, heavy and unwelcome. I felt my stomach twist, anger and disbelief fighting for control.

I was furious—he was basically calling her a cheater. But how could that be possible?

I clenched my fists, my jaw tight. I wanted to scream, to deny it, but the doubt was already creeping in.

I shoved Jason and pointed at him. "Don’t talk crap! Watch what you say!"

My voice cracked, louder than I intended. People nearby turned to look, but I didn’t care. Jason stumbled back, hands raised in surrender.

Then I stormed off.

I stalked to my car, slamming the door so hard it rattled the frame. My hands shook as I gripped the steering wheel, trying to calm myself down.

I skipped town for a couple days, just to be safe. Didn’t want Turner calling the cops on me.

I checked into a cheap motel under a fake name, keeping my phone on silent. The room smelled like stale cigarettes and cheap cleaning supplies. I barely slept, jumping at every knock on the door.

I should’ve planned better. Next time, I’d be smarter.

I replayed the fight in my head, picking apart every detail. If I got another shot, I’d do it smarter—no witnesses, no cameras.

I missed my wife terribly and had no idea how the funeral was going.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face. I wondered if her family had forgiven me, if they blamed me for everything that happened.