The Girlfriend Who Owned His Family's Debt

I don't make a scene when Jasper's first love takes my seat in the front again.

I just slide into the back, next to his best friend Jonathan, and buckle in like it's nothing.

The road turns rough, and my knee slips against Jonathan's thigh.

I leave it there on purpose, and he doesn't pull away.

We stop at a rest area, and Delphine drapes herself over Jasper on the way to the restroom.

The second the door clicks shut, Jonathan's hand closes around the back of my neck and he kisses me.

And somewhere in the heat of it, I finally understand why people cheat.

Three years I shrank myself into the backseat of my own relationship so a man could chase a ghost.

What Jasper never bothered to ask is whose family his company has been borrowing from this whole time.

He doesn't know I already signed the breakup, or that I stopped loving him long before this drive.

He doesn't know the friend he trusts is about to choose me out loud.

By the time he turns around in that front seat, the girl in the back won't be his anymore.

***

"Shotgun," Delphine sang out, her manicured fingers already wrapped around the passenger door handle of Jasper's Range Rover.

She flashed a brilliant, apologetic smile over her shoulder. "You don't mind, do you, Camille? I get so carsick in the back. The motion just destroys my equilibrium."

I stood on the asphalt, holding my overnight bag. I didn't argue. I didn't scream.

"Go ahead," I said.

Jasper stood by the driver’s side, adjusting his expensive sunglasses. He didn't even look at me. "Thanks, Cam. You know how her stomach gets on these winding mountain roads. We want a fun weekend, not a trip to the emergency room."

"Right. Fun weekend," I replied.

I walked around to the rear door and pulled it open. Jonathan was already inside. Jasper’s best friend always carried a quiet, heavy presence, his long legs stretched out, taking up too much space in the leather interior.

I slid into the seat beside him and reached for the strap.

Click.

The metallic sound of the seatbelt locked me into place. Up front, Delphine giggled at something Jasper murmured. Their laughter drifted back to me, muffled and distant, as if a thick pane of soundproof glass separated the front seats from the rear. I stared at the back of Jasper’s headrest. My boyfriend of three years. He shifted the car into gear, his hand brushing Delphine's arm as he reached for the center console.

The engine roared to life. Jasper steered us out of the gravel lot and onto the jagged, unpaved road leading out of the city limits.

"Put on that playlist I sent you," Delphine told him, tapping the dashboard display.

"The one with the awful pop songs?" Jasper teased.

"They aren't awful. You love them."

"Only because you force me to listen to them."

"You're just pretending to hate it to look tough," she shot back, playfully slapping his shoulder.

"Do you think we should stop for lunch soon?" Delphine asked a moment later, turning the volume down on the radio.

"There's a diner about ten miles up," Jasper replied. "They have those milkshakes you like."

"Oh, perfect. Camille, you eat dairy, right? Or are you still doing that weird diet?"

"I eat dairy," I said flatly.

"Great. Jasper and I used to come here all the time before he met you. The food is amazing."

Before he met me. She loved dropping those little reminders. The shared history I could never compete with.

I kept my eyes on the window. The pine trees blurred past in streaks of green and brown. The road worsened, the tires dipping into a deep, neglected pothole. The heavy SUV lurched violently to the right.

My body swayed with the momentum. My bare knee knocked hard against Jonathan’s thigh.

His jeans were rough against my skin. The muscle underneath was solid and unyielding.

I paused. I didn't pull away.

I left my knee pressed exactly where it landed.

Beside me, Jonathan didn't shift. He didn't adjust his posture to give me space or politely apologize for the bump. He simply sat there, letting the contact burn between us. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. His jaw was set, his gaze fixed straight ahead on the rearview mirror, but his breathing had shifted. A heavy, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath his dark T-shirt.

"Did you guys feel that bump?" Delphine asked, twisting around in her seat. Her eyes darted to the narrow space between Jonathan and me. "Everyone survive back there?"

"We're fine," Jonathan replied. His voice was a low rumble, vibrating through the leather seat.

"Speak for yourself," Jasper laughed, gripping the steering wheel tight. "My suspension is taking a massive beating on this trail."

"Maybe you should drive slower," I suggested.

"I'm barely doing forty, Cam," Jasper said, a hint of annoyance clipping his words. "Just hold on."

I kept my knee against Jonathan. Every jolt of the car rubbed my skin against his denim. It was the only real thing happening in this vehicle. The front seat was a loud, obnoxious performance. The back seat was a silent rebellion.

"We'll stop at the next gas station," Jasper announced a few miles later. "Need to stretch my legs anyway."

"Oh, good," Delphine sighed, flipping down the sun visor to check her reflection. "I need a mirror. This humidity is ruining my hair. Jas, does my mascara look smudged?"

"You look perfect, Del," he said.

The gas station sat off a desolate exit, a crumbling brick building surrounded by dying weeds and a cracked concrete parking lot. Jasper parked near the entrance, cutting the engine.

Delphine hopped out immediately. She rounded the hood and latched onto Jasper’s arm before he even closed his door.

"Walk me to the restroom," she whined, tugging his sleeve. "These highway places always have creeps hanging around. I don't want to go in alone."

"It's broad daylight, Del," Jasper said.

"Please? Just stand guard outside the stall for me."

"Fine. Cam, you guys coming?"

"I'll wait," I said.

Jasper didn't press the issue. He let Delphine drag him toward the glass double doors of the convenience store.

Jonathan stepped out of the car, shutting his door with a heavy thud. He walked around the rear bumper and stopped right in front of me. The midday sun caught the sharp, uncompromising angles of his face.

"You're awfully quiet today," Jonathan said.

"Not much to say."

"No?" He took a step closer. The tip of his boot nearly touched my sneakers. "You didn't seem to mind the bumpy ride."

"I don't know what you mean."

"You know exactly what I mean, Camille."

I looked up at him, meeting his intense stare. "Are you going to scold me, Jonathan? Tell me to be a better, more attentive girlfriend to your best friend?"

"Jasper is a blind idiot," Jonathan stated flatly.

"He's your idiot."

"That doesn't mean I have to respect his choices." Jonathan looked toward the convenience store. Through the dirty window, we could see Jasper and Delphine disappearing down a narrow hallway toward the restrooms. "Let's go inside. I need a drink."

I followed him in. The air conditioning was broken, leaving the store muggy and smelling of stale corn chips and floor cleaner. We bypassed the aisles and headed toward the back hallway.

The corridor was dim, lit by a single flickering fluorescent bulb.

A heavy wooden door marked 'Women' stood on the left. The 'Men' door was on the right. Both were closed. Delphine’s high-pitched voice echoed from behind the women's room door.

"Hold my bag, Jas," she was saying.

"Hurry up, it smells like bleach in here," Jasper's voice replied.

He had gone inside with her.

I stood in the narrow hallway, staring at the scarred wood of the door. The sheer disrespect washed over me, cold and sobering.

Then, a large hand gripped the back of my neck.

Jonathan spun me around and pinned me against the cinderblock wall. His fingers tangled in the hair at my nape, his grip firm. Before I could process the sudden movement, his mouth crashed down on mine.

The kiss was aggressive, demanding. His lips parted mine without hesitation. The heat of his body pressed flush against me, trapping me between the cold painted wall and his solid chest.

I didn't push him away. I didn't struggle.

My hands found their way to his chest, gripping the fabric of his dark shirt. I kissed him back.

In the raw friction of his mouth, a sudden, sharp clarity hit me.

No wonder people think they love cheating.

The thrill of the secret. The desperate clawing for something that actually belonged to you, even if it happened in a dirty hallway.

For three years, I had shrunk myself to fit into the back seat of my own relationship. I had smiled through the canceled dates, ignored the late-night texts from his female friends, and accepted the pathetic crumbs Jasper tossed my way. I had played the understanding girlfriend while he paraded Delphine around as his fragile priority.

Not anymore.

My phone weighed heavy in my back pocket. On the screen, hidden in my files, sat a drafted separation agreement. It detailed the division of our shared apartment, the buyout of my stake in his tech startup, and the final end of us. It only needed signatures.

I opened my eyes against the kiss.

Jonathan's eyes were closed, his jaw flexed as he deepened the kiss, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind my ear. But my gaze was wide open, staring past his broad shoulder at the peeling paint on the restroom door. I was ruthlessly awake.

Clack.

The metallic turning of the restroom door handle shattered the silence in the hallway.

My fingers froze on the collar of Jonathan's shirt. He didn't step back. Our foreheads remained pressed together, our breath mingling in the narrow space.

The heavy wooden door began to swing outward, the hinges groaning loudly, closing the distance between the secret and the light.