"Lottie. You were digging into me."
"I wasn't—"
"No? Then why'd you go messaging Lucy?"
His voice cracked upward.
"Nobody in Lucy's family is dead! I was exhausted, I got it mixed up—and you just fire that off without thinking? If that gets around the office, where does that leave me?!"
My fingers were cold around the phone.
He was the one who'd lied—and somehow every word he said was making me feel like the guilty one.
A heavy sigh came through the line.
Then his voice softened.
"Lottie, I know you worry about me, but do you have any idea how that looked? Lucy's my supervisor. How's she supposed to see me after that? You think she's ever going to put my name forward for anything again?"
"Eight years, Lottie. We've been together eight years, and this is how much you trust me?"
My nose burned out of nowhere.
Eight years—and Eugene had long since learned every way to turn my worry into guilt.
"Forget it, Lottie. I got too worked up. I'm sorry."
He must have taken my silence as a sign, because his tone went completely gentle.