Unfaithfully yours, p.1
Unfaithfully Yours, page 1
Copyright © 2025 by Hajer Hamdi
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Afterword
About the Author
ONE
Kamran
I tried with all my might to concentrate on the TV and ignore the fact that it felt like the walls were closing in around me.
I rarely missed watching a football game with my best friend, Ryan. That was why I hadn’t cancelled on him today, even though now, it was becoming clear that I probably should have.
I’d never thought that anything could distract me from football, yet here I was. I couldn’t follow what was happening. Even though I was looking at the screen, I wasn’t even watching.
Not after what I’d learned today.
I realized my hands were trembling a little bit and squeezed the bottle I was holding and then lifted it, tipped it down my throat, trying to either drown myself or ground myself. I wasn’t sure which.
When I set the empty bottle down on the coffee table, I instantly regretted not having it in my hand to fiddle with. I needed another one but it wasn’t like me to get up in the middle of a play.
Ryan would know that something was up.
For a moment, I considered telling him. I was aching to tell someone what I had found out this morning. This new secret made me feel like I was a balloon pumped too full of air. It was about to burst out of me.
But Ryan was a man’s man. He was the gym teacher and coach at the local high school and the appointed griller at every barbeque.
He was a good friend, always the first to grab me a beer when shit went down, but we didn’t usually talk about feelings. Not to mention that we were already more than a few bottles deep.
Besides, there was nothing he could say or do to make me feel better about what I had found out.
I just had to keep it to myself.
I glanced at Ryan. His large body was bent forward, elbows braced on his knees. Tension ran through his muscles, making him look rigid.
It could have been that he was engrossed in the game, but I knew that wasn’t it, because he glanced over, catching my gaze at once and I could tell by the look he gave me that he knew something was going on. That was when I realized that my foot was tapping, and I was chewing on my thumbnail.
I forced my hand to sit on my lap and tried to still my leg.
Sitting next to my best friend while we watched the game usually gave me the good kind of nostalgia from our college days, but today was different. Today, all I felt was rotten and broken inside.
I can’t take this anymore.
Without meaning to, I was suddenly standing and pacing the living room, feeling like my world was ending. And it was. Everything I knew, everything I had—
My gaze caught on the canvas on the wall printed with a picture of me and Melissa from our first trip to Whistler and it was like a knife in the gut. I tore my gaze away and it landed on Ryan instead.
He was sitting on the couch, openly watching me now, instead of the TV. A beer was held loosely in his hand, his brown eyes trained on me like I was the next play, and he didn’t know which way it was going to go.
I didn’t blame him. Even I didn’t know what came next. What I would say, what I would do. The reality of the situation was too big to ignore, too heart-wrenching.
“Kamran—”
“Lissa’s cheating on me.”
The words came out like trapped gas. There was no way to hold that shit in, but the moment I said it, I wished I had managed to keep my mouth shut.
Ryan’s eyes widened, his mouth opened and for a moment, it was like he saw straight through me. Like he was remembering my entire relationship and picking out all the clues. It wouldn’t surprise me. He had been there through it all.
Finally, his eyes focused on mine again.
“Shit, man,” he muttered.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
That was all I’d expected from him, and it was enough, but he set down his bottle and pushed to his impressive height, still staring at me.
I wasn’t sure what he was going to do. For a minute he didn’t do anything. He just stood there by the couch looking helpless.
“…are you sure?” he finally asked.
I nodded as all the evidence and pain of the discovery rushed back to me.
I was a big guy myself. My parents were what I would call “traditional” by Canadian standards and I’d been taught to “be a man” from a young age. I wasn’t the type to get overly emotional. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d cried. I hadn’t even teared up on my wedding day looking at Melissa’s beautiful face as she walked down the aisle.
She hadn’t been able to get through her vows without sobbing like a baby. It had made my chest ache, but I hadn’t shed one tear because starting our lives together had been a happy day.
Today, on the other hand…
Tears suddenly burned my eyes.
“Fuck,” Ryan muttered, looking panicked for a split second and the next thing I knew, he was marching across the room and surprising me by taking me into the biggest, tightest bear hug I had ever been given, while I completely fell apart.
I sniffled, willing the tears back to no avail, gasping, choking back sobs, and clinging to his jersey like it was a lifeline and—God, I had never been so embarrassed in my entire life. I was never going to be able to look him in the eyes again. But the damage was done, so I held onto him tighter and let my anguish win.
And who knew a man’s shoulders and arms could be so damn comforting? So warm and all-encompassing, that a man’s muscles could feel so… nice to lean against.
“Why do you smell so fucking good?” I asked, choking on laughter through the tears.
Finally, I pulled back, wiping at my eyes. Ryan didn’t as much as smile. I was surprised to see just how serious and worried he could look.
There was no mirth in his eyes and my question was ignored for what it was, a lame attempt at a distraction… although he did smell incredibly warm and soft and masculine all at once. I hoped it was cologne because otherwise, that was just not fair.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
I nodded, but my cheeks were still wet and then I looked at his shirt and felt my entire face turn red hot.
“Sorry,” I muttered, stepping back to find something to dry him off with.
Frantically, I grabbed some of the napkins off the coffee table from under the empty pizza box. I knew it was pointless, but because Ryan was a motherfucking gentleman, he let me wipe uselessly at the two wet splotches on his shirt without saying anything.
Finally, he reached up, holding onto my wrist to stop me. He just held onto me, not pushing me away until I finally looked up and met the depths of his sympathetic russet brown eyes. And that nearly broke me down again.
I shivered, my heart pounding in my throat as I tried to hold it back. But I hadn’t managed to stop the tears the first time and my eyes just filled with them again like it was nothing and then my lip fucking trembled.
“Jesus,” Ryan whispered. “What happened, Kam? Tell me.”
He pulled my arm by the wrist still held in his hand, until it went behind his back, and just like that, I was in his arms again.
A breath left me as he wrapped his arms around me again, squeezing me.
It occurred to me that this affectionate reaction was probably due to all the beer, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t bring myself to pull away. If ever I needed a hug, it was right now.
“How did you find out?” he asked, his voice a soft rumble that went straight through my body, vibrating me.
“I saw her phone. She was in the shower when she got a message from her boss, Robert,” I choked. “It just popped up on the screen when I was next to it.”
“Fuck,” he groaned. “What did it say?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, remembering.
“It just said, ‘Okay. Whatever you need.’ I saw it and just got a weird feeling. Then I went into her phone, which I never do. Never even thought to.”
Ryan nodded.
“Yeah, of course. I know you’re not like that.”
I wanted to say more but I couldn’t bring myself to go on. The sheer multitude of messages between them… almost all setting up times and places to meet around work hours. Plus, the kicker that lead to the original message; ‘Are you ever going to talk to your husband about us? I can’t wait forever.’ And Lissa’s curt reply. ‘Can we talk about this tonight?’ followed by, ‘Okay. Whatever you need.’
I shook my head, unable to repeat it and Ryan got the message, nodding, his large hands stroking my back.
“Come here,” he said, leading me back to the couch
He pushed me gently into the seat I'd leaped out of to begin my breakdown and went around me into the kitchen, returning a minute later with two fresh, cold beers.
I wasn’t sure which number this was but my head felt light and my body unsteady. I didn’t care though. I hadn’t been blackout drunk since my college days but I was willing to drink myself into oblivion tonight.
Handing me a bottle, Ryan sank into the seat next to me, still looking at me instead of the TV.
“I think she's going to leave me,” I managed to say. “Either that or she's leading the other guy on because that was what the messages were about. He wanted her to talk to me.”
Ryan rubbed a hand through his hair, ruffling the thick dirty blond strands before he took a long pull of his beer, buying another moment.
“Is that what you want?” he finally asked.
I swallowed. The ache in my chest doubled down and for a moment I just tried to breathe without crying again.
Ryan's hand landed on my shoulder, squeezing.
I didn't know what I wanted. I had just found out this morning. The idea of so suddenly losing everything was too much.
I took a sip of my beer, the cold liquid clearing me up a little.
“Shit. That was a bad fumble,” I said, catching the moment when I glanced up at the TV.
That took Ryan's attention off me for a while. He turned to watch the replay and then we watched the game again, like nothing had happened.
But it must have still been on Ryan's mind too, because a few more beers into it, his hand suddenly landed on my knee, giving a little squeeze.
I chuckled at the unfamiliar casual touch, knowing he was still trying to comfort me.
“I guess I fell apart a bit back there,” I mused.
“Just a little,” he agreed, smiling ruefully.
I groaned, falling back against the arm of the chair.
To my surprise the room started to spin when I went horizontal. The table was littered with bottles, and Ryan's cheeks had turned a permanent red from too much alcohol.
I covered my face with my hands, rubbing my tired eyes.
“I didn't think Melissa was the type,” Ryan suddenly said.
“She's not!” I argued, my instincts to defend her rearing up. “She's really not. I don't... I don't know what happened or what she was thinking or what...”
I trailed off.
“Fuck... Was it me?” I whispered.
I could hear the announcers raving. The game was over. Our team had lost. Insult to injury, but I was too wounded and drunk to care. It had been obvious which way it was going since halftime, anyway.
Ryan's hand was still on my leg. He squeezed it again.
“Kamran,” he said, and his voice was almost stern. “There's no way this was your fault.”
I was shaking my head before he even finished that sentence because it made a kind of twisted sense.
Lissa wasn't the type to cheat. She was as wholesome as they came. She was sweet and loving and open and honest. She didn't judge a soul. She didn't hurt people. I must have done something to make her feel like I was pushing her away.
I scrubbed my hands over my face, trying to think through the booze.
Hell, we rarely had sex anymore. Maybe that was it. We still spoke and laughed together though. Life was just busy, that was all. We had different schedules. She was always tired early and I didn't get up to bed fast enough. I got distracted and we missed our chances…”It’s my fault,” I said with more finality.
I was going to say more. I didn’t know what but didn't get to find out because Ryan leaned over me, practically on top of me, physically dragging my hands from my face so that I was forced to look at him and meet his annoyed gaze.
“Kamran,” he said fiercely. “If Melissa is cheating on you, it's because she's a fucking idiot. You're perfect.”
He said it with such certainty that for a moment I actually believed it. I took a shuddering breath.
Ryan was right in my face. There was no getting away. No hiding.
Just his warm brown eyes watching me. Even through the haze of alcohol, they looked so sure. His hand on my chest was like a steadying weight.
Why did it feel like the most intimate moment I could remember having? I was married.
To a woman who was cheating.
“How could she do this to me?” I whispered.
Then, probably because I was still a pathetic mess, and only inches from his face, Ryan leaned onto me even more, letting his weight press me down.
And for some reason, his lips brushed mine, slightly parted and soft.
An electric thrill shot straight through my body.
I gasped, my eyes widening as he pulled back.
For a moment, we just looked at each other, eyelids heavy with booze and whatever else was happening. Then he was pressing forward again, crushing his lips to mine harder this time, kissing me desperately, and for some, fucked up reason that I didn’t understand, I was kissing him back.
His tongue pressed into my mouth, and I moaned. My hands tangled into his hair while his moved frantically over my body, under my shirt, hiking it up as high as he could, his palms skating over my skin.
I had no clue how the fuck we had gotten here, but Ryan felt like Christmas morning or some other sappy, warm, feel good thing, and I held on tightly, continuing to kiss him back like his mouth held all the answers.
Ryan pulled off me. His hands were shaking, but he reached down, pressing against my zipper, making me realize that I was already hard. The heat of his palm seeped through the denim and I pushed my hips up without meaning to.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “Kamran.”
I'd heard him say my name a million times, but never like this. Never in a way that made me want to be a fucking good boy for him and the thought was so shocking that for a moment I stilled, a hint of reality filtering through my foggy brain.
Then, we both heard it; the jangling of keys in the front door.
We stared at each other, unmoving until the door creaked as it was opened and then, like two kids with our hands in the cookie jar, we scrambled apart.
I landed back in my seat, my heart pounding like a drum solo as Melissa entered the house.
“Hey guys,” she said, walking in from the entryway, and bending over the back of the couch to kiss my cheek and then ruffle Ryan’s hair. “How was the game?”
“Shit,” I managed to mumble.
“Aw, your team lost?”
“Badly,” Ryan said, jumping in for me.
My gaze flew to the screen where the after show was still playing. “Where were you?”
“Visiting my sister,” she answered with ease.
“How’s Michelle?” I asked.
“She’s good. Just the usual boy drama,” she said, and then paused for a minute, maybe watching the TV, maybe watching me. I couldn't tell. I couldn't bring myself to look at her to see if our act was working. Did we seem normal? I saw Ryan give me a surreptitious glance in my peripheral, but he didn't say anything.
“Alright, well, I'm going to take a shower and go to bed,” she said after a long silence. “Long day.”
I nodded.
“Night.”
“Goodnight,” Ryan said quickly.
When the sound of her footsteps disappeared up the stairs, it was like all the air left me. I deflated, sinking into the cushions.
My hands were shaking, my mind too confused to even begin to make sense of whatever the fuck had just happened.
I could still feel Ryan's hands, his lips. They’d left trails of heat all over my body.
Why had he done that? Why had I gone with it?
“You should probably head out,” I said, not looking at him.
“…Yeah. I guess so.”
He pushed to his feet, and I noticed that he swayed.
And that he was beautiful.
In a masculine way, of course, but yeah. Attractive was attractive, and Ryan was that. I'd always known it too. I hadn't wanted to kiss him before though. And yet, right now, his lips were a deeper pink than usual, full from being on me.
I pushed to my feet, feeling dazed as he looked around, found his baseball cap, and pushed his hair back into it before grabbing his jacket from where he’d thrown it over the ottoman.
He walked to the entryway, and I followed him like a lost puppy, unsure what to say.
At the door, for a long moment, we both stood there not saying anything at all.
