The Man I Can't Have

by Williams, Shanora

  “Yes, I think so. They’re trying to get it done as quickly as they can.”

  “Good.” He clears his throat. “Well, I just had a deposit go through our account. If you need groceries, want to shop, or anything, go for it. Money’s there.” At the change of subject, I roll my eyes but keep my tone even.

  “Okay, sure.”

  “Okay, sure? Gabby, what is going on with you? If you don’t want to be on the phone right now or you’re busy, just tell me.”

  “What? Kyle—Jesus!” I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. I’m just like my mom sometimes, during moments where I feel like he should be able to read my mind, and then getting upset when he doesn’t catch the hint. Then again, isn’t that all women? But I know now not to get too upset with Kyle, so I breathe evenly through my nostrils and say, “Look, I got on your computer to pay a bill, and I saw something that really bothered me.”

  Silence. Only for a short moment. “What did you see, Gabs?”

  “An email between you and Mr. Ward. A string of emails, actually.”

  Kyle is quiet again.

  I continue, and my hands are really shaking now. I hate confronting him with stuff like this. Absolutely hate it. “If you were really that unhappy with having the yard done, maybe I should have just left it alone like you said. I mean, if you really think I’m that much of an idiot—”

  “Gabrielle. Stop it.” His voice is firm. I seal my lips, my heartbeat picking up in speed. I hate arguing with him, mainly because I never win. “The yard is already being landscaped. I was hoping Mr. Ward would stop before he started laying the stones, or at least be coherent, but he wasn’t. I wanted to do something better for you. Surprise you.”

  “Then why couldn’t you just tell me that? Why go behind my back to the owner and say that stuff about me?”

  “Gabby, you’re blowing this out of proportion. It was more of a ploy—a man-to-man thing.”

  I scoff. “Am I really blowing it out of proportion?” I shoot out of my chair. “I am your wife, Kyle. You can’t go around telling people stuff like that, like I’m some dumbass who doesn’t know anything! When he told me what you said to him, I felt like an idiot! I was so embarrassed that I didn’t even know what to say!”

  “Calm down,” he sighs. “I’ve told you to watch your temper. Think about what you’re saying first before letting it out.”

  “No—just stop. D-don’t tell me to calm down! You told me one thing, but went behind my back and said another. Where is the trust, Kyle?”

  “Gabby, just relax, okay? We’ll have this discussion when I’m back home on Sunday. You’re getting your backyard anyway, so let it go.”

  No, I won’t let this go, but I won’t tell him that. “You know what? I think it’s best if you stick in Seattle for the whole weekend, like you wanted. Apparently, we need the space.”

  “Gabby, come on. I—”

  I end the call before listening to what he has to say next then slam my phone down on the desk, sitting on the edge of the chair and burying my face in my hands. My hands are still shaking, so I wait for them to stop, and for my heartbeat to go back to a steady rhythm, before dropping them in my lap.

  For a while, all I hear is the landscaping crew working, but then I hear a familiar, deep voice that pulls me out of my funk. I pick my head up and listen harder.

  I stand up and walk to the arched window. Sure enough, Marcel Ward is standing in the backyard. He’s not wearing work clothes, though. Just the usual attire—jeans and a plaid shirt with a ribbed tank beneath. Normally he’s rocking a pair of dusty jeans and a T-shirt with work boots. He points at something to his right, then walks to the table set up in the corner, picking up a clipboard and reading over it.

  My heart is racing now, and I have no idea why. Why am I so excited that he’s here? Why do I care so much about this man’s presence?

  I leave the office and walk downstairs to the kitchen. I watch him from the door as he checks things off on a clipboard. Then he turns around, looking at the double doors, as if he senses someone watching him.

  I wave from where I stand. He cocks a brow and gives me a quick nod. Before I know it, he’s crossing the workspace to get to the double doors.

  I open it, looking up at him as he gets closer. “Surprised you’re here,” I say, crossing my arms.

  “Rob phoned me, needed me to look into something. Several broken stones out there.”

  “Oh. They told me you had work to do at the office?”

  “I did. Working on a few prints for a commercial job.”

  “Oh. Well that’s cool.”

  I look past him at Rob, Jacob, and Miguel who are digging a jagged line outside of the stones. There is an empty circular space where I assume they’re going to build the hot tub. My eyes swing back over to Marcel. He has his arms folded as well. I drop mine and shift on my feet.

  “Do you want to come inside? I’ll make some tea or something. I want to talk about what Kyle said to you in those emails.”

  “So you read ’em?” he asks, quirking a brow.

  “I did.”

  “Not a pleasant guy, your husband.”

  “He’s not always like that. He has control issues sometimes.”

  Marcel looks me over and a small dip forms between his brows. After clearing his throat, he says, “I don’t drink tea, but if you have more of that lemonade I tried last time, I’ll gladly take a glass.”

  I smile up at him. “Yeah, I actually made a fresh batch the other day.” I walk inside, and he follows behind me, closing the door along the way. I walk to the fridge while he stands by the island counter, looking around.

  “I take it you’ve talked to him about it?”

  “Not really. More like argued about his lack of respect,” I mutter, taking out the half-full jug of lemonade. “I just…I can’t believe he said that to you.” I meet his eyes. “I know I shouldn’t be the one apologizing for his actions, but I’m sorry he sent that. He was trying to put you in a tough spot. I’m glad you didn’t cave.”

  “It’s fine. No need to apologize for somethin’ you had no control over.”

  I grab a glass from the cabinet, rinse the dust out of it, and then fill it with lemonade. I hand it to him, and he accepts it appreciatively. After taking a sip, he places the glass on the counter.

  “Can I ask you somethin’?” he asks as I rest my lower back against the edge of the counter.

  “Depends on what it is.”

  “It’s kind of personal.”

  “Hmm…you can ask, but I may or may not answer.”

  He plants both hands on the edge of the island counter in front of him, focused on my eyes. “Are you in love with your husband?”

  His question is way more personal than expected.

  “Wow. That’s very personal,” I scoff, looking him over.

  He shrugs, his demeanor way too calm. “Just a question.”

  “I have a feeling that’s a loaded question.”

  Smirking, he says, “Might be.”

  I let out a slow breath. “Honestly, I don’t think right now is the best time to answer that question after knowing what he did.”

  “You’re handling it too well. This must not be his first time doing something so stupid.”

  I meet his aqua eyes, keeping my lips sealed.

  “Hmm. I see,” he murmurs, picking his lemonade up. He stands tall with it, and it’s now that I notice how out of place he is in my kitchen. He’s such a big guy, rugged and dark in comparison to the gray counters and white backsplash.

  Marcel finishes off his lemonade and then walks around the counter, placing the glass in the sink. He’s standing right beside me now, and I draw in a breath when he turns my way. I smell the soap that lingers on his body—the Irish Spring that he probably uses religiously. My eyes slide up to his. He’s already looking down at me.

  “I’ve been thinkin’, and somethin’ tells me this life you’re livin’ isn’t really you.” His voice is low, gruff.
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  “It’s a good life,” I tell him.

  “That is obviously built on stupidity and bullshit.”

  I narrow my eyes, peering up at him. My heart is racing all over again, my mouth going dry.

  “Answer my question,” he demands, voice still low.

  “Why does it matter to you?”

  “Because if you aren’t in love with him, then maybe I won’t feel so bad about the things I wish I could do to you.”

  I swallow hard, staring into his eyes. “I love my husband,” I say, but the statement is feeble, even to my own ears.

  “Do you?”

  “I do.”

  Marcel smirks. “But are you in love? Answer that for me.” He’s taken the final stride, standing right in front of me. He closes me in, planting his hands on the edge of the counter on either side of my waist, getting face-to-face with me. I look away, avoiding his eyes now, but I can’t avoid the giant in front of me or the heat radiating from his body.

  “Maybe you should go back to work,” I whisper.

  “I will once you answer me. And I want a real answer, not anymore of your bullshit.”

  I shake my head. It’s hard to think with his body this close, his scent wrapped up around me. It’s much more primitive than Kyle’s. All man. “I love him a lot, and I would do anything for him.”

  “Would he do anything for you?”

  That question catches me off guard. My brows draw together. I don’t know how to answer that.

  My silence lingers for only a second before Marcel makes a throaty noise. “Hmm.” He lowers his head, lightly running the tip of his nose across my jawline. “Damn shame,” he rumbles, then he inhales and groans, like he’s always wanted to know what I smell like this close. “If you were mine, I’d drop everything for you. Give you the whole goddamn world, little thing.”

  His mouth hovers over my cheek, his warm breath running over my skin that’s now sticky with sweat. I close my eyes, hating myself for indulging in the sensations, but I can’t help myself. It’s…different. And wrong. So very wrong.

  Doesn’t matter how upset I am with Kyle, having another man this close to me in our kitchen is wrong. A fantasy is one thing, but actually doing it is a whole other ballgame. Though I’m sure it’s an amazing feeling for a woman to have Marcel Ward between her legs, or pushed up against her body, that woman can’t be me, so I raise my arms and push him back.

  He’s solid, so he hardly budges, but I make do, sliding sideways to get further away from him.

  Fortunately, Marcel backs away with an arrogant smile. He heads for the double doors and pushes one of them open, still smiling as he looks back at me one more time. “See you soon, Gabby,” he says before walking out and shutting the door behind him.

  I let the breath in my lungs escape, pushing off the counter and looking all around me, like I’m in trouble. What in the hell was that? What was he thinking! Maybe I was wrong about what I thought of the landscaper. Maybe he does see me in other ways…and deep down, I want to know what they are.

  “Fuck my life,” I mutter and leave the kitchen before I can replay that whole scene in my head all over again.

  NINETEEN

  Gabby

  The next day, I’m still fed up with what Kyle did.

  He called several times last night, but after that little altercation with Marcel in the kitchen, I couldn’t answer. Not only that, but I was still pissed at him. He can stay in Seattle for the next week. I don’t care right now. My temper gets bad sometimes, but I know how to manage it. If I don’t answer the phone, I won’t spit fire at him. Simple.

  After pouring myself a mug of coffee and dumping some almond milk creamer into it, I slide into my slippers by the door and walk outside, going up the driveway to get to the mailbox.

  None of Marcel’s men are at the house today. It’s St. Patrick’s Day, which usually doesn’t call for a day off work, but seeing as I overheard all of the men talking about their favorite beers last night, it’s safe to assume they’re probably drinking their day away.

  Yesterday, after that interesting conversation I had with Marcel in the kitchen, I overheard Miguel saying he was glad they had a half day at the commercial job, because he couldn’t wait to go to the bar with his buddies.

  As I take the mail out of the mailbox—more junk and takeout menus—I notice Meredith getting out of her red Tesla with various shopping bags. She spots me, and I wave. She waves back, grinning.

  “Hey, neighbor!” she practically squeals.

  “Hi! How are you?”

  She trots across the street in her white open-toed heels and maroon sundress. She has a white sunhat on her head and her hair is sleek beneath it, pulled back into a low honey-blonde bun.

  “I’m wonderful! I haven’t seen you in a while! How are you?” she asks, and she opens her free arm, leaning in for a hug.

  We don’t know each other all that well, but I return the hug, glad my coffee doesn’t spill down her back as I do.“I’m great!”

  “Good! I couldn’t help noticing you took my advice and hired Ward Landscaping.” She’s giving me a devious smirk, like she knows my darkest secrets but isn’t going to say a thing.

  “I did,” I laugh, and just hearing Marcel’s last name sends a sweep of goosebumps over my arms, despite the heat. I sip my coffee to get rid of the feeling.

  “What’s he doing for you, anyway?”

  “They’re installing a patio with a wet bar and hot tub. I’m looking forward to when it’s finished.”

  “Oh, that sounds lovely. You know, I don’t have a wet bar, but I have been thinking about adding one. Do you mind if I take a peek?”

  “Oh—sure! Come on back.” I turn, and she meets up to my side as we walk along the path that leads to my backyard. “It’s not the nicest looking place right now,” I admit as she stops beside me, taking in the view of my backyard. There are piles of dirt in almost every corner. Most of the stones have been laid, but there is now a deep hole across the yard, surrounded by caution tape, in preparation for the hot tub.

  “Oh, that’s quite all right. All part of the process. You’ll have to let me know when you break that hot tub in! We can celebrate with wine and a warm dip!”

  “That would be amazing. I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  We turn and go back up the path. She looks down, focusing on the pathway so she doesn’t step on the grass in her spiked heels. “Is your husband home?” she asks.

  “No. He’s out of town for work.”

  “These dang men of ours. My husband works constantly. Plans on going into early retirement. I can’t wait for him to do it. Then we can travel more, and it won’t be so boring at home.” I almost start to ask if she has kids but realize it’s none of my business. Some people get offended by that question. I’m one of those people.

  Kyle and I just got married, and his mom started hounding me several days after our wedding day, asking when I was going to give her a grandchild. All I can ever think when she asks is, woman, I’m only twenty-five. Let me live a little first. My mother is the exact same way, but in her mind, she’s giving me a year before we decide to conceive. Moms.

  Meredith looks up at me when we reach the cobblestone. “I know how lonely it gets, you know? That’s why I occupy myself with shopping, catching drinks with friends, getting the yard done, all that little stuff.”

  “Yeah, it does get lonely. I just have to get used to it.”

  “It took me seven months to get used to him being away so much when he got his promotion, and even still, I really miss him. Don’t get me wrong—when he’s home, he’s a pain in the ass most of the time, but I love him. He’s my life partner.”

  I only smile at her as she studies my eyes. I sip my coffee and look away as we walk toward the end of my driveway again.

  “Funny question, but do you like dancing?”

  I fight a smile. “I enjoy it from time to time.”

  “And what about drinking?”

  �
��Who doesn’t love a good drink?”

  “I only ask because one of my girls rented a table out at this really nice club in town. We’ll be having drinks and doing a lot of girl-talk and dancing. We call them our Sassy Nights, because we dress up, get pretty, and act sassy. They only happen when our schedules coincide and all of our husbands are away for work. You should join us!” She stops beside the mailbox.

  “Aww, Meredith, that sounds amazing, but I’d hate to interrupt your night or be a burden. You don’t have to invite me out of pity.”

  “Are you kidding me? You wouldn’t be a burden at all to me and pity, shmitty! No such thing. Anyone who loves dancing is going to be a good addition to our group. Plus, they all go to these things with a buddy, and I’m always the third wheel. It would be nice to have a buddy of my own.”

  I think it over as her smile grows wider. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve been to a club. “I don’t know…”

  “It’ll be a harmless night. Just a bunch of girls letting their hair down, getting a few drinks, and listening to great music. You’ll love it, I promise.”

  Honestly, I don’t have much to think about. I do need more friends in this new state of mine. I don’t have any, and quite frankly, it would be nice to go out and let my hair down, especially after all the shit that has happened within the last forty-eight hours. I could use a real drink, not just wine. Wine isn’t going to spare the anger I have toward Kyle, because with wine, I still think about that and other negative shit, but if I have a few shots of rum or vodka, that will certainly do the trick.

  Meredith bats her eyelashes at me, waiting for an answer.

  I sigh and nod. “Okay, sure. I’ll go.”

  “Yes!” She squeals. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that! I’ll drive us there, and drinks are on me, so you don’t have to worry about a thing but what to wear!”

  “Okay, let’s do it! I’ll have to go shop for something to wear, though—I haven’t gone out to a club since my college days!”

  “Go right ahead!” She can’t contain her excitement. I swear if she were a pot of boiling water, the water would bubble right over. “I would go shopping with you, but I have an appointment to get my nails done at one.”