Sticky

by Nina Lane

  “Break it up!” The shout came from the gallery entrance.

  My vision darkened as I realized a crowd of people was hurrying toward the gallery, drawn by the commotion.

  Oh, no. No.

  Two of the men ran forward to try and break up the fight, but Ben and Paul were struggling in animalistic frenzy—landing jabs and punches like hail. Blood smeared over both their faces. Ben was taller and far more muscular than Paul, but Paul was at least fifty pounds heavier.

  “Fucker,” he grated out, lunging toward Ben for another tackle.

  “Stop!” Richard and another man grabbed Paul’s arms and dragged him to a halt, while the other two got in front of Ben to stop him from attacking.

  Ben was breathing hard, his eyes wild with rage and hate as he stared Paul down.

  “You shithead,” he shouted, fighting against the two men holding him back. “You fucking touch her again, I’ll kill you, goddamned bastard…”

  Paul let out an ugly laugh. “Let him go. I’ll take him on any day.”

  “Cool down, both of you,” Richard commanded. “Cops are on their way.”

  I was shaking, every instinct I possessed wanting to go to Ben. But of course I couldn’t. Richard looked past Paul to where I was still standing by the display case. I averted my gaze.

  One of the other men suddenly shouted a warning. Paul yanked himself from the restraining hands and lunged toward Ben. He broke past the other men and landed a hard blow to the side of Ben’s head.

  Horrified gasps rose from the spectators. Ben reeled backward, his head slamming against the edge of a wooden bench. He hit the floor and went still. A stunned silence fell over the crowd.

  “Ben!” I cried.

  I moved before I could think, terror seizing my chest. I ran across the gallery and went down on my knees next to him. His eyes were closed, his nose bloodied and his face bruised. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

  “Oh, God… Ben…” I put my hands on the sides of his face and pressed my forehead against his.

  “Please be okay,” I begged. “Please…”

  The faint sound of a siren pierced through my fear. Ben’s eyelashes flickered.

  “I love you,” I whispered. “Open your eyes.”

  He did. Bleary and dazed, he stared up at me, his eyes focusing slowly on my face.

  “Ma’am, we’ll need you to step aside.” An EMT put his hand on my shoulder.

  I moved reluctantly away as two EMTs began tending to Ben. The terrorized silence that had filled my ears began to recede. I became aware of rapid chatter, a nervous energy threading the room. Paul was seated on a bench, an EMT holding up two fingers in front of him.

  The crowd of people had moved closer, clustering around Ben in a half-circle. I felt the curious, piercing glances of people looking quickly at me before darting away.

  Only one pair of eyes stayed fixed on me. I gathered my courage and lifted my head to meet my husband’s cold stare.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ‡

  There was a strange kind of freedom in the revelation of a secret. Talk spread immediately through Sweetwater like wildfire, gossip about who saw what and where. Other mothers alleged they had seen Ben and me flirting at PTO meetings, checking into a motel off the interstate, having cozy dinners downtown, even escaping into the storage closet at school.

  I heard from the museum director that Ben suffered a mild concussion and was released shortly after being taken to the hospital. The glue of all the gossip was that Ben had attacked Paul in a jealous rage to defend my honor, which then led to my public confession of love. The retelling of that event was sometimes discussed with faint admiration, but mostly with outright disgust.

  Everyone concluded that Paul Crawford was a vulgar bully, though most people had known that beforehand. Neither Ben nor Paul filed charges against each other. The incident made the local news, and the museum director politely suggested that I “take a few days off to let the dust settle.”

  Richard pulled Noah and Emma out of school the Monday after the whole catastrophe and sent them to stay with his mother in San Jose to protect them from the community’s talk. I told Richard I would leave and check into a hotel until we figured out what to do next, but he insisted I stay at home to avoid giving people even more fodder for rumors.

  Exceptions aside, I was very much a scandal—the well-bred, exceedingly proper mother with an unblemished reputation who’d been conducting a seedy, torrid affair for heaven knew how long.

  The fact that my partner in crime was none other than hot Ben Hunter, the subject of many a Sweetwater woman’s fantasies… well, that created a ripple of anger and envy that manifested itself in nasty emails and phone calls.

  My in-box flooded with messages calling me a whore, a slut, a disgrace to the community, a horrible mother. People left phone messages with the same viperous accusations.

  By contrast, Richard received messages of sympathy, as if someone had died, and was viewed as the victimized husband. I cried all my tears in the shower and vented my anger with punches to my pillow late at night. On the surface, I managed to appear calm through it all.

  Of course I did.

  Owing to all the complaints and rumors, the district superintendent put Ben on immediate temporary leave, and the vice-principal took over his duties for the remainder of the school year.

  After three days of silence, Richard and I finally sat down to talk.

  “How long?” he asked.

  “A few weeks.”

  I knew I should feel guilty, but I no longer could. There had always been two people in this marriage. It was both of our faults that it had gone so horribly wrong.

  Richard pushed to his feet and went to pour himself a glass of scotch. “You going to ask me for a divorce?”

  What a strange way to phrase that question, I thought. Shouldn’t the question be “Do you want a divorce?” Because yes, of course my deepest wish was to walk away from Richard and straight into Ben’s arms—if Ben still even wanted me after all this—but then what? Would I lose Noah and Emma? What would happen to Ben’s career? Where would I even go? What would I do?

  Was I going to ask my husband for a divorce?

  I had no idea if there was a right answer to that question. If I said yes and we started divorce proceedings, this whole scandal would never die. It couldn’t be hidden again. If Richard was aggressive, and I had no reason to think he wouldn’t be, especially if I was the one to file for divorce, Ben’s name would be dragged through the courts along with mine. And God only knew what would happen to Noah and Emma…

  The unknowns gathered like thunderclouds on the horizon, frightening and uncontrollable.

  “You told me you didn’t want a divorce,” I said carefully.

  Richard frowned. “And I gave you reasons why. But now those reasons are all shot to hell.”

  “Those were horrible reasons for staying together,” I reminded him. “A couple should stay married because they love each other and have a good life. Not because of their reputation or because people envy their lifestyle.”

  Richard tilted his head back to swallow the scotch. “So what do you want?”

  “I want to do what’s best for the children.”

  “What about what’s best for us?”

  Us? Just the sound of the word made me want to scream. There was no us. There hadn’t been an us for more years than I wanted to count.

  “We can’t be fixed, Richard.”

  He poured another drink. “Do you want to go to counseling?”

  I blinked in surprise that he had even brought it up.

  “I think it’s too late for that,” I said.

  “So what, then?” An irritated tone cut through his voice. “You want a divorce?”

  God in heaven, yes! Give me a divorce and let me keep my children, and I will never do another bad thing as long as I live.

  “What would a divorce entail?” I finally asked.

  Richard barke
d out a laugh. “Aside from keeping the house clean, you’re useless, Madeline, you know that?”

  I swallowed a bubble of rage. “I would like to keep things civil.”

  “Right.” Richard shook his head. “Like you were civil when another man was sticking his dick inside you.”

  My stomach tightened. “Richard…”

  “You’d lose big-time in a divorce,” he said, looking at the contents of his glass. “Not just financially or with the kids.”

  “The children need to stay with me.”

  “The children,” he said, taking another swallow of scotch, “will stay wherever the hell I want them to stay. That is just one of the things a divorce would entail, Madeline.”

  Shit. I clenched my fists, wanting to grab that glass from him and hurl it against the wall.

  “Are you saying…” I managed to keep my voice from shaking, “… that if we get divorced, you’ll fight me for custody of the children?”

  Richard looked right at me, his expression shrewd. He shrugged.

  Fucking bastard. He knew my weak spot. And he would manipulate our children, even turn them against me, if it meant getting revenge.

  I stared unseeingly out the window, fighting to maintain my cool reserve. I would not let him see me breaking.

  “You’d have a tough time alone, Madeline,” he continued. “No viable income of your own. No career. You could get a job as a receptionist or waitress, yeah, but that’s it. Sure as hell could never live the lifestyle you’ve been accustomed to for twenty years. Doubt you’d even survive.”

  “If I can survive almost twenty years with you, I’m quite certain I’d thrive alone,” I retorted.

  Yet even beneath my simmering rage, I recognized the truth in Richard’s words. I’d never been on my own. My skills involved running a household, raising children, organizing the PTO. Even my museum job had been part-time and required few initial qualifications. And certainly now the director would not be inclined to provide me with any reference at all, let alone a good one.

  “So give it a shot,” Richard said. “See what happens.”

  “I’d rather not leave things up to chance,” I replied coldly.

  My insides burned. He was backing me into a corner, and we both knew it. The only defense I had was not to show any fear or weakness.

  “Maybe we should try counseling,” I said.

  “Think you can keep your legs closed from now on?” Richard asked, taking another swallow of scotch.

  “Think you can keep your pants zipped?” I snapped.

  “That’s different.”

  “Really? How?”

  “I told you I didn’t love them.”

  “Do you love me?”

  He didn’t respond. Heaviness seemed to descend over me, pulling me down feet-first into a black, suffocating pit. Not because my husband didn’t love me, but because I was relieved he didn’t.

  “So what do you want, Richard?”

  He studied me for a long time, his eyes narrowed. I could almost see the wheels and gears clicking in his head as he analyzed each potential scenario.

  “This isn’t just what I want,” he finally said. “This is how it’s going to be. You’re staying put. Madeline Collins, perfect wife and mother. That’s what you prided yourself on, isn’t it? Stick-up-your-ass ice queen. Fine. You be that from now on, in public and private. Do your charity work, host my client dinners, make all the other women envy you. That’s your full-time job, wife. Twenty-four seven.”

  A thousand curses ripped through my brain. I heard the gate slamming shut, the lock snapping into place.

  My gaze clashed with Richard’s. Triumph flashed in his expression. Hatred stabbed me.

  He would trap me. Despite my lack of skills, if I walked out on Richard, I could go wherever I wanted. I wouldn’t, out of terror over losing my children, but Richard wanted to crush even the slightest possibility that I might ever find happiness elsewhere. This was his way of punishing me.

  “All right.” I rose to my feet, smoothing my hands over my hips. “I’ll stay. But if you ever raise a hand to me again, Richard Collins, I will kill you.”

  On the last day of school, I mustered the courage to go to Sweetwater Elementary to pick up Noah’s and Emma’s belongings and clear out their cubbies. Excited energy filled the classrooms, as the teachers and students had end-of-the-year cupcake parties and got ready for summer.

  I spoke with Noah’s and Emma’s teachers, apologized for “recent events,” and filled two bags with their school supplies, papers, drawings, artwork, and notebooks. On my way out, I stopped by the office to sign out and tried to ignore the hostile glances from the secretary and administrative assistants.

  “Have a nice summer, Mrs. Collins,” the secretary, Alice, said as I hung up my visitor’s badge.

  “Thank you.” I forced my voice to sound light. “You as well.”

  I couldn’t help myself from glancing toward Ben’s office, where the door was half-open. His name plaque had been stripped from the holder.

  “He’s already gone,” Alice said.

  Startled, I swung my gaze back to her. “I’m sorry. Gone?”

  “Mr. Hunter resigned last week,” Alice said crisply. “He already cleared out his office and left.”

  My heart plummeted. “Oh. I… I didn’t know.”

  “Now you do.” She gave me an unfriendly smile.

  I nodded, walking unsteadily toward the front door and out to the parking lot. I got in my car and pressed my head to the steering wheel, taking a few deep breaths.

  Had Ben been forced to resign? I hadn’t heard anything of the sort, though the school parents had all been shocked and dismayed to hear what had happened. But there had also been underlying talk about what an excellent principal he was.

  I started the car and drove without thinking to Ben’s apartment building. Uncaring of who might see me—and what did it matter now, anyway?—I went to the door and pressed the intercom button.

  “Hello?” His voice came from the speaker, rough and static-filled.

  “It’s Madeline. Can I see you?”

  After a second, the door buzzer sounded. Trembling, I took the elevator to Ben’s floor. He was waiting at the door, wearing cargo shorts and a worn T-shirt. His face was bruised, dark blotches lining his jaw, but his eyes were clear. Just the sight of him eased the tension that had been constricting me like a snake.

  I stopped in front of him. For a moment we just looked at each other.

  “Hi,” he finally said. “You look great.”

  “Thanks. You don’t.”

  We both smiled and moved simultaneously into an embrace. I slid my arms around his waist and tucked my head into his shoulder, absorbing the sensation of his strong arms closing around me. My body still fit so perfectly against the hard planes of his chest. The delicious scent of him, shaving cream and Ben, filled my blood.

  “Christ,” he whispered against my hair. “Missed you so fucking much.”

  “Me too.” A knot tightened in my chest. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Just a concussion. Pride was hurt more than anything else.”

  “He sucker-punched you.” I rubbed my cheek against his shoulder. “Whatever else people are saying, everyone knows you went down because of a cheap shot.”

  “Come in.” He tugged me into the apartment and closed the door, his gaze roving over me. “What about you? Are you okay?”

  I nodded. I was sad, humiliated, angry, and scared, but I was also okay. Because now, finally, the entire world knew I loved Ben Hunter. Nothing could have stopped me from running to him when he hit the ground.

  “I just…” I swallowed hard. “I just found out you resigned.”

  “Yeah. The only right thing I could do.”

  “Did the school board force you out?”

  “No, but there was talk of a hearing, so I decided to put a stop to it all.”

  “I’m so sorry. I never wanted—”

  “Maddie.�
�� Warmth flashed in his eyes as he brushed his fingers across my cheek. “It’ll work out. I’ll get another job.”

  Where?

  I couldn’t bring myself to ask that question. I shouldn’t care where. But I did.

  “Sit down.” Ben nodded toward the sofa. “Coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  I ran my palms over my straight skirt and sat down, comforted just by being in Ben’s messy apartment—T-shirts tossed over the back of the sofa, newspapers and magazines strewn over the coffee table, the computer desk cluttered with papers. This, at least, was exactly the same.

  Ben handed me a mug of coffee and sat down beside me on the sofa.

  “Thank you,” I said. “For coming to my defense like that, and for… you know. Everything.”

  “You shouldn’t thank me.” He dragged a hand through his hair, self-directed disgust flashing in his expression. “I fucked everything up for you.”

  “No. Strange as it sounds, I think my life was more fucked up before we met. You were right all along. I only really felt like myself when I was with you.”

  We fell silent, the air simmering with that same electric current that had arced between us from the start.

  “We’re going to try and work things out,” I finally admitted. “My… Richard and I.”

  Ben’s mouth tightened, but he gave a short nod.

  “I figured,” he muttered.

  “It’s because of the children.” I couldn’t meet his gaze.

  “Did he threaten you with a custody fight?”

  “It won’t come to that,” I said evasively.

  “Maddie—”

  “Ben, I don’t…” I swallowed past the tightness in my throat. “I don’t have the right to take my children away from their father.”

  “Even if the father is a fucking abuser?” Ben’s voice roughened.

  “He’s not… he hit me once.”

  “Still not okay.”

  “I never said it was okay. It just was.”

  His jaw clenched with irritation. “I hate the thought of you with him. I always will.”