The Ground Rules: Undone

by Roya Carmen

  I feel nauseous at the thought of him and Bridget.

  “And I thought our marriage was strong enough to survive anything,” he adds, not quite looking at me. “I took it for granted. I was foolish.”

  My eyes are wet when I tell him, “Me too. I was even more stupid than you, Gabe.”

  I think about the whole sordid affair: the first meeting, the first date and how amazing Gabe looked in his dark striped shirt he wore just for Bridget. Why didn’t I put an end to it right then? That night at the Planetarium and how he drove me crazy with jealousy, and the breakup. And the day he told me he was willing to do it all over again.

  “But why would you be willing do it all over again?” I ask, desperately wanting to know. “After we had all broken up the first time?”

  He looks up at me. “You need to understand,” he says, his eyes dark and so sad. “I didn’t realize you had fallen for him, until later.”

  “When did you realize?” I ask knowing I went to great lengths to hide my feelings from my husband, to shelter him. Through all the ups and downs, I never let my feelings show. I always wore a smile, and a look of nonchalance, just as he did. And I wonder if he had been pretending too.

  “The first time I worried was when I found that email in your jewelry box,” he starts. “But you convinced me you didn’t love him that night. And I figured you kept that email in your box because he had said you were beautiful in it. And I know you don’t always think you are beautiful, no matter how many times I tell you.

  “And then,” he goes on. “When he broke things off, you seemed pretty upset but I thought, of course, you’d be. I was pissed off too. They were kind of assholes about it. I felt like a pair of worn shoes thrown to the curb. The way they went about it…they were so fucking brazen.”

  “When did you know?” I ask again.

  “Then, we went to Hawaii together, and you guys barely spoke to each other, so I thought maybe I was imagining the whole thing. And when you told me about New York, I figured it’s be okay just for one night.” He pauses for a second and then turns from me. “But then, when you came back, you weren’t the same. I don’t know what it was, but I knew something had changed. And then when he sent you that doll house on your birthday, the expression on your face said it all. And I knew it wasn’t just about the doll house.”

  I bite my lip thinking back to that day. I had tried so hard not to let my feelings show. But I should have known Gabe would see right through me. “I’m so sorry, Gabe. I’m sorry for being so weak. I’m just as bad as my mother.”

  He makes my heart jump when he grabs my chin and pulls me to him. “No, you’re not. Don’t you ever say that.” He releases me slowly. “I’m the one who should be sorry, Ella.”

  “Why?”

  “For taking you for granted,” he says. “I should have treasured you, should have helped more around the house, with the kids, cooked more. You work too. It shouldn’t be all on your shoulders.”

  I nod, not able to say a thing.

  “I should have taken you more places, bought you nice things.”

  I take his other hand and squeeze it. “No, Gabe. I don’t need stuff.”

  He tears his hand from mine and trails it along the side of my face. “And I should have made love to you, instead of always being so…”

  I like how close he is, the proximity arouses me; his smell, his warm breath on my cheeks. “But you know I like our sex life, Gabe.”

  “I know, but I should have made love to you more often. I should have been more gentle with you. You shouldn’t have to ask.”

  I bite my lip. “But I don’t mind asking.”

  I want to ask now.

  “I hope this doesn’t mean you plan on always making gentle love to me,” I tell him, “because you know I do enjoy a good pounding once in a while.”

  He smiles and clears his throat. “Uh…and on that note, I should probably leave you to your book.”

  No.

  I don’t want him to go.

  “Tell me about Bridget,” I say. “Did you ever love her, just a little bit?” I’ve wanted to ask him this question forever. “Did she love you?”

  He sits back down on the bed. He smiles at me. “I like Bridget. I consider her a good friend. I think she’s a nice person. Funny sometimes, and clever.”

  I sink into the bed a little at the sound of his words.

  “But no,” he goes on. “No, I never loved her, Ella.”

  I know he’s telling me the truth. I know this man so well. I know when he lies. I’ve never been so happy to hear anything.

  “Do you think she loved you?” I ask, thinking back to the way she handled things when he beat up Weston.

  He shakes his head. “Bridget is…” he starts. “She’s not like you. She’s not emotional. She’s rational.”

  I listen attentively, nodding but not quite understanding.

  He smiles. “Let’s see, how can I explain it better?” he ventures. “It’s kind of like you’re a love song…full of beauty, emotion and drama,” he says. “And she’s…um…The Joy of Sex.”

  I laugh out loud.

  He laughs too. “It’s all about sex for her. The woman loves sex, the kinkier, the better.”

  God, Gabe.

  I shake my head. “No more, no more. I don’t want to hear it.”

  “I’m sorry. I won’t go into details. But I’ll just say she uses sex as stress relief, as an escape.”

  I think about Weston and everything he’s told me, and I wonder if Bridget has told Gabe too. “I think everyone does…use sex as an escape.”

  “We sure did.”

  We both sit silently for what seems like an eternity. I wonder what’s going through his mind. I guess it’s probably the same stuff going through mine — how crazy this whole thing was.

  Finally, I’m the first one to break the silence. “Sooo, how about that back massage?”

  “Oh yes,” he shoots me a cheeky smile, “your back massage. You want that now?”

  “Is the spa open?” I ask, my voice slick as honey.

  He swallows hard. “Uh…always,” he says. “You’ll have to take off the robe.”

  I set my book on my night table. I peel my robe off, revealing a rather unsexy granny nightgown. I wince a little, wishing I had something hotter on. But maybe it’s for the best, because we’re not supposed to…

  He watches me intently. “The nightie has to go too, I’m afraid.”

  I smile up at him, a rather coquettish grin. I stretch my arms and pull the night gown off. I am left topless, in my yellow cotton panties, my legs dangling over the edge of the bed.

  He fixes his gaze on me, looking rather serious, and trails his finger along his bottom lip. The gesture is completely unintentional I’m sure, but super sexy. “Uh…you need to lay down on the bed, on your stomach,” he tells me, his voice a bit raspy.

  I steal one last look at him. I can tell he’s hard. When it comes to Gabe, this particular state of being is somewhat difficult to hide. He’s rather well…let’s just say the gods of anatomy have been kind to him.

  I turn on my stomach, a big grin practically splitting my face in two.

  At first, he sits beside me on the bed, and strokes me; the back of my neck, my shoulders, and the base of my back.

  The feel of his hands on my skin is not necessarily sexual, just amazing.

  He shifts uncomfortably on the bed. “Can I kneel over you?” he asks. “This isn’t quite working.”

  “Sure, but behave,” I tease.

  He laughs. “I will. I promise,” he vows. “But I should tell you, I have a pretty impressive—”

  “I know,” I laugh. “I noticed.”

  “Sorry, it can’t be helped.”

  “As long as it doesn’t interfere with your work.”

  “I promise it won’t, Ma’am.”

  Okay, now it gets a little more sexual. He hovers over my rear, my hips trapped between his legs. The feel of him over me makes my bod
y very aware and a little tense too. But I’m not really aroused. My body is not quite ready for that yet. I close my eyes and just enjoy the feel of his hands on my back. The pressure of his strokes is perfect, not too soft, not too hard.

  And as the gentle pressure relaxes my muscles, I close my eyes and drift off…

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Is there still a chance for us?

  It’s late and the girls have already been tucked in. The house is eerily quiet, save for the sound of rain on the rooftop and the occasional thunder roar. I’m nursing a cup of honey-lemon tea and Gabe is sitting at the dining room table (the one we never actually eat at). He’s still laboring over the puzzle we had all been working on earlier.

  He’s so focused on the task at hand, and doesn’t even notice me watching him. I smile at the sight of him trying to work out the shades of grey on the tiny puzzle piece. I personally don’t have much patience for puzzles but he always has. He used to do them all the time when he was young. It was a family tradition of sorts that he has carried on with our girls.

  I quietly take a seat across him. He glances up at me for a second and shoots me a smile. “These things are addictive.”

  “If only your buddies could see you now,” I tease.

  He laughs. “I would never live it down,” he tells me, working on one of the kitten faces. This particular puzzle is tough — four identical tabby kittens in a basket, staring at the camera as if it were a bowl of milk, their little paws hanging over the basket daintily. It if were any cuter, it might be illegal. This is not his first kitty puzzle. With two girls, he’s done his share of puzzles featuring cats, puppies, and even the occasional unicorn.

  “This one will probably go up in Claire’s room,” I tell him.

  He smiles. “Yeah, she asked me to finish it.”

  “Well, looks like you’re on your way,” I say, looking down at the completed border and three adorable finished tabby faces.

  We fall into quietness and it doesn’t feel strained. In fact, it’s rather soothing. I know I shouldn’t ruin it with words, with a conversation we probably shouldn’t have. But this is a perfect time to talk. It’s quiet and it’s just the two of us, and Gabe seems relaxed and in a good mood. There’s a question I’ve wanted to ask since I saw him at the precinct, but haven’t had the courage to do so. And it’s been killing me not being able to communicate, to be inside his mind.

  “What…” I start, my heart beating a little faster than usual. “What were you thinking when…” I can’t quite drag the words out. I’m not sure if I’m doing the right thing, talking about this.

  He looks up at me, waiting for me to finish my thought. I’ve already set this conversation in motion and now I need to finish it.

  “Why did you go see Weston at his office that day? What were you thinking?”

  He stares down at the kitten faces. I don’t need to say more. He knows exactly what I’m talking about.

  He doesn’t say a thing for the longest time, just rubs at his forehead like he’s trying to work out an explanation, a justification for his behavior. But I know sometimes, there is no rationale for our behaviors. They’re driven by impulse, whether it be greed, lust, wrath or any other of the seven deadly sins. In this case, I know it was anger. But I want to know the thoughts going through his mind at the time. I need to know in order to understand him, to forgive him.

  “I was so pissed,” he finally manages, not quite looking at me. “I wanted to hear his side of the story. I’m not sure what I wanted to hear.” His head is still down as he carries on. “It was like there was someone else in my body driving to Chicago, someone else barging into his office.”

  “What did you say when you first saw him?” I want to know what went on that day. The only information I have is Kathryn’s side of the story, and she was on the other side of the door.

  He looks off in the distance. “I’m not quite sure. It was something like, ‘Hanson, you fuckin’ bastard.’ All I remember was the look on his face. He was scared shitless, but just for a second. He stood up from his desk, and buttoned up his suit jacket like he was in a fucking meeting or something and that drove me even madder.”

  I can almost see it as he describes the scene to me. Weston in his crisp suit, standing behind his perfectly ordered desk, with that measured air he always seems to have.

  “What did he say?”

  Gabe laughs, a sardonic hard chuckle. “He cleared his throat and said ‘Did we have a meeting. I don’t recall…’”

  “Yes,” I say. “That does sound like Weston. What did you say next?”

  “I walked up to his desk and I said something like, ‘You wanted to get under her skin, Hanson. And well, looks like you got what you wanted. You’re under her skin all right. You’re inside her now.’”

  I swallow hard, wanting to know more. “What did he say about that?”

  “He looked confused as hell. He wasn’t following. He was looking at me like I was crazy. Which, let’s face it…I was.”

  “Then what?” I ask, wanting him to hurry up, to tell me the story faster.

  “I told him you were pregnant,” he says, staring down at the abandoned puzzle. “I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t my place to say, but I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  I reach for his hand. “It’s okay.”

  “He was shocked, Ella. He fell into his chair and buried his face in his hands.”

  I study him. He looks so wrecked, telling me his story. I know he regrets that day more than anything else in his life. But he still hasn’t answered my question. “What made you lose your shit, Gabe?” I ask, knowing something must have set him off. Weston must have said something.

  “Well, it was what he said next. He stood and walked around his desk, all business-like and said in his prissy way…he said, ‘Well, I realize how inconvenient this situation must be for you, Gabe, and I can fully understand your anger. I’m sure arrangements can be made to rectify this issue. We just need to all sit together and go over the details.’”

  My stomach drops at his words and I feel sick. That does sound exactly like Weston. And I believe every word Gabe is telling me, but that doesn’t make them any easier to swallow. I can’t believe Weston would be so cold.

  “Can you believe the prick? I mean this was a human being we were talking about here, not some bad business move he could just throw in the shredder and sum up to capital loss.”

  I remind myself to try to understand Weston. It’s the way he handles uncomfortable social situations; with a measured tone, a stiff stance and calculated words. I don’t believe he was purposely being heartless. He was just being Weston. Unfortunately, Gabe doesn’t know him as well as I do.

  “What did you say?”

  “I grabbed him by the collar and told him that the fucking baby wasn’t going anywhere, and that I would kill him if he ever hurt you.”

  “God, Gabe.”

  “Then,” he says, shaking his head. “He had the gall to tell me that he would never hurt you…that he loves you.”

  I don’t say a thing for a beat or two and then after what seems like forever, I finally manage to ask, “That’s when you lost it?”

  He shakes his head again and stares at the wall, not quite able to face me.

  I desperately want him to tell me how Weston got to him. “What made you lose it, Gabe?”

  “I lost it when…” he starts, but can’t seem to go on.

  Whatever it was, I know it was something very hurtful. I need to know. “When what, Gabe?” I ask. “Please tell me…”

  He turns to me, his eyes dark. “When he told me that you loved him too.”

  I close my eyes, not able to look at him anymore. Do I love Weston? The truth is, I don’t even really know myself. “You could have killed him.”

  He shakes his head again, a little frantic. “I know I could have killed him, Ella. I wanted to. And I knew exactly how to.”

  “I know,” I say softly. With his training, I know Gabe coul
d kill a man with his bare hands.

  “But your face flashed through my mind, and the girls. I knew I’d be no good to you in prison. So I purposely did not kill him. Just banged him up a little to teach him a lesson.”

  “Banged him up a little? You sent the man to the hospital, unconscious, in an ambulance.”

  He looks down again, knowing very well he took things too far.

  I don’t say a word. I can understand him a little better now. I know he was trying to defend me. I know he loves me. “You’re still lucky you’re not in prison.”

  He nods, not looking at me. He knows he owes Bridget a huge debt.

  “You’re lucky Weston is not a vengeful man. And you’re lucky Bridget cares for you so much.” I don’t need to ask about Bridget anymore. He’s here with me. And that’s all that counts.

  He nods, biting his bottom lip — a tell-tale sign he’s holding back the tears. His voice cracks when he says, “And…and I’m lucky you’re still by my side.”

  I don’t know what to say. I feel for him, watching him, his face buried in his hands, not able to look at his own wife. I can see the remorse in every inch of him. But I’m the one responsible. It’s all my fault.

  “Can you ever forgive me?” he asks.

  My eyes fill with tears and a lump in my throat threatens to take my words. I look up at him. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  As soon as Gwen sees me, she throws her arms around me. The platter of goat cheese covered crostini I’m holding makes an actual hug impossible. “How are you, sweetie?”

  I haven’t seen Gwen in a few days. She and Greg have been at their beach property, their house sitting empty. Thankfully, we are their official house-sitters and that gives us privileges to the pool. Every time we drive in her neighborhood, past the brick house with the oval window and the red door, my heart skips a beat.