Stitches

by Sam Mariano

  Griff looks over at me and scowls. “Relax. It was a fucking joke. Obviously she doesn’t really think Moira is a slut.”

  “Jesus,” Ashley huffs. “What’s your problem today?”

  You’re my fucking problem, I want to tell her.

  I don’t. I turn my attention to the road, avoiding Moira’s look of confusion. She wasn’t really offended. I’m sure she just took it as Ashley joking around. Even if she knew it was more than that, she would shrug it off. Moira hates conflict.

  It’s a rough ride to the restaurant. Ashley is in a snit now; Moira is uncomfortable, and Griff seems to think if he looks at me hard enough, he’ll be able to see into my head and figure out what the hell is wrong with me.

  It was a mistake to come out tonight. I thought we could have one last night out, but I’m too pissed off at Ashley. I’m pissed off for Griff. I’m pissed off for selfish reasons—this is going to be a fucking mess that I don’t want to deal with. When I tell him, it’s going to break his heart, but I have to. This is the second time I’ve caught her; that doesn’t mean she hasn’t done shit like this other times and just been smarter about it. I keep searching her for some sign she feels guilty, but there’s nothing.

  I’ve known for years Ashley needed a lot of attention. She’s insecure about herself—tries to hide it behind bravado and layers of make-up, but she’s missing something inside her. Even though she doesn’t have to, she likes to put on slinky clothes or tight tank tops and sop up the male attention she gets working at the club.

  Attention is one thing. Fucking the assholes is another.

  Maybe it’s not her fault one man isn’t enough for her, I don’t know. All I know is, if she wanted to fuck someone over, I wish she hadn’t picked my best friend.

  Griff doesn’t fall in love easily, but when he does, he really sinks into it. I’ve always known he’s a lifer, since he attached to me and never left my side. It was the same when he fell in love. The first time he’d been young, only 18. Eva, the best friend of a girl I was seeing. He got really attached to her, but she didn’t attach the same way. Cracked his heart wide open, then continued to fuck with him on and off for the next year.

  After that, he was strictly casual. Me, I’ve always been pretty casual. I’ve had exactly three serious relationships—Moira is the third, and obviously the last. Other than that, I liked to keep it light. A few months, tops. Once I started feeling bored, I moved on.

  Griff and I were busy anyway. We worked our asses off, pooled our money, built everything together. Accountants told us it wasn’t smart, that we should keep our shit more separate than we do, but we knew what we were doing. Griff and I were partners. We were brothers. Whatever we built together, we would enjoy together.

  I steal a look over at him now, trying to imagine how I’d feel in his place. I can’t even put myself there, though. Moira would never do something like this. She puts the needs of others ahead of her own, and we’re happy, anyway.

  I wish I could just clone her and give one to Griff; she could fix him right up after Ashley’s betrayal slices his heart open.

  2

  Griff

  Sebastian is pissed off tonight, and I don’t know why.

  He’s not a short-tempered man to begin with and he usually enjoys when we all go out like this together.

  Not tonight. Every time Ashley speaks, he looks at her like her voice offends him. He’s not even trying to hide it. When he wants to, he can execute a pretty good poker face. I mean, I know him too well, so I normally see through it, but even Moira can tell he’s pissy tonight. Her demeanor is dimmer. Ordinarily Moira sparkles likes a diamond, but tonight she’s more subdued, her troubled gaze drifting to Sebastian every few minutes.

  They couldn’t possibly be having problems, could they? Problems are for mere mortals; they’re the golden couple. Ashley and I have problems; Moira and Sebastian still run late to date nights because she wants to worship his cock before they leave for dinner.

  Lucky fucking bastard.

  I can’t remember the last time my cock went anywhere near Ashley’s mouth. We’ve only had sex once in the last six fucking weeks. I know, because I bought a fresh pack of condoms and there’s only one missing. Every time I look at the box in my bedside stand, it aggravates me. Other married guys say shit like that is normal, but then there’s Sebastian with the wife who still lusts for him and the relationship that disgusts the rest of us with how fucking perfect it is.

  Not that I don’t want Seb to be happy. Of course I do. He’s had a shit life, and I’m glad he found what he has with Moira.

  It would just be kinda nice if I had it, too.

  Thinking about it makes me glum. My gaze drifts to Moira and I feel myself needing alcohol. Our waiter seems to have disappeared.

  I push back my chair, pulling the cloth napkin from my lap and dropping it on the table. “I’m gonna go see if I can get us some more drinks.”

  Ashley doesn’t look up from her phone.

  Moira’s look of concern drifts to me, then her lips thin with determination and she pushes back her own chair. Seb looks up at her, but she leaves him there and follows me.

  Aw, Christ.

  “What is up with you two tonight?” she demands, speeding up to match my strides. I ignore her, so she places a hand on my arm, trying to win my attention.

  Of course it fucking works. She’s hard enough to ignore when she’s not touching you.

  God, I need whiskey. “Nothing’s up,” I tell her, cutting in front of her and heading for the bar.

  She leans on the bar top right next to me and raises her dark eyebrows. “You are so full of shit. You both are. Sebastian was off earlier too, but no one wants to tell me anything.”

  “Maybe that’s because it’s none of your business,” I offer, lightly. “You ever think of that?”

  “If it involves my husband, it is most certainly my business.”

  That shouldn’t drain the last ray of lightness out of me, but it does. I wish Ashley cared enough to ask me what’s wrong when I’m in a shitty mood, let alone fish around and try to drag it out of my best friend.

  “Are you and Ashley fighting again?” she asks, suddenly. “You guys seem a little off tonight, too.”

  “We’re not fighting, she’s just pouting.”

  “Why is she pouting?”

  “She didn’t want to come,” I mutter.

  The bartender comes over, looking at me expectantly.

  “We need drinks,” I tell him. “One vodka martini, two whiskeys—no, you know what? Make that three whiskeys. Moira, what do you want?”

  She glances back toward our table. “I still have some of that watermelon martini left.”

  “Get her another watermelon martini,” I say, drawing out my wallet.

  Moira leans in and nudges my arm playfully. “You don’t have to buy me a drink.”

  My stomach tangles up, old feelings wrapping around my gut like a mess of fucking vines. I know she’s not flirting with me. I know that because I’ve known Moira for years, I’ve seen that sparkle in her blue eyes and that playful nudge, the touch of her hand on my arm—I’ve seen her do all that before, and it’s always innocent. I know she doesn’t mean anything by it. I know my innards are only responding like she is because my life is a fucking mess right now. Because I’m so fucking unhappy. Ashley’s eyes wander all over the place when she’s unhappy—she looks for something new. I don’t think she’d act on it at this point, but she likes attention, so she’ll flirt. It pisses me off, but at least when she pisses me off I can take it out on her in the bedroom. Then we both have a little fucking fun. It fizzles fast, though. One night of good, angry sex does not a marriage make.

  My eyes wander sometimes, too, but they never wander far. They wander to the same place they wandered five years ago, when I was terrified I would lose the closest friend I’d ever had.

  One sure way to fuck up a friendship? Falling in love with your best friend’s girlfriend.
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br />   I felt it happening so I pulled back. Not like I would ever act on it, not like I would try to take her away from Seb, but spending so much time with them together had me all twisted up. She’d make us dinner and drinks like some 50’s housewife, then she’d tell us naughty stories with her innocent blue eyes sparkling mischievously. Don’t know how she managed to look innocent, tossing around the words that tumbled out of that pretty little mouth when she got drunk, but she did.

  Then she would lie down on top of Seb right there on the couch and gaze down at him like he’d hung the moon. She would kiss him, his hands would roam her body, and I’d feel lonelier than I ever had before, even before I met Seb.

  Then I met Ashley. Then I had a girl of my own, and I could save my relationship with Seb. I could even spend time with him and Moira without thinking about what she looked like naked. I got them both back—and a girlfriend, to boot. It was perfect.

  It was perfect, but it didn’t last. Our relationship moved fast, from dating to married in a little over a year. Seb and Moira weren’t even married yet, but they were engaged. Moira had a thing about not getting married until they’d been together for two years. She wanted to make sure when she got married, it was going to last.

  That was smart. If I’d have done that, I probably wouldn’t be married now.

  Ashley cheated on me before our first wedding anniversary, after all.

  No one knows, not even Seb. It was just a mistake. Actually, it was the night of their fucking wedding. I tried to do better that night, I tried not to watch Moira so much, but I failed. I counted the dances until I thought it would be appropriate to ask if I could cut in. Then I gave myself a hit of my own temptation. I’d never cheat on Ashley, even if I wasn’t happy—I just wouldn’t do that to someone. I couldn’t deny the rush I felt holding her in my arms, though. I’d been the best man at her wedding. I watched her walk down the aisle in her big white gown, all soft smiles and loving eyes for Seb. I was happy for him, happy for her. I couldn’t shake the whisper at the back of my mind, though. The one that wondered, could that have been me? If I’d found her first? If things hadn’t worked out between them and I could’ve scooped her up?

  It didn’t matter, though. I didn’t have Moira the way I daydreamed about before Ashley, but this way, I could have them both. I wouldn’t lose my best friend, but I could still have a relationship with his wife. A harmless relationship.

  I told myself it was harmless to enjoy holding her more than I enjoyed holding my wife. That it was harmless to breathe in her scent and memorize the happy look on her face as I whisked her across the ballroom.

  Ashley didn’t agree. That was what pushed her to go to the bar and drink too many drinks, what chased her into the arms of someone else.

  I left the dance floor feeling good, and I left that wedding feeling fucking crushed. I went home with my wife, visions of another man’s hands pushing up her bridesmaid dress and fucking her.

  I couldn’t touch her for two months.

  I tried to forgive her, but I don’t know if I ever did. I don’t know if she ever forgave me, either. If we ever forgave one another, you certainly can’t tell.

  Moira nudges me again, but this time she keeps her arm pressed against mine. I’m not sure if she knows quite how capable she is of torturing me, but she must have a little idea or she’d move her damn arm.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, more solemnly.

  I look over at her now. She’s so concerned, so eager to listen, so eager to help. She’s happy to let me bend her ear. I could tell her I’m not happy, but it would hurt her heart to know that. She and Seb live in this blissful fucking bubble, and I’m left out in the cold like I always was. Only now I’m out in the cold with another person, and we both sit at the table not even wanting to look at each other while they sit there gazing at one another like two people in love.

  Go figure.

  “Sometimes…” I shake my head, trying to figure out how to tell her that sometimes being around them shows me all I’m missing out on. That sitting there and seeing them so interested in one another, touching like newlyweds, makes me feel so lonely I wish the floor would open up and swallow me.

  Before I can find the words, Seb walks up behind Moira. He snakes his arms around her tiny waist and leans in, kissing the ball of her bare shoulder. “What are you two over here talking about?”

  Moira smiles slyly. “Griff here is about to buy me a drink. Are you jealous?”

  “So jealous,” he says dryly, his hand sliding down and running over her ass. I can’t help watching. I may be able to buy her a drink, but I sure as fuck can’t do that.

  Seb quirks an eyebrow at me and I realize he just watched me watch him touching his wife. That was probably a little… eh, whatever. I need a fucking drink.

  The bartender finally brings them over. I slam back the first whiskey and push the empty glass back across the counter, then I give Moira and Seb their drinks, picking up mine and Ashley’s so we can head back to the table.

  Seb hangs back while Moira walks ahead. “Hey, everything okay?”

  “Yep, all good.”

  “Just thirsty?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I mutter, “just thirsty.”

  “What a long fucking night.”

  I already feel tired of this conversation, and Ashley has just started talking. She sits at the vanity I bought her, taking off the pearls I gave her for our second anniversary.

  I peel off my suit, feeling a decade older than I am. I’m only 31 fucking years old; I shouldn’t feel so drained. I shouldn’t feel like any joy life once had to offer is gone and I’m coasting downhill from here.

  My life shouldn’t feel like it’s over.

  I need to do something. I need to jumpstart my marriage again. I’m not sure you can resuscitate something that’s been dead so long, but I should try. We made promises to one another, after all. I can’t stand the idea of spending time alone together without work or friends to interrupt, but that’s wrong. This is my wife, for fuck’s sake. I loved her once, didn’t I?

  “Why don’t we go away for a few days?” I suggest, stepping out of my trousers.

  She glances at me in the mirror of her vanity, interest flashing in her eyes. Not because I’m undressing, but because I’m suggesting a vacation. “Yeah? Where do you want to go?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to Seb and make sure he can cover for me, but I’m sure we can get away for a few days. We’ll go somewhere and have fun, just the two of us.”

  “All right,” she says, easily enough. “I would say we could go into the city, but it’s too cold. Why don’t we fly to Palm Springs instead?”

  I unclasp my watch and set it down gently on the bedside table. “Palm Springs it is.”

  Ashley flashes me a faint smile, then goes back to her nightly routine. I finish undressing and climb into bed. A blanket of dread feels much heavier than the comforter I pull up over myself. Sometimes it feels so awkward, lying here side by side, not touching. My mind wanders to Moira and Seb. I bet they’re cuddling already. I can picture them lying side by side, holding hands, just so they don’t have to stop touching, even in sleep.

  Meanwhile, Ashley sits on the edge of the bed and puts her glasses on the end table. She wears contacts during the day, but she can’t see for shit. She turns off the lamp on her side of the bed and wiggles around in her spot until she’s comfortable. Her back is to me. I scoot closer and wrap an arm around her waist and pull her closer.

  “You looked beautiful tonight,” I tell her.

  “Thanks,” she says, but I get the feeling my compliment makes her uncomfortable. Funny, since she loves when random men compliment her, but coming from her husband it doesn’t seem to mean much.

  I think about trying to escalate things, but it feels so exhausting. I don’t know if I can handle more rejection tonight. I can feel anger beneath the surface and I don’t feel like an angry fuck, either.

  I feel sad, and no one lik
es a sad fuck.

  After a couple minutes enduring the cuddle I initiated, I roll over on my back. If she missed the contact, she could easily roll over and snuggle up against my bare chest, but she doesn’t.

  To be honest, I don’t want her to.

  What a fucking life.

  3

  Sebastian

  “Can you cover me for a few days?”

  I glance up from my ledger, looking up at Griff as he stands in front of my desk and makes this request. He seems tense today. His request comes off as urgent, but he almost looks like he’s hoping I’ll say no.

  “For what?” I ask.

  “I’m gonna take Ashley to Palm Springs.”

  My gaze deadens. He notices and looks vaguely annoyed with me, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

  Well, shit.

  I can’t let him take the little slut to Palm Springs, thinking everything is just fine. He shouldn’t waste another dime on that dumb bitch, let alone give her a vacation. He should divorce her ass and let her work at the club in earnest.

  Well, no, not our club. But let her make her own way in the world and stop sponging off him.

  I shoot a glance at the door. He left it open when he came inside. “Can you shut that? We need to talk.”

  Griff frowns, but he falls back a few steps and closes the door to my office. He crosses the room and takes a seat on the other side of my desk, regarding me seriously. “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s something I need to… I was reviewing the security footage last night and I saw something I shouldn’t have.”

  “What do you mean? Someone skimming again?”

  I shake my head. “Nah, nothing like that.” I don’t know how to tell my best friend I saw his wife fucking someone else. I don’t know how you hear something like that. Not when you’re not expecting it, at least. If he at least had suspicions, that would be one thing, but he hasn’t told me about it if he does. Maybe I can give him a hint. Call “timber!” before I chop down a tree and crush his fucking marriage.