CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
They were back to a tense relationship again in the following weeks, just as their previous tour break had been. But when Celia suggested church visits and even meeting with Father O’Malley, Martin resisted. He didn’t think he had done anything that needed absolution or counseling. Though disappointed, Celia didn’t argue.
When Martin got a call from his tattoo artist saying he was in London for a few days and might have some free time to meet up, Martin jumped at the chance to see him since he had wanted to add to his sleeve. Celia had Sean and Colm with her at the shops, so Martin took Donal with him on the first plane they could get over to London. Donal was thrilled with the sense of adventure of it, especially because they never did anything this impulsively. Celia was the family’s event planner and would schedule their activities weeks or even months in advance. The most exotic thing they did was go to Burgundy, France, each year, returning to the same cottage they had gone to for years. It was lovely, but had also become predictable for everyone.
This would be a fun deviation. Martin didn’t think it would take more than a few hours, so he didn’t even tell Celia, preferring not to make her or his other sons jealous by being left out. And he and Donal got to bond, first at a fish and chips lunch and then at the tattoo parlor in the heart of central London’s Soho.
It was only when they were walking down the passageway that locals called “Porn Alley” due to its numerous sex shops and strip joints, that Martin questioned whether he should have brought his nine-year-old with him. Donal, who Celia had done a good job of sheltering, was wide-eyed and fascinated by the otherwise forbidden elements.
A vertical sign proclaiming TATTOO in red neon letters marked the shop and Martin guided Donal inside. A woman with long purple braids and immaculate makeup sat at a small reception desk.
“Hey there,” Martin told her. “Tito here?”
“Yeah, upstairs.” She gave Martin a lingering, flirty smile, before turning her gaze upon Donal. “Your first tattoo, little man?”
Donal looked up at Martin with a shy smile.
“Nah, he’s here to hold my hand while I get another,” Martin said with a wink to his son.
Donal laughed. “What would Ma say if I got a tattoo?”
Martin started up the stairs with Donal right behind him. “I wouldn’t know, lad. Because she’d surely kill me dead before I could hear a word.”
The upper level was a large, rectangular, open space with a row of skylights in the angled ceiling counteracting the darkness of the black wood flooring. Every inch of the walls was covered with either framed graphics, photos of customers’ fresh tattoos, or hand-drawn stencils. The workstations were tidy, though, with the reclining chairs covered in doctor’s office style disposable paper and other surfaces covered in plastic wrap to keep a sterile environment. Black metal equipment carts were covered in stickers for bands and industry brands like Killer Ink. The sound of needles buzzing as two customers got their ink done mingled with Social Distortion coming out of overhead speakers. It triggered a sense of comfort in Martin.
Tito, the tattoo artist who had done his sleeve in Austin, was at the back end of the room. Latino, stocky, with a full beard, shaved head, and covered in tattoos, he was an imposing figure. But his ready smile defused the intimidating first impression and Donal quickly warmed to him after a few minutes of chatting.
Tito made Donal feel like a big shot, setting him up in one of the chairs and letting him imagine out loud his dream tattoo. It turned out to be very similar to what Martin planned to add during this visit—a dragon. It would be incorporated onto the spot at the top of his shoulder with the claws stretching out and up the lower side of his neck.
“You’re the image of massive! So cool!” Donal said, his eyes wide when he saw the completed work. “Does it hurt?”
Martin grinned. “Yeah, but in a hurts-so-good kind of way.”
“What’s that mean, Da?”
“Like, it hurts but you want more.”
“If you say so,” Donal said and the men in the shop all laughed. Nonplussed, Donal went toward the front of the floor to watch another customer get their work done.
“You have to show Ashley. She’ll dig this, man,” Tito said. Ashley had been by Martin’s side as Tito spent almost twenty hours on his sleeve, and the two had an easy rapport.
“She would, yeah. Take a picture,” Martin said and handed him his cell. He also had Tito pierce his other nipple while he was there, getting photos to share with Ashley of that, too.
It was sending those photos, as well as the series of back and forth texts it triggered that led to the biggest fight Martin and Celia had ever had. It far outweighed her anger over Martin taking Donal all the way to London on a whim. That had been only the first part of their explosive night. Celia had waited until an hour past when the boys were in bed to lay into Martin for what she called his reckless, irresponsible, and thoughtless behavior.
“I was minding him, Cee. There was nothing to worry about,” Martin told her. Though now he was fully aware of why he hadn’t told her in advance about taking Donal to London. She would have accused him of trying to indoctrinate their son into believing tattoos and piercings were acceptable.
“You were having him sit in a seedy tattoo parlor in Soho around who knows what kind of lowlifes!” she yelled.
“You need to calm yourself. He is my son and I know how to take care of him. He had the bleeding time of his life. Didn’t he tell you as much?”
“You can’t make decisions like that all on your own! How dare you take him out of the country without so much as a phone call.”
“I didn’t want you to overthink it, babe. I didn’t want Colm and Sean to feel left out. Just seemed better to come and go as quick as we could.”
“That’s asinine, Marty. You tell the mother of your children when you’re taking one of them on an airplane!”
“I just didn’t—”
“Give me your phone.”
“What? Why?”
“I mustn’t be very high on that contact list, yeah?”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Give it here. I’ll make sure it’s clear.”
But he didn’t want to give her his phone. He didn’t want her to start looking at things she shouldn’t.
“You know I’ve got your number. You’re being dramatic.”
Still, she held out her hand and waited.
“Here, I’ll show you,” he said and pulled his cell out of his pocket. He found her number as if to dial her. Holding up the phone to show her, he watched her face change. She hadn’t quite known where she was going with this idea and now had to back off. There was nothing more she could do to his phone that would put her to a higher spot on his contacts list. She’d proven her point that he should have called, that there was really no good reason for him not to have.
But then his phone buzzed with an incoming text and he saw her cheeks flush. Before he could turn the screen toward himself to see what had come through, she grabbed his phone and walked with it to the corner of the living room, hurriedly scrolling through the messages.
“Celia? Let me have my mobile back,” he said, but she was silent and intent on staring at his phone. It was wishful thinking, at best, that she might ignore the obvious. He knew she had found his texts with Ashley. There was no one else who would have captured her attention like this. The only question was, how far back would she look. It would take a while for her to read through everything.
Martin closed his eyes and waited a few minutes. When her posture hadn’t changed, he went to the sofa and sat down to await her reaction. He tried to remember precisely what he and Ashley had texted that afternoon when he sent her the photo of the dragon tattoo.
“That is so fucking hot,” she had quickly replied, which wasn’t so bad. It was the rest of their messages that couldn’t be explained away:
Martin: Knew you’d like it
Ashley: I want to trace it
with my tongue
Martin: Why stop there?
Ashley: You’re making me feel very naughty
Martin: Now you know how I’ve felt all this time
Ashley: Ugh you’re too far away
Martin: Not my fault you live in the states
Ashley: We could still have fun
Martin: ?
Ashley: When you’re alone. Let’s connect by video
Martin: You know I can’t
Ashley: Tease
Martin: Who has blue balls now?
Ashley: I have to go. Need both hands, if you know what I mean
Martin: You’re killing me
Ashley: I’ll tell you all about it later. About how I thought of you as I came
Martin: Dead
Ashley: xo
Celia looked up from the phone. “All this while Donal is right there?”
“What?”
“You were sending these filthy messages while our son was right there?”
“He wasn’t right there. Don’t act like I was corrupting him. I was just having a laugh with a friend over a few silly texts. That’s all there was to it.” The excuse came out calmly but his heart was beating wildly.
“And there are photos, I see,” she said, returning her attention to his phone.
Martin tried to recall what photos there might be. With a cringe, he remembered the close up photo Ashley had sent him of her nipple piercing. It hadn’t healed well—or so she claimed as the reason for sending him a photo of her breast. It was only slightly red, and he knew her true intent was to mess with him. It had worked. He’d looked at that photo more times than he could count.
“It looks like more, but really, it was all nothing,” Martin said. “I swear, I never touched her.”
“Oh, so this talk of a massage was just her touching you? Is that right?” she asked. She was unnervingly calm.
He thought back to what that might have been and remembered his text to Ashley after she’d left his hotel room after giving him a “therapeutic massage.”
Martin: The lotion came in handy, can’t lie
Ashley: For the massage I gave you? I know
Martin: You know what I mean. You left me wanting, no, NEEDING more
Ashley: Still wish I could have stayed to watch
Martin: It would have been over in seconds if you had
Ashley: Oh I bet you’re so pent up you could recover just as fast
Martin: Fuck you
Ashley: xo
“It’s disgusting. You’re disgusting,” Celia said. “I don’t—I can’t see anymore. Get this out of my sight.” She threw the phone at him, not trying to hurt him but trying to get the phone as quickly away from herself as she could.
He reached out and grabbed at the phone. It bounced off his fingers but he caught it again before it fell. Glancing at the screen, he saw Celia had discovered another photo. Ashley had taken it during one of their workouts when he was focused on lifting weights. He wasn’t looking at her as he strained to maintain his form. Sweat dripped down his temple. He was shirtless and his abs, pecs, biceps, triceps, and deltoids were all flexed in perfect sync and showcased the results of his hard work.
Ashley: Sexy. As. Fuck.
Martin: All you
Ashley: You did this. I just get to look
Martin: Lucky for me you do more than that in my fantasies
Ashley: Xo
The innocence he had felt in the midst of all that flirting with Ashley now evaporated. His denial over anything being inappropriate by virtue of the fact that he wasn’t physically intimate with Ashley suddenly seemed ridiculous now that he could see the consequences of his actions. Celia was leaning against the wall, her hands over her face as she cried quietly.
Getting up, he went to her. “Shh, now, babe,” he said softly. He tried to pull her into his arms but she turned away.
“Don’t you dare,” she told him. Her eyes were wet but held him in a fierce gaze. “Don’t you dare try to be close with me at this moment. You selfish, thick bastard.”
They weren’t a couple who fought, let alone called each other names. Martin froze and tried to think of something to say.
“So, I supposed I should go ahead and assume you’ve been sleeping with her?” Celia said. “Thank god I managed to keep you off of me, seeing as you could be carrying some STD from her.”
“No. No. No. I did not sleep with her, Celia. Give me some fucking credit—”
“Why should I? Why should I believe anything you say?”
“Because I’m your husband and I’m telling you how it is. I may have flirted with her—”
“Massages and nude photos is flirting, is it?”
He sighed. “Okay, that crossed the line a bit, but I swear to you on my life I did not cheat on you.”
She laughed bitterly. “Even if you didn’t have sex, you did cheat on me. You cheated on and disrespected our marriage. Don’t you for one second think you’ve done anything less. You’ve broken us.”
“Don’t say that. Come on, it was all playing with a fantasy. I didn’t touch her. I never kissed her. I never fucked her, I’m telling you the truth.”
“You obviously shared an intimacy with her and the fact that you can’t admit to it—or even recognize it—means you’re either stupid or cruel. So, which is it?”
That hurt. And made him want to lash out. “Maybe I wouldn’t be after some sort of excitement if you didn’t turn me away over and over again. I’ve been so patient with you and your lack of sexual desire. But for fuck’s sake, it’s been years of you pushing me away. What do you expect?”
“What do I expect?” she asked with a scoff. “I expect you to respect the vows you took. I expect you to respect me and your family and not make a mockery of the life we gave you. I expect you to have the decency to hold yourself together even if you are tempted—”
“I’ve been holding myself together for eleven fucking years, Celia. Eleven years of being married to someone who can’t stand my touch. Eleven years of being surrounded by women all over the world who would love to give me a go but I turned them away. And yes, being friendly with Ashley was a little too much, but I rejected her and every other woman who’s made it clear they’d fuck me and suck me dry. That should count for something.”
“You really are stupid. This is why your so-called mates make fun of you. Can’t you see that you turning away other women is the bare minimum of what you should do as a married man? It counts for nothing.”
“What are we doing? Is this really what you want? To insult me, call me names?”
“How can it be an insult if it’s true.”
“Oh, I see. Thanks very much for that.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want my pity? After I’ve given you three sons and put together a home and a life for you? Meanwhile, you’re off without a care in the world. You’re not there for homework, or bullying kids, or scrapes, or throwing up at three in the morning. You do all the easy “fun Dad” things. And the worst you can complain of is you don’t get enough sex? You’ll have to excuse me for not dropping to my knees when you finally come round. Dealing with making your life, your boys’ lives, into something decent and reliable doesn’t exactly turn me on.”
“Even if it did, I’m not sure it’s enough anymore,” he said. The words were out of his mouth before he could process them. He had just told her he wasn’t sure he wanted their marriage. Fuck.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“So this is where we are?” Celia asked. “You want out so you can go off with your Ashley?”
Martin closed his eyes and shook his head. This had all happened too quickly. “No, that’s not what I’m saying or what this is about. But, fuck, Celia, I’ve not gotten the feeling that you actually like me much in quite a while. And I’m not just talking about sex. Your disdain for everything I’ve been exploring and discovering about myself is hard to ignore.”
“You can’t blame me for the fact that you’ve decided to go
off on a midlife crisis.”
“Just because what I’m interested in is outside of your limited worldview doesn’t make it a midlife crisis.”
“Yes, it’s my ‘limited worldview’ that’s to blame for you cheating.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’m not saying that. And I did not cheat.”
“Why aren’t you sorry? Why aren’t you begging forgiveness?”
Martin opened his mouth to speak but stopped short. Why wasn’t that his instinct? Why wasn’t he desperately trying to save his marriage?
“You’ve given up,” she told him as it dawned on her. “What kind of man walks away from—”
“I’m not walking away from anything, but you tell me what we do now?”
Celia was quiet for a long moment. She vacillated between fighting off tears and looking mad as hell.
“I think we should try a separation,” she finally said.
It had been what he was thinking. They needed space. “Yes, I think so, too.”
His agreement made her crumble. She started sobbing without restraint and he went to her, pulling her into his arms as tears came to his own eyes. Remorse flooded his body. He didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t want his marriage to end. He didn’t want to lose his family. But could they just go back now?
After thirty seconds of letting him hold her, Celia broke away at the sound of his cell phone buzzing. Her tears turned to rage as she pushed him and hit him in the chest.
“Go!” she yelled. “Go. Get out of this house. You lying, cheating, bastard!”
“Celia, wait—”
“No, I’m not waiting. I’m not letting you turn this around to make it about me not accepting you. You are the one who is in the wrong. You are the one who needs to leave.”
“I’m not leaving without saying something to the boys.”
“No. You won’t wake them up. You’ve left in the night for tour before. It’ll be just like that.” She looked up at him, suddenly drained. “I need you to go,” she said, her voice weak, trembling.
Finding Rhythm (Rogue Rockstar Series Book 4) Page 9
