My eyes widen with surprise. “Wait – you knew?”
“Of course I knew. You’re my girl. I know everything about you.”
God, I made the right choice with this guy. He’s definitely it for me.
He bites his lip. “Okay. If you don’t want this, I’m not going to try and persuade you. I just want you to be happy.” His lips sweeping over mine and his hand cupping the back of my neck is all I need to believe him.
By the time I’ve emptied his clothes from his drawers, I don’t know how I’m even standing up. I’m so overcome by emotion. This activity might be cathartic for some people but for me, it feels like slicing my heart with razors, one tiny gash at a time.
I zip the suitcase shut and drag it out of my bedroom, down the hall to the guestroom. I haul them up into the middle of the bed, proud that, at least, I’ve managed not to cry…until I stand at the window and peer down at the driveway.
My eyes blink open and I bolt upright in bed as our two-week-old’s shrill wails pour through the baby monitor. I swear, he’s been crying all night, pausing only to sleep for a few precious minutes before waking up and starting the process all over again.
Cringing, my hand goes to my stomach, stroking my tender wound with light fingers. It’s still so sore. I’d expected to feel a bit better by now but some days, it actually feels worse. And my body feels like I got trampled by a sumo wrestler. Mentally, I’m no better. This lack of sleep is really starting to get to me.
Moving slowly, I swing my feet over the side of the bed in the dark as I glance around for Daniel. Light creeps in from under the door of the adjoining bathroom. Hobbling over, I push the door open.
“What’s going on?” I ask when I see him in front of the sink, staring into the mirror as he knots his tie. His toothbrush is trapped between his teeth and his dark hair is neatly combed.
He gives me a cursory glance. “Stupid client’s private jet just landed from Japan. He wants to meet right this fucking minute.” The irritation on his brow is magnified by the glaring overhead lights.
I fold my arms over my chest as the baby continues to cry. “But you’re on parental leave. You have two more weeks.”
He spits into the sink and rinses his mouth before setting his toothbrush down on the counter. “I’m being considered for junior partner. You know I can’t be shunning clients right now. We’ve talked about this. You encouraged me to go for it.”
As he continues to hustle about, I glare at him wordlessly. Yes, I did encourage him to go for it before I had an emergency C-section that turned everything upside down.
“It’s just one meeting, Grace.” He pushes around me and scuttles across the bedroom to grab his briefcase.
The level of rage I feel may be unjustified but it’s scorching the hollow of my belly. “I need help,” I tell him. “I’m exhausted from all the breastfeeding and the rocking and the singing. I need your help with the baby.” I know that I’m pouting but I can’t stop myself.
He clutches one hand on my shoulder and presses a quick, condescending kiss to my temple. “My mother will come by in a few hours. I’ve really got to go.”
Dashing down the stairs, he doesn’t even look back. I head to the window in the guest bedroom and glare down at him as he jumps into his fancy Mercedes and speeds away.
That was just the first of many nights when Daniel ran out on me when I needed him, putting work ahead of all else.
I yank the blinds shut, reminding myself that this divorce is the best thing for me.
Detox.
This is what I need to do. I wish it were easy to stop feeling guilty about it. I wish it were easy to stop crying. But I’ll get there eventually, I guess.
Maybe I’ll start with another double-chocolate cookie.
Chapter 11
Grace
I slam my stupid self-help book shut and toss it across the bed then burrow deeper under my covers. Today, the metaphorical jellyfish stung and I didn’t have the inner strength to pee on my own leg. (By the way, that is a really terrible metaphor and the author of that book should be ashamed of herself!)
What I’m trying to say is, grief reared its ugly head as I removed all of my husband’s belongings from the bedroom closet this morning and instead of standing strong, I broke down into tears. I’m not strong enough for this. I can’t even lie. The only thought I could focus on all day is that my husband is gone for good and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I try to remind myself of the reason I filed for divorce to begin with. He’s a workaholic. He’s too busy to be here, he’s too busy to see me. He won’t even try to understand me.
I deserve better than that and so does Sebastian. Knowing this truth doesn’t make it any easier, though. It still hurts like hell. I’m sobbing quietly into my pillow when I hear the doorbell in the distance.
Rolling out of bed, I blot my eyes and rake my fingers through my messy hair. “I’m coming, I’m coming…” I mutter. I grab my robe and trudge down the stairs as my impatient visitor hits the bell again.
When I swing the door open, Daniel is standing there with a sobbing Sebastian on his hip. They both look desperate and disheveled.
“What’s going on?” I ask, folding my robe closed against the cold air that billows into the house.
Daniel thrusts the baby my way. “I don’t know. Can’t get him to settle down. I think he has a bit of a fever and he won’t stop pulling on his ears. He keeps pacing from corner to corner, calling for his mama.”
My shoulders drop and my heart splits down the middle when I hear that. Look what we’re doing. To our child. We’re breaking him. I’m breaking him. My innocent little baby.
“Come here, sweetheart,” I coo as I cradle him against my chest.
Under his jacket, he’s wearing his favorite rocket ship pajamas and his little cheeks are sticky from his tears. He gnaws on his knuckles, trying to shove his fist into his mouth.
“He’s teething,” I say to his father. That’s what I was trying to explain to him yesterday when he cut me off, insisting that he knows how to take care of his son.
Sebastian wraps his arms so tight around me, burying his head in my shoulder. His whimpering finally subsides. The look on Daniel’s face – a look of pure and utter dejection – burns like acid on my heart. I just want to pull him against me and hold him, too.
He sets the diaper bag down at the foot of the stairs and turns back toward the door with his head hanging. “I’m gonna get going.” But as he sets his hand on the doorknob, Sebastian’s head shoots in that direction and his high-pitched screams begin again. The baby reaches out in the direction of the door. He’s reaching for his dad.
Daniel and I stand there, both helplessly staring at our son. And when our eyes finally shift and connect with each other, it’s the most painful thing in the world. My insides ache, my knees feel weak.
I want my husband. I need him.
And for the first time in weeks, it isn’t pure vitriol I see in his eyes when he looks at me. It’s something sad and vulnerable.
He reaches out and rubs his child’s head, whispering sweetly to him, telling him that daddy loves him but that he has to go.
I can’t watch this.
“Do you…” I stammer. “Do you want to help me put him to bed?”
Daniel’s weak stare settles on mine. He scrubs his hand down the side of his face. “I’d like that.”
“Okay.” My gaze falls to his lips and for just a second, I remember what it’s like to kiss him. The way his mouth moving over mine always felt like a tender assault on all my senses, making me desperate and needy for more.
He’s watching me too and heat rises into my chest. I turn my eyes away.
Daniel shrugs out of his jacket then follows me upstairs and into the nursery. He sits in the rocking chair as I hover over the crib with Sebastian in my arms. Swaying the baby back and forth, I sing softly to him.
Within minutes, the boy is fast asleep, nestled snuggly agains
t my chest. I put a kiss on his forehead and lay him gently in his crib. I cover him with his warm quilt and turn toward Daniel. I’m surprised to find him sleeping, too.
Slouching in the rocking chair, his chin is tucked against his chest and his lips are slightly parted. I take a long moment to just stare at him. He’s wearing a simple black t-shirt and dark jeans. It’s rare that I see him without a suit on these days. His thick, dark hair is slightly longer at the top now. It’s messy and kind of sexy. His features look tired but he’s still so handsome. As handsome as the man I fell in love with back in law school.
God, I love him so much.
My chest aches as I remind myself that sometimes, love just isn’t enough. I panic on the inside wondering if I'll eventually get over him, worrying that I'm not strong enough to ever stop loving him. Choking back my sobs, I grab another quilt from Sebastian’s drawer and drape it over my husband. I tiptoe back to my bed.
It feels oddly comforting to have him here under this roof tonight. Even if we aren’t sharing the same bed. I think that just having him within these four walls means we’ll all sleep better tonight.
Chapter 12
Daniel
My eyes blink open in the darkness and I stare at the familiar elephant decals covering the wall. My gaze shifts to the shelf of colorful cardboard books above the changing table and the huge stuffed dinosaur sitting on the floor. I’m in Sebastian’s bedroom. I’m in my house.
A sudden buzzing along the side of my leg causes me to jump. I realize that it’s my phone vibrating in my pants. I shift a little and stretch my leg out to shove my hand into my pocket.
I groan quietly. I may be wide-awake but my left butt cheek is definitely still sleeping.
Swiping across the screen of the phone, I realize that it’s a text message from my work colleague, Prescott Brooks. At 2:17 on a Sunday morning.
Prescott: I was just looking over the Shinewell deposition and I spotted a hole in the defendant’s arguments.
Prescott: Call me when you get this.
Prescott: Are you up???
I mutter under my breath. “Dude – 2:17 on a Sunday morning!”
I take great pride in my work, I enjoy the prestige that comes with being a lawyer of such a high caliber and I definitely like looking at my bank account balance every now and then. But sometimes, the trade-off isn’t worth it. Because yes, I have all those things but I lost the things that really matter. My family, my sleep, the right to say, “It’s 2:17 on a Sunday morning so fuck off until Monday between the hours of 9:00 and 5:00.”
A little noise comes from Sebastian’s crib and I quickly pocket the phone. The boy has a hard enough time sleeping. I won’t wake him up.
I twist my neck from side to side to soothe the ache. Shaking out my leg, I try to encourage the blood to start circulating again. After a minute or so, I finally venture into a standing position and a blanket slides off of my body, pooling at my feet.
I rack my brain trying to remember when I’d draped it over my body. It takes me a long minute to finally accept that it must be Grace who pulled it over me when I fell asleep in the rocking chair.
A little thrill zings through me at the realization but I can’t let myself get carried away. I try not to make it mean anything. I do my best to remind myself that in the grand scheme of our toxic relationship, throwing a damn blanket over me is insignificant. But man, I’d be lying if I said that this little act of kindness doesn’t put all sorts of ideas into my head.
Can’t keep doing this to yourself, man. It’s over.
A cold chill seeps through my skin. I walk over to the thermostat on the wall and turn it up a few degrees. But I know that the temperature isn’t the problem. The problem is that I don’t want to leave my home tonight. I don’t want to walk out of my son’s room and jump into my car and drive back to my sterile apartment across town.
I want to stroll down the hall and climb into bed with my wife and smell her sweet scent rising off of the comforter. I want to spoon behind her and slide my hand between her thighs and find her wet for me. I want to hear her moan as I press my cock through her folds, breaching her entrance in one smooth jab. I want her to rock back against me as I brush my fingers over her clit and tell her she’s the most beautiful woman in the world and I can’t stand to live my life without her.
I think back to the way she used to look at me when we’d just met. Shy adoration glowing in her big doe eyes and pale cheeks blazing red every time I smiled at her. These days, there's a brumous fog of disdain and rage when she watches me. But in moments like tonight, the cloud parts for a split second and I see traces of the longing still lingering beneath all the other emotions. It gives me hope.
I press my eyes shut to fight off the emotions pooling there. She doesn’t want you. She doesn’t want you. I repeat it like a mantra as I lean over my son’s crib and watch him sleeping peacefully.
Careful not to wake him, I inch away from his tiny bed and out the nursery door. I creep down the shadowy hall to the staircase. I haven’t walked through this house in months and tonight, everything has a strange, eerie glow. The walls are haunted by memories of the happy days, the days that have slipped through my fingers.
My eyes fall on the bathroom doorjamb. That’s where Grace was leaning the day that she walked out of the bathroom with pure wonder in her eyes and told me she was pregnant. My heart tightens.
I climb the top step, yanking at my tie. It’s well past midnight. I hate working this late. I’d rather be home with my new wife but I’m paying my dues at the law firm. My boss has started planting a seed in my head. Although I was sworn to the bar only a short while ago, he’s already started throwing the term ‘junior partner’ around. Call me over-ambitious but I want it so bad I can taste it. Almost as bad as I want to taste Grace’s lips tonight.
Lifting my gaze, I see her standing in the doorway. All the lights are off aside from the dim glow coming from the bathroom.
My pulse accelerates ever so slightly. “Grace?” She’s anxious. I see the faint smile on her lips and the arch of her brows as she twists her hands in front of her. “Angel, is everything okay?”
I glance past her shoulder and see them lined up on the counter. An army of slim pink and white tubes. My eyes bulge and her grin widens across her pretty face.
Sidestepping her, I charge into the bathroom. My heart swells when I see the plus signs displayed clearly on all of the tests. “Are you…?”
She giggles. “I’m pregnant…”
My gaze zips back to her. “Holy shit! Holy shit!” It’s all I can say as I smush her little body to mine and bury my face in her hair to hide the tears of joy. “We’re having a baby!”
I go down the stairs slowly, taking in the pictures lining the wall. Our wedding photos. Some snaps from our honeymoon in New York City. Pictures of Sebastian’s first day at home. My heart tightens as each memory floats through my mind like ghosts, wisps of smoke that I can’t quite hold on to.
At the foot of the stairs, I glance over to the kitchen and see the spot where she was standing, three days overdue, dancing her ass off to a Black Eyed Peas song when she went into labor. I chuckle to myself at the memory.
“What are you doing?” I ask, peering up at her as she shimmies in front of the stove.
She makes a face at me as she sings, waggling a finger in the air. “Tonight’s gonna be a good night. Tonight’s gonna be a good night.”
She’s off tune as ever but she’s cute with her big belly straining against the fabric of my Reyfield High football t-shirt. Her bump causes the fabric to rise up in the front, barely covering her underwear.
I laugh. “That’s what you said yesterday. And the day before yesterday.” My fingers fly across the keyboard of my laptop as I review the final draft of a subpoena that I’m working on to force some chump to testify in some case.
She shakes her head as she dances over to me. “Nah, babe. Today is the day. I can feel it.”
“If you
say so,” I mutter, my eyes on the screen. “In the meantime, just keep putting down those sexy dance moves. My cock’s getting heavy just watching you.”
Rolling her eyes, she waves me away. “Please! I’m a whale. Nothing sexy about that!”
“Have you seen your ass?” I scoff. “I want to come all over those lovely lady humps!”
She laughs again. So happy. We’re so happy. We’re going to be happy forever. We’re going to fill up this house with so many kids that we’ll be breaking the fire code. We’ll make love every single night for the rest of our lives. On our dying bed, they’ll have to pry us off of each other.
Dirty Forever (The Dirty Suburbs Book 8) Page 6
