Embrace

by S. Layne

  “Can I help you inside?” He turns off the engine to his car and faces me.

  Maybe I’m not the only one uncertain—now that the house we bought together is looming in front of us, practically screaming at us that we failed at maintaining our tiny family of two.

  “Yeah.”

  I wait for James to get out of his car and open my door. With the grace of an athlete like he used to be, he reaches down, scoops me into his arms, and begins walking us toward the door.

  “My keys are in my back pocket.”

  My eyes flash to his. “You want me to reach into your butt pocket for your keys?”

  He adjusts me in his arms. “I could set you down, but the doctor said not to put any weight on your ankle for the next twenty-four hours.”

  “And we’re all about following the rules, aren’t we?” It’s a sarcastic dig at his affair and I regret it as soon as I say it.

  But I don’t apologize, either, because although James is being really nice, I’m so damn mad at him.

  “Fine,” I huff and reach behind him. As quickly as I can, I grab the key fob in his pocket, pull the keys out, and wait for him to move so I can unlock the door. Once it’s open, he turns sideways, carries me through the door, and a small laugh falls from his lips.

  I instantly jerk my eyes to meet his gaze. He’s looking down on me, laughing, but it’s sad and it stops when I frown.

  “Sorry, I was just thinking about the last time I carried you through this door.”

  Damn him.

  “You’re an ass,” I whisper. Immediately I’m thinking of the day we closed on our house and he carried me over the threshold once the movers had left, saying it would bring us good luck. Except he immediately tripped over an unseen box, and I went sprawling on the wood floor.

  We laughed so hard my sides ached, and before I could stop laughing, James had crawled on top of me and was undressing me. With a wicked gleam in his eyes that I rarely saw, he made love to me in the middle of the entryway, exactly where we’re standing now.

  “I couldn’t help it.”

  I don’t know if he’s talking about then, being so in love with me that he just had to have me in that moment, or if he’s talking about laughing about it now.

  I don’t ask, and instead I gesture toward the living room. “Can you put me on the couch and bring me my purse? I’ll call Talia so you don’t have to babysit anymore.”

  His sad laugh is instantly gone and replaced with lips pressed into a tight, thin line. “Sure, Laurie. Whatever you want.”

  Except, he doesn’t do what I want. When I’m on the couch, he adjusts the pillows at my ankle so my foot is elevated and he leaves me there.

  “Can I have my purse?” I call out when he doesn’t return. I can hear drawers opening and closing in the kitchen and the freezer door being slammed shut, though. “James?”

  “Here.” He comes back with an ice pack wrapped in a towel in one hand, a stack of takeout menus and my pain pills in the other. “We’ll get some food in you before you take these.”

  “Where’s my phone?”

  “Don’t know.” He holds up three menus. “Sal’s Italian? Cazador Mexican? Or Jade Garden Chinese?”

  “James? My phone, please.”

  He looks at me, determination in his eyes that I can feel pierce into me. “Or pizza? What would you prefer?”

  “I would prefer to have my phone and for you to leave.”

  He waves the menus. “Not going to happen.”

  He’s being an ass. I’m being petulant.

  Suddenly, all my frustration leaves my lips in a laugh. “God, you’re infuriating.”

  “I know.” He grins. “It’s one of the things you love most about me.”

  My smile disappears, but James acts like he doesn’t notice. See? Ass.

  “I’m thinking pizza will be best,” he says, and before I can correct him or agree, he’s already walking away, dialing the phone number. “That way I don’t have to leave you to go pick it up.”

  “I’ll be fine for twenty minutes.”

  Again he ignores me, and my blood begins to burn my skin from the inside out. Partly because he’s here. Also because he’s right—I do love how infuriating he is. I don’t know who’s more stubborn, me or him, but we’ve both won and lost our fair share of arguments over the years.

  Although I think I used to give in too often, over stupid things, so it didn’t matter. But now, it matters. Because he’s acting like nothing’s wrong, like a smile and a memory can bandage and heal the wounds we’ve caused, but they’re much larger than a Band-Aid.

  I listen while he places our order, two larges, one pepperoni and mushroom for me, one supreme for him, and then he comes back to the room with two glasses of water.

  “Pizza will be here in thirty minutes.” He leans forward and grabs the remote. “What would you like to watch while we wait?”

  I say nothing. I’m seething, mad that he’s invading my space and unwilling to leave. “I want you to go.”

  “And I want to take care of you, Laurie.”

  I glare at him, only to be met with a similarly frustrated expression.

  “I get it. You’re pissed and you hate me, but you’ve been the one person I’ve loved for sixteen years and you’re fucking hurt. Can you just…” He pauses and rams his hands through his hair with a growl. “Can you just give me this? Go back to hating me tomorrow if you have to, but I’m not leaving tonight when you can’t even walk anywhere.”

  His words crack something hardened in me. It’s either because his pain is obvious or the fact this is the first time he’s stared at me in months without a silent, pathetic apology covering his features.

  “Gilmore Girls.” Because he hates it. “And you can’t make fun of it at any point while it’s on.”

  He flashes me an incredulous look, but I catch his smile when he turns it on, takes a seat at the end of the couch, and leans back.

  It strikes me then that I’m in the exact same position with James as I was with Liam just weeks ago, when I delivered divorce papers to James’s office. I had been such a wreck that Liam brought me home and took care of me that night, too. Told me he wanted more.

  Filled my head with lies.

  “You okay?”

  “Huh?” I ask and lift my eyes to James.

  He frowns. “You’re not watching the show and you look pissed. Is your ankle okay?”

  Just thinking about all the men who fuck me and lie to me. I sigh and turn toward the television. I instantly know it’s season four, one of my favorites. “I’m fine.”

  We sit quietly, not saying a word, and even though I see James’s lips move several times during the episode while we wait for our pizza, he keeps his word and doesn’t mock the teenage show I’ve loved since I was a teenager.

  I’m about ready to ask him how much longer until the pizza arrives, how much longer until this torture can end, when a heavy pressure spreads in my lower belly.

  Oh. Damn.

  “James?” I ask, and lick my suddenly dry lips. I can’t believe I need his help for this.

  He looks at me, takes in my expression, and immediately pauses the show. “What is it?”

  “Um.” My cheeks flame and I look away. “I need to use the bathroom.”

  “Oh.” His eyes widen. “Ohh,” he says again, once he realizes I need his help. He hasn’t brought in the crutches that the doctor gave me to use for a few days. And I could demand he get them. Or call Talia.

  But before I can, James nods and stands up. Then he’s over me, and I’m once again scooped into his arms.

  “You are not taking me to the bathroom.”

  He looks down and grins. God, that grin. It’s playful and makes him look ten years younger. “Looks like I am.”

  “This is mortifying,” I tell him when we reach the bathroom. It’s a small, cramped space on our main floor with only a toilet and sink. Barely one of us can fit in it on a good day and now I’m standing awkwardly, t
rying my best to keep all my weight on one leg while not falling into the toilet bowl.

  “I’ve seen you naked and watched you pee countless times over the last decade. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  I know this, yet it’s all different now.

  James’s arms steady my balance and I look down. I need to get these jeans off.

  “I need more help.” I press my lips together and look away. I am not asking him to undress me.

  “Brace your hands on the wall,” he says and if I’m not mistaken, his voice is deeper, a little bit thicker.

  I can’t think about that because his hands are on my jeans, popping the button.

  Somehow the zipper sounds like a tornado barreling through the middle of my house and I finally realize what’s happening.

  I swat his hand away. “Stop. I think I can handle this part.”

  “You sure?” he asks, but his voice is still that thick, lustful sound I know so well and when I meet his gaze, looking down at him as he works my zipper, his fingers dig into the waistband.

  “Stop it, James.”

  Slowly, he stands up and steps away. His lip is between his teeth and his cheeks are flushed when he turns away from me. “I’ll be right outside. Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Shorts. I need some shorts.”

  He nods, and I don’t finally sit down and relieve myself until I hear his heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs to my room.

  Guilt hits my chest all over again. Will he know I’ve had a man here? Are there condom wrappers out? Leftover clothes of Liam’s that I know don’t exist? Suddenly the only thing I’m aware of until I hear James’s returning footsteps is the fact that I just turned on my husband and my thoughts are still wandering to another man.

  I feel sick to my stomach as I wash my hands, hopping on one foot carefully until James opens the door.

  “Got you your pajamas.” He holds up a pair of black yoga shorts and my second favorite U of M Law School shirt of his. I sleep in it several nights a week and I know that he had to find it under my pillow.

  Which means he was in the bed, and while I’m trying to see if there’s any clue that there was any evidence of a man upstairs, I see nothing in James’s eyes to indicate that.

  “Thank you,” I tell him.

  “I’ll help.” And before I can resist I’m back in his arms, being carried to the couch, and he lays me down.

  I can’t help but smile. The ass is totally taking advantage of this situation. “I’m pretty sure when the doctor told me to keep my weight off my foot that he didn’t mean I had to be carried everywhere.”

  His lips twitch. “Hmm.”

  It’s then it occurs to me that I’m lying down on the couch, James standing over me with a wicked glint in his eyes, and I’m only dressed in a tank top and my underwear.

  “Shorts?” I ask over a thick lump in my throat.

  I watch his hand holding them ball into a tighter fist when he sits down at the end of the couch. “Give me your leg.”

  I flinch away from his touch and lick my lips.

  This simply isn’t right. It’s downright stupid, but with James staring at my bare skin, his eyes slowly roaming my exposed body, everything begins to heat and tingle.

  “James,” I whisper. I shake my head, unable to say anything else.

  Instead of waiting for me to tell him no, he simply lifts my injured foot and begins threading it through the shorts. Then he takes my other foot and does the same. To his credit, his fingers barely touch my skin and he works quickly and efficiently, but the entire time my body is fighting to shiver underneath the look in his eyes and the barely-there brushes of his fingers.

  He hits the back of my knee, his thumb lightly grazes my tender and sensitive skin, and I inhale a quick gasp.

  James freezes, and I close my eyes.

  “Laurie.”

  I shake my head and I know he’s seeing the goose bumps that have erupted all down my legs from the one, simple touch.

  It’s one of my favorite spots to be touched, to be kissed…to be loved, and he knows it.

  I squirm, unable to stop my reaction. His thumb brushes against the spot again, this time intentional, and a puff of breath escapes my pursed lips.

  “Laurie,” he says, and his voice is darker.

  Stupid me, I open my eyes and I’m shocked by what I see burning in his deep black ones.

  It’s not just his lust glaring back at me. It’s barely restrained fury, and my leg muscles tighten in his grasp.

  “Did the man who tasted you, the man who fucked you, know how much this one spot turns you on?”

  His thumb teases my skin again and my eyes burn.

  Rolling, I rip my legs away from him and plop them down on the coffee table. The move shoots pain from my ankle and I hiss out a breath. “You’re an asshole.”

  His head drops and he pushes himself off the couch. “Fuck. I didn’t—”

  “Don’t you dare say you didn’t mean that.” My arms cross over my chest and then I realize my shorts are still draped around my knees.

  Classy.

  I reach down and pull them up, wiggling my hips, and stare at the television.

  This isn’t happening.

  I open my mouth to tell him off when the doorbell rings.

  “You can go after you eat,” I finally say. Because we’ve ordered two pizzas and I detest supreme.

  I also figure James won’t leave anyway. Not after that.

  I eat the pizza, shoving piece after piece into my mouth while inside I’m fuming.

  How dare he bring that up when he has his own indiscretions.

  And how dare I be a hypocrite to hate him for his…but not allow him to be pissed about mine.

  Warmth slides down my cheeks and I lean closer to the feel of heated skin along my cool face.

  I snuggle down further into the comforter and my eyelids flutter open when I realize someone is touching me.

  Dark, hooded eyes rimmed with the longest and thickest black lashes I’ve ever seen look down on me. James’s lips lift at the edges.

  “I brought you breakfast.” His hand falls from my cheek and he tilts his chin toward my bedside table. “I didn’t mean to wake you, but I have to go to work.”

  Slowly, I sit up in my bed, grimacing when the pain in my ankle travels through my leg. I’m still waking up, my clouded dreams slowly dissipating as I get the first whiff of my coffee mixed with my favorite creamer.

  “How’d I get in bed?” I ask, finally pulling myself to sitting and looking around my room.

  I look at James and realize that his black hair is still wet and he’s wearing a white T-shirt with flannel plaid pants. Pants I bought for him one year for Christmas as a joke. I have a matching set. Seeing them makes me smile. On our first Christmas in this house together, we’d taken a dozen goofy pictures of ourselves in matching outfits to send out to family and friends, knowing no one except our friends would find our goofiness fun at all.

  In the end, we hadn’t sent the pictures. But we had ended up discarding our clothes in front of the fireplace and Christmas tree and making love all night long.

  I grab my coffee and take a sip, banishing the memory from my mind. It makes me smile and it hurts my heart.

  All the memories of James make me angry. They make me smile and laugh and they make me cry.

  “You fell asleep on the couch.”

  I nod. Suddenly I’m unsure, so nervous.

  “Can I sit?” he asks, and gestures toward the edge of the bed.

  I scoot over carefully, mindful of my ankle and my coffee, and allow him some room to sit.

  He sits down and drops his elbows to his knees. He’s so close I can smell my body wash from his shower, and I press my lips together to keep from smiling. He’s too manly to smell like cocoa butter.

  “What is it?” I finally ask when he doesn’t say anything. He stares straight ahead and then drops his head, looking at his lap and the palms of hi
s hands.

  “I don’t want to let you go.”

  My eyes instantly burn from his admission.

  I’ve heard this all before, but his voice has a rawness to it, his eyes pinched in a different way. A sadder way. His shoulders are slumped in defeat and I have the sudden urge to reach out and rub his back, to soothe him in some way.

  He turns to face me as tears begin filling my eyes and my vision goes blurry. My hands tremble and I set my coffee mug to the side.

  “You’ve been the only person I’ve ever loved, and I’ve loved you since I was sixteen years old.”

  “James…”

  “Please,” he says, cutting me off and raising a hand. I freeze when that same hand reaches out, and with his thumb he wipes away my tears. “Just let me say this.”

  I sniff and nod, blinking to erase the rest of my tears.

  “I know I’ve messed up, I know it. And I can’t tell you how every single second of every single day since that night…” He pauses and shakes his head. The night with Becky, and I’m thankful he doesn’t mention her name. “I wish I could erase it. I wish I could go back and have a complete do-over before I messed everything up. You have no idea how much it hurts me to know that I’ve hurt you so much.”

  “What did I do wrong?” It’s the first time I’ve asked that question, and I don’t know why I’m asking now, except I keep thinking that somehow, all of this had to be my fault. James not only destroyed my trust in him with his affair, but my self-confidence as well—something that at one time, I thought Liam was giving back to me.

  I cringe, thinking about him now.

  “Nothing,” James states, and his voice is firm. “God, Laurie. You didn’t do anything wrong. Not ever.”

  The anger from yesterday begins bubbling in my blood, and I remember his words from our lunch weeks ago and our appointment last night. A therapy appointment that had to have been the worst appointment Elissa has ever seen. I’m still embarrassed I just ran out of there.

  I sniff and look away, but not for long. I have to see James’s eyes, stare into his onyx orbs and see him. Really see him.

  His hand is back on my cheek, and I don’t move away when he brushes against my soft skin, his hands threading into my hair above my ear.