by S. Layne
I don’t like it.
“I’m sure you’d be just fine on your own,” I tell her, “but it’s still nice to be taken care of once in a while. Let them dote on you. Especially Dad, I think he needs it.”
“Your father needs to go back to work,” she says, and eyes me directly with a knowing look. “And so do you.”
I sigh, looking away from her all-consuming gaze. She’s like an eagle. She knows and sees everything without being told anything. I haven’t brought up my job or James since our first conversation, mostly because I know it will upset her to know I’m leaving ParaMed—and therefore Medline Technologies.
But she’s right: I have to return to work at some point. Or contact Liam to let him know I won’t be returning at all and finishing out my two-weeks’ notice.
Deciding to give my marriage a real chance has thrown some of those decisions into the air all over again and I’ve been sticking my head in sand the last few days, refusing to deal with it.
But I know at some point after we return home, we have to have several—what I’m sure will be long and difficult—conversations about where we really go from here.
“I quit my job.”
My mom’s eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t seem surprised. “You always were stubborn.”
Shaking my head, I push off the couch. “It’s not just because of Dad buying ParaMed. It’s just…time…to do something different.”
She’s silent for several moments before she quietly says, “Well, do whatever makes you happy, sweetie.”
The endearment is odd and I pause, gauging her sincerity.
“You mean that?”
“Of course I do.” She smiles and it’s wide, sincere. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. Whatever makes you happy.”
I’m pretty sure she means she’s always wanted me to have whatever makes her happy, but she yawns and now isn’t the time to argue with her.
I brush another kiss across her forehead and let it go. I’ll take her sweet thoughts and pretend she means them.
“I love you, Mom,” I whisper. “I’ll call you soon.”
But she’s already asleep, and I can’t help but laugh quietly as I make my way downstairs.
James has been packing up our things and loading the car, and he’s standing in the entryway wearing simple khaki shorts and a polo shirt, untucked.
He looks casual and handsome.
“Ready?” he asks, and raises one of his arms out to the side.
I walk right into it and let him wrap me up. His lips press to the top of my head and I sigh.
I need this—this warmth that he can give me.
Just barely coming up to his shoulder, I feel perfect in his embrace. He can easily rest his chin on the top of my head and when he holds me at his side, like he’s doing now, I can easily wrap my arms around his waist and pull him tight to me.
“I’m ready.” I nod and blink my eyes. Tears threaten, but they’ve been doing that all day.
I’m glad my mom is improving, and thankful that I’ve been able to be around her and my dad at the hospital and help prepare the house for her return. I’m grateful I’ve had good talks with both of them, and it appears my dad has realized I will not be working for him.
But he loves me anyway, like I knew he would.
“Just let me say goodbye to my dad, okay?” I pull back and tilt my chin up.
He answers with a soft brush of his lips against mine. “Of course. He’s in his office.”
I drop my arms from James’s waist and walk through my parents’ house one last time. My eyes scan every room, checking to make sure I’ve grabbed and packed everything I need—like my phone charger…and phone, for that matter.
My dad is clicking away on his tablet at his desk when I enter his office without knocking.
“Hey,” I say, and walk in.
He lifts his head and meets my gaze.
“We’re taking off. You sure you’re going to be okay?”
My dad takes off his eyeglasses and presses his thumb and finger to the bridge of his nose. “We’ll be fine, I think. At least your mom will be, which is the most important thing.”
“It is. And you’ll be good too. I assume Elma will be taking care of you?”
My dad laughs softly. “I’m pretty sure I’ve managed to annoy her as much as I’ve done the same to your mother this week.”
I walk around the desk and prop my hip on it. Squeezing his hand, I tell him, “I think that’s just your way with women in general.”
“Insolent child.”
I lean down and kiss his cheek. “Stubborn and independent, just the way you raised me.”
He huffs another laugh, and I smile. It’s good to see him laugh. This last week has been so hard on him and he looks exhausted. “Should have prayed for content and quiet.”
“Nice,” I say sarcastically and push off the desk. “Get some sleep and call me if you need me.” I lean down again and give him another kiss. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, Laurie,” he whispers as I head toward the door. “You sure I can’t convince you to stay on with Liam?”
I almost stumble on my feet, surprised he’s asking me this now, as I’m ready to head home.
Slowly, I turn to him, biting the inside of my cheek. “I don’t think my continuing to work for Liam would be good for anyone.”
Shock flares in his eyes before he schools his expression. He nods, tapping his fingers on the desk while he does it. “Very well, then. I won’t push. He mentioned you’ve turned in your resignation already. I just thought I’d try one last Hail Mary pass, so to speak.”
I roll my eyes. My dad and football. You’d think given his love for the sport he’d like a team other than the consistently disappointing Detroit Lions.
“Like I said, I think it’s for the best.”
“One more piece of advice from your old man?”
Nerves flutter as I take in his sudden shift to serious CEO and business owner.
“Yes?” I ask, swallowing a hard lump in my throat. I shift on my feet, thankful I’m not very often the object of this cold expression.
“Give James a chance to make it right. But if he screws up again and hurts you, kick his ass to the curb and take him for everything he’s worth.”
Tears instantly well in my eyes. I’m shocked and disturbed by my dad’s unclassy candor, but I can’t help but laugh about it either.
He pulls me into his arms and holds me tightly to his chest. “Hate that you went through that and didn’t feel like you could talk to Mom and me. I also hate that you have to deal with the outcome, but I swear to you, I’m proud of you, regardless of what you decide.”
I wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze him tight. “Thanks, Dad.”
I have no idea how long we stay like that, embracing each other, finding solace and strength in each other’s arms for the very different tasks we have ahead of us in the next few weeks, but I’m jolted out of his arms by a sudden knock on the doorframe.
“Hey,” I say, surprised to see James standing in the doorway.
His eyebrows are knitted in concern as he quickly takes in my appearance. I’m sure my mascara has run down my cheeks.
“Everything okay?” he asks, his voice uncertain, and I wipe my eyes, drying them.
“Yep.” I nod and kiss my dad’s cheeks. “Just saying goodbye.”
“Take care of my girl,” my dad says, clasping James’s hand in a firm shake. For a flash of a second I think I almost see him flinch, but it’s gone before I’m certain.
“Will do,” James confirms, dipping his head once to acknowledge the seriousness of it. “Promise you.”
“Don’t let me down again, son.”
God. Who in the hell knew my dad could be such a hard-ass?
I grin wide, bumping them apart before my emotions take over again. “Let’s get out of here. We have a long drive ahead of us.”
James drops my dad’s hand from his but not befo
re he reassures my dad he won’t let either of us down again.
I’m still uncertain it’s a promise he can keep, even as well-intended as he may be, but instead of dwelling on my concerns, I push him toward the door.
“Let’s get out of here and go home,” I tell him, smiling as we hit the front door.
James’s eyes light up as he leads me outside. “I like the sound of that.”
My gray eyes appear a little bit larger than normal, my cheeks flushed a light pink.
Inside, my heart is thumping at a rhythmic beat so fast I feel like I belong at a rave.
Since James dropped me off at home an hour ago, I’ve been rushing around, cleaning everything up, changing the sheets on the master bedroom bed, and ensuring I’ve not only erased every evidence of another man’s presence, but his scent as well.
It’s the low whirring sound followed by the unoiled clank of the garage door opening that has my pulse racing like mad in my wrists and throat.
He’s here—because I’ve invited him. Which seems silly.
How do you invite your own husband into his own house?
But I haven’t regretted it since saying it a few days ago. I’m just completely uncertain as to how the rest of the night is supposed to go.
Ending it with him inside me, bringing me to orgasm while I dig my fingers into his shoulders sounds heavenly.
Perfect.
And maybe not such a good decision.
Enough. I narrow my eyes in the mirror and scowl at my reflection.
Pushing aside my fears and my doubts and the way my stomach is fluttering like it’s prom night all over again, I rush down the stairs.
Everything from a month ago flashes in my eyes as I hear him enter the mudroom.
It’s now us…in reverse. I’m here, waiting for him like a nervous fool somehow wanting us to work.
“James?” I call out, knowing it’s him. This is ridiculous.
He wants this too.
My fingers tap the outsides of my thighs and my lips twitch. I’m a nervous wreck, but when James ducks his head around the doorway and his lips twist into a tight smile, I feel like I can breathe for the first time all day.
“Hey.” It’s more of a breathy, girly sigh than a word, but I don’t care.
Seeing him here feels good. Strange. Good, though.
He licks his lips. “I brought my clothes and checked out.”
“Good.” I nod, taking a step toward him. This shouldn’t be so awkward, and as James enters the kitchen where we meet, several feet apart, I know he feels the same. “I’m glad.”
I clasp my fingers behind my back and then scold myself to stop fidgeting.
A beat passes between us, then another moment.
James fidgets on his feet, his sandals probably stacked neatly in the shoe rack where he’s always liked shoes to go. Finally, it’s James who huffs a laugh and I match it immediately.
“This is stupid,” he says, and walks toward the kitchen cabinets. “Let me get us a drink and then maybe we’ll stop acting like I’m a stranger.”
“I’d like that,” I reply, and move to grab the wine glasses while he reaches for a bottle of Merlot. “I’m sorry.”
I don’t look at him when I say it. I’m apologizing for my behavior, but I don’t want this to go too deep. We have time for that.
I want him settled here again. The pull to have him here has grown, but now that it’s happening, my head is still spinning.
“Let’s toast,” he says, ignoring my apology. I swallow the need to tell him why but stop when he hands me a glass of wine.
His dark eyes shine, crinkling at the outer edges, and his hair flops in thick curls over his ears.
“You need a haircut,” I blurt, and I can’t help the giggle that fills the room. “I’m sorry, I know: the toast you want to do—but you really need a haircut.”
Before I can stop myself, I lift a hand and run my fingers through his hair, just above his ear. I almost feel the tension dissipate as my skin brushes his. I suck my lip in between my teeth and play with a curl. “Remember when you tried to grow it out?”
“I liked my afro.” He sounds affronted.
I laugh, shaking my head.
He did. It blew out all over the place, his hair so thick and curly that it simply wouldn’t hang down—just out, like a clown’s wig. It was a disaster.
I loved him anyway.
“It was silly.”
“You liked giving me pigtails and braids and putting barrettes in it.” He winks and my stomach warms.
It’s not from the wine. I haven’t had a sip.
It’s the easy laughter and memories that began over half my lifetime ago. I love simple nights like this.
I wink, take a sip of my wine, and drop my hand from his hair. “You liked it. I got to touch you and you never complained.”
“That’s because you were touching me. How could I?” He raises his glass then into a toast. I watch his Adam’s apple dip as he hesitates just a moment before he simply says, “To hope.”
I blink rapidly, my breath faltering just a brief moment before I smile with my lips pressed lightly together. “To hope,” I agree, and tap my glass to his.
It’s not a lot.
I don’t know if it’s anything major at all.
But I want my husband. I’ve always loved him.
And if hope is all I have, even a small splinter of it, I want to hold it tight within my grasp until I grip so hard it makes me bleed.
My eyes squeeze shut. “That was really good,” I say as I yawn.
Behind me—with his arms wrapped around my waist, his chin on the top of my head, and his chest pressed to my back—I feel James’s husky and sleepy laughter.
“You fell asleep halfway into the movie.”
Not halfway, more like three-quarters. “I saw the ending, though.”
“Some things never change.” His lips brush against my hair. Shivers dance down my spine at the familiar sensation as I take in the sweetness of his words. “I like that. That I know we’ll start a movie you insist you desperately want to watch, and while you sleep, snoring in my arms, I’ll be wondering why in the hell I let you convince me to watch another romance film.”
“Why do you do it?” I ask, teasing. His erection is pressed against my ass and I can feel it clearly. If that’s not a reason to watch whatever I want, he’s not the man I’ve known for what feels like forever.
“Because I get to hold you.”
His honesty and sweetness are sincere, I know this. It’s not the first time we’ve talked about this, and I turn my head to see him looking down at me, chocolate eyes meeting gray.
His hand tightens on my waist and he leans down. I feel his breath brush against my lips right before his lips press against mine.
“Take me to bed, James.” It’s a whisper of my skin against his, breaking the kiss but opening something larger.
He leans forward and brushes his lips against mine before he’s hopping off the couch.
Then I’m in his arms and he’s walking toward the stairs, my laughter bouncing off the corners of the walls.
“I feel like I should ask you if you’re sure, or offer to stay in the guest room,” he says as he begins climbing the stairs. “But to be completely honest, I’ve been fucking waiting for this night for months, to be invited into your bed, and nothing could stop me now.”
“Good.” I gasp when he drops me on the bed and I scoot back on my elbows.
He climbs over me quickly, a devilish glint in his eye. “I won’t let you say no to this.”
“I don’t want to say no.”
Even in the difficulty that I know we’re facing, there’s a familiarity that brings life and warmth to my core.
In his arms, under him in bed, his skin on mine, his lips against me…everything in my body responds to James.
It still craves him and I give in to the feeling, knowing we’re still hiding and avoiding.
“I want you to com
e to my office when you’re done today.” James’s command spoken in my direction is not a polite request.
If I couldn’t see the uncertainty and fear swirling in James’s eyes, his fingers fidgeting with the knot on his tie, I might be upset.
As it is, I take it all in and push down the bubbling annoyance.
“I have to do this,” I remind him.
We haven’t discussed work all weekend. Perhaps both of us were putting it off until the last minute to avoid an argument.
Sated from the sex we had when he woke me up, his fingers inside me and his lips wrapped around one of my nipples, his erection hard against my thigh, it’s easy to not be too angry.
My body is still liquid.
“I know you do.” His eyes meet mine in the bathroom mirror.
I’m at the doorway behind him, already dressed to go to work. In wide-leg black trousers and simple blue short-sleeved cashmere sweater, I’m more casual than normal, but I don’t plan on being there long.
James huffs and unravels his tie.
I go to him, hating that it feels as if I don’t have the right to remind him he goes to work and sits twenty feet from Becky, but that he thinks he can be upset I’m going in to clear out my desk.
I let him know last night: I’ve given my notice, and while it may be unprofessional, I highly doubt it will be held against me if I ever use Liam for a reference.
But there’s no point in me returning to work for Liam for the next week or two. He’s had a week to prepare for my absence and he isn’t expecting me this morning, either.
It’s going to be awkward, but I have to do this.
“Let me help you,” I say, and shimmy my way in between James and the counter.
He looks down at me and exhales slowly. “I’m sorry.”
“I understand. I am, too.” My lips pull tight and he exhales again. We both know I mean it. We’ve both made mistakes.
My fingers tremble as James sets his hands on my hips and props me on the counter. I laugh softly and run the ends of his tie through his my fingers.
“I remember when I bought this tie for you,” I murmur, wrapping one end around the other. It’s steel blue silk, bought on a random shopping trip when I had a sudden urge to reenact Pretty Woman for James when he came from work.
