“I was giving you space,” he finally says.
“Well, you most certainly gave me enough of it,” I snarl, pointing to the apartment around us to emphasize exactly how much space he’s given me. The fact that I’m in this rented apartment and not in our house clues him in.
“We were in a bad place, Mia. We lost…” he begins to say, but his throat seems to close up, and his entire body tenses.
It takes him a second to find his composure, and my heart thumps a little faster at the emotion I see in his eyes. He heavily swallows, and I can’t stop my eyes from dropping to his Adam’s apple, watching the way it bobs against his neck. I’ve always had a thing for his neck.
“We lost our baby, and we both became different people because of it. It wrecked us, Mia. And, when you walked out on me, I didn’t know what to do. I was lost, drinking my way into oblivion. When I spoke to Jo, she said the best thing to do was give you space, so I did.”
All the empathy I was just feeling flees from my body in an instant. I get angry. Real fucking angry. “So, is Jo the expert on relationships now? Including what you should have been giving me at the worst possible time in my life?” I yell, throwing the croissant back in the box, my appetite completely lost now.
This sends his anger flaring. “Hey, don’t talk about Jo like that. She’s been dealing with a lot with Drew’s recovery after the accident, yet she’s still been there for both of us through all of this.”
My anger dissipates, and I regretfully lower my head, my eyes staring down at the countertop. “I know she has. That wasn’t fair.” I take a deep breath before slowly exhaling, my gaze rising to meet his. “I’m just…I’m pissed off she gave you my address without asking me first.”
He shakes his head, leaning his elbows on the counter, inching forward. “She didn’t. I tried, but she wouldn’t budge. I got it off your mom instead.”
Son of a bitch. I knew she liked him more than me.
I can’t keep in the disbelieving laugh that leaves my lips. “God, I hate my mom sometimes.”
“No, you don’t,” he says knowingly, smiling.
He’s right; I don’t. I kind of despise that he knows that, but at the same time, it warms my heart that he does. The room grows quiet. It fills me with an awkwardness I’m not familiar with, and I don’t like it.
So, to defuse said awkwardness, I say, “Why didn’t you bring Harley?”
“I brought him with me on my run, but he was whining ten minutes into it, so I took him back home. He can’t bear the heat,” he says, as if I don’t know that, and it riles me further.
“Yes, I know he can’t stand the heat. He’s my dog, too,” I snap before spinning on my feet.
I grab a glass from the cupboard and angrily force the cupboard door shut with the fury burning full force through my veins. I stomp over to the sink and fill my glass with water. As I’m taking healthy chugs of water, I stiffen mid swallow as I feel him approach me from behind, and a flash from last night has me stealthily moving away from him.
I slam my glass down on the counter and stare him down. “You know what? I can’t do this! You wanted to apologize for bombarding me last night, yet here you are, doing it again. I need you to leave,” I demand.
He winces, as if in pain. He tries to reach out to me, but I step out of his way.
“No, Tyler, don’t touch me. I can’t deal with you right now.”
“I’m sorry for bombarding you last night and again now, but we need to talk. You’re my wife, and we need to fix our marriage.”
His words hold the passion of a desperate husband trying to make amends with his wife, but like I told him last night, I don’t think there is a way to fix us. Too much silence has passed. Too many wasted moments. I look into his green eyes, eyes that drew me to him from the very instant I set my sights on him, but I have to turn away when his eyes bore into mine, almost like he can see into the very soul of me. It unnerves me. I need a minute to think because, right now, he’s stifling me.
“Please, just leave. I need to think. This is too much.”
His shoulders fall, and he looks reluctant, almost like he doesn’t want to leave my side. He finally accepts my request with a nod of the head.
“Okay, I’ll leave, but we do need to talk.”
“I know but not today.”
I expect him to turn and leave, but he stalls.
“Let’s have dinner tomorrow night.”
“Tyler, I—” I begin to say.
He cuts me off, “Just to talk, I promise. I can make you your favorite, and plus, you can see Harley.”
I instantly melt at the mention of Harley.
“He really misses you.”
I almost hear, I miss you, too, and it guts me.
Fuck my life.
“Okay.”
Only because I want to see Harley, I tell myself.
Tyler instantly brightens at my answer. “Great. You want to come by, say, around six p.m.?”
No. Not particularly.
“Sure,” I say, gritting my teeth.
The smile Tyler throws my way is as if someone had told him he won the jackpot, not cooking dinner for his wife—possibly ex-wife-to-be.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” And, with that, he finally walks away.
It’s not until I hear the door close that I slide to my butt, and a whoosh of air leaves my lungs along with a sob-filled cry.
I can do this.
I can do this.
I can do this.
I chant the same mantra over in my head as I walk down the path and step up the porch stairs. It’s the same mantra I’ve been chanting all day—from the minute I woke up until now. It’s taken every effort for me to come tonight. I almost called a million times to cancel.
When I finally succumbed to the fact that tonight needed to happen, I couldn’t find a single thing to wear. After trying on twelve outfits, I still wasn’t happy. I thought, Fuck it, and went with the most basic outfit I owned. Boyfriend jeans, Daddy’s Lil Monster T-shirt, and red Chucks. It’s not like I need to impress him. It is only dinner after all.
However, once my foot hits the top step, I have immediate second thoughts.
Nope.
I can’t do this.
I turn, rushing down the stairs, and when I begin to walk away, the sound of the front door opening halts me in my spot. I slam my eyes shut.
Shit.
“Mia?”
I have the protest on the edge of my lips, an excuse poised at the ready, but the minute I turn around, I’m greeted with Harley bounding toward me, and he almost knocks me on my ass as he pounces on me, licking me to death.
I giggle at the unconditional love that bounces from Harley, and I wrap my arms around his furry body, enthusiastically stroking him.
“Hi, buddy,” I say through laughter. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Harley responds the only way he knows how—with dog kisses. Once my face is covered in slobber and every inch of me is covered in Harley’s black fur, Tyler’s command doesn’t come soon enough.
“Harley, down.”
Harley listens, and he gets off me.
After another command of, “Harley, come,” and then, “Sit,” Harley sits quietly beside Tyler.
I finally look at Tyler, and just seeing his handsome face almost sends me running, but I force myself against my fight-or-flight mode and take a step forward.
“Hey, come on in. Dinner’s almost ready.”
All I can do is give out a forced smile as I walk past him and into our home.
Our home.
It feels strange, calling it that, especially since I haven’t lived here for the past two months.
He follows behind with Harley trotting beside him, and for a split second, it feels like nothing has changed. That we’re still happily married and I’m simply arriving home after a long day at work. Although when I hear the door shut behind us, I’m quickly brought back to the present, and I come to the realization that we
’re not happily married but separated, and we have been for some time now.
I stand awkwardly in the foyer, remembering the last time I was here and how, instead of walking through the door to enter, I was leaving with a suitcase in tow.
For good.
A lump clogs my throat, emotion choking me, and I struggle to take my next breath. I wrestle with my inner demons, desperately not wanting to be here.
“Hey, are you okay?” Tyler asks when he sees I’m waging some kind of war from within.
“Um…” Shit. I’m gonna need a drink to get me through tonight after I thought I could get through it stone-cold sober. Yeah, I don’t think so. “Do you have any wine?”
His eyes crinkle with humor. “I’ve got a bottle with your name on it.”
“Good,” I say.
I zone my attention in on the kitchen and immediately charge inside, going straight to the cupboard where I know the wine glasses are stored.
Thirty seconds later, I have a cold glass of chardonnay in hand. I’m eagerly chugging it down like I’m eighteen again and at some college party where the cheap-ass beer can only be thrown back in one gulp because it’s that disgusting.
Tyler chuckles as he unscrews the top of his beer. “Whoa, you might want to slow down.”
The stare I throw at him as I’m finishing my last drop—a look that says, Don’t tell me what to do—silences him in an instant, and I pour myself another glass without any criticism.
While he turns toward the stove, I perch myself on a seat at the breakfast bar and look anywhere but in Tyler’s direction. Silence grows thick between us, and after a short while of gazing at the top of the range kitchen that used to be mine—ours—I turn my attention to my wine.
He speaks a short while later, “I’ve made your favorite—fettuccine Alfredo. I’m just waiting on the breadsticks. Shouldn’t be too long.”
I simply nod while focusing intently on the golden wine in my hand, watching how it swirls around inside the glass at the impact of my hand moving the glass in a circular motion.
I’m so fixated on the glass that I don’t see Tyler move to stand beside me until he breathes out a nervous laugh.
“Can you ever remember a time when things were this awkward between us?”
Yes, I can remember. It’s the whole reason it’s so fucking awkward right now.
“Yes, when you spent months ignoring me after I lost our child,” I say in a sugary-sweet voice.
But the impact of the actual words speaks volumes, and Tyler pales.
“Mia…” he croaks out, emotion clogging his throat.
“You wanted me to come round, so we could talk. So, let’s talk,” I snap, pointing my wine glass in his direction in an almost accusing manner.
He tilts his head to the side and reaches for my hand. The feel of his heat against my fingers and the tingles that follow have me trying to force his hand away from mine, but he tightens his grip, a mixture of pure love and determination set in those green eyes of his.
“I know you’re mad. You have every right to be, but let’s eat dinner before we start to rehash things. I know you’re a dragon when you’re hungry, so let’s feed you before I get hurt, okay?”
He tries to hide his smirk, but the crinkle of his eyes and purse of his lips give him away, and I shake my head with humor.
“Okay, fine,” I say like a petulant teenager, smiling. “Feed the dragon. She is pretty hungry.”
“I’ll get right on that then.” He smiles.
With the way he looks at me, like I’m the air he breathes, and the way his eyes drift down to my lips, I’m positive that he’s going to kiss me. My heart goes into overdrive at the thought of his lips on mine, and I don’t know whether I want to slap him or attack him with my mouth.
But then he gently pulls away and returns to his culinary duties.
Ten minutes later, dinner is served, and we’re sitting in the dining room that overlooks the living room. We begin to eat in silence. Things are still awkward, but I’m a little bit more at ease now, especially since I’m filling my face with amazing food.
“Good?” Tyler asks as he breaks a breadstick in half before taking a bite.
I give out a nod, swallowing my pasta before speaking, “Yeah, it’s great.”
“So, how’s work?” he asks a short while later.
I glance at him, wondering if we’re really going to start talking about mundane things, such as work, when our relationship hangs in the balance.
He must see the unasked question because he gives me a grin that says, Humor me.
“Work’s good. I’m finally getting back into the swing of things after being off for a little while.”
At hearing that, he looks at me with a mixture of intrigue and surprise, and when I think he’s going to question it, he simply nods, like he already understands why I took two months’ sick leave. He doesn’t understand though; he couldn’t possibly understand the depression I endured by not only losing my child, but also my husband, all at the same time. I don’t say that though.
Instead, I say, “My clients couldn’t wait to see me. Apparently, they don’t like any of the other interior designers. So, as you can imagine, as soon as I stepped foot back into my office, I was inundated with houses that needed a makeover.”
He smiles at that while he twirls some fettuccine on his fork. “You are good at your job. I mean, just look at this place,” he says, pointing around our surroundings while taking a bite of his food. “It would have looked like a bachelor pad if I’d had anything to do with it.”
I can’t help the smile I feel lifting my lips, but it quickly vanishes seconds later as a hint of nostalgia hits me. I’m taken back to a time when this house was a bomb site while we were in the middle of renovating it. I’m reminded of Chinese and pizza takeouts that we ate in the same house we’re sitting in now, but instead of a dining table or any piece of furniture, we sat on a blanket on the hardwood floor. I’m reminded of sleeping in the living room in front of the crackling fire with only a mattress for a bed. I’m reminded of waking up in the morning with the fire completely out and the only warmth coming from my husband. And, before we knew it, that comforting heat would turn scorching hot as he staked claim on me, taking me any way he could.
With his hands. Lips. Tongue.
Cock.
I have to shake the feelings those memories elicited from my head. I’m not in the right frame of mind to deal with the unexpected rush of lust that pulses through my body or the heavy weight I feel in the center of my chest, forcing my already fragile heart to crack that little bit more.
I feel Tyler’s stare on me, but I avert my gaze by focusing on the food in front of me even though the last thing I want to do is shovel this pasta in my mouth. I’ve completely lost my appetite.
Heartache can do that to you.
The atmosphere turns awkward again, so I force tiny bites of fettuccine down my throat, inwardly counting down the minutes until I can get the worst part of tonight out of the way so that I can finally go home where I will no doubt cry myself to sleep.
I frown when I hear rumbles of laughter coming from Tyler.
“What?” I question, confused.
He shakes his head in disbelief, quieting his snickers. “While we’re on the topic of work, do you remember that woman who works in my Accounts department?” When he gets a blank face from me, he elaborates, “She wore that ridiculous Santa outfit at the last Christmas party.”
I squint my eyes, even more confused. Nope, I haven’t got a clue.
“She had a beard, for Christ’s sake, and it wasn’t a Santa one…”
It suddenly clicks. “Oh, she looks like Miss Trunchbull from Matilda?”
“Yes!” he exclaims with a shit-eating grin. “Anyway, she went on some sabbatical for three months. When she returned to work, she’d lost, like, forty pounds and had a boob job, and miraculously, the beard was gone. Not even a hint of stubble.”
“Really?” I gri
n.
He nods. “And that’s not all. Last week, we found out that she’s been having an affair with the CEO—our married CEO. Apparently, one look at the new, improved Miss Trunchbull, and he couldn’t keep it in his pants,” he finishes with a deep chuckle.
My eyes almost come out of their sockets, and as much as I don’t want to give Tyler the time of day, I can’t help the laugh that springs from my lips.
“Are you serious?”
“I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried,” he says before taking another bite of food.
I shake my head, disbelieving, giggling. It’s not a carefree giggle, but his story has definitely helped defuse the stifling atmosphere, and we’re able to finish our meal with a little more ease.
However, that doesn’t mean it will make the much-needed conversation we need to have any less difficult, and it most certainly doesn’t clarify the huge question mark over our marriage. It’s going to take a lot more than a few of my giggles for him to earn my trust again—if he can ever earn my trust again, that is.
Tyler
God, I love my wife.
Since she arrived tonight, she might have kept purposely avoiding me and giving me the stink eye whenever I said something she didn’t like—which was consequently every time I opened my mouth—but she looked fucking beautiful while doing it.
We’ve just finished our dinner, and even though she relaxed a little while eating, she’s now sitting ramrod straight in her seat, throwing back her wine, as if the world were seconds away from running out of chardonnay. The anxiety is coming out of her in waves, and I hate that she feels like that, especially when it comes to me. I used to be the only person she would run to, the one she’d clutch for safety, the man she’d whisper all her deepest and darkest secrets to. Now, it’s like she can’t wait to get away from me. Her trust in me has vanished, and I would do anything to regain it. I just need to prove to her that I’m the man she married and not that shell of a guy I turned into when our world collided with the loss of our baby.
Even though I’ve given her two months’ worth of space, I decide to give her a few extra minutes. “Why don’t you relax in the living room while I clean up?”
Till Forever Page 5
