by R. C. Martin
I pull the chair against the wall close to his bedside and then sit with my legs curled against my chest as I hold his hand. He was pretty groggy when he first came out of the anesthesia, around three a.m. He didn’t even say anything, really, but I was relieved to see those baby blues of his. The look he gave me was enough for me to know that he really is going to be okay.
“Knock, knock.”
I smile even before I see Simone come into the room. It wasn’t until this morning that I remembered to call her. She forgave me, of course, knowing how I get when I’m panicked. She then promised that she’d drop by to pay dad a visit with me. I stand when she rounds the end of the bed, and she gives me a hug.
“How is he holding up?”
“His heart is beating,” I answer, holding her a little tighter as I say the words. Even thinking how things could have turned out differently—it makes me so thankful to be able to deliver that simple report.
“This is good news. Has he woken up?”
“I’m awake now,” he grumbles, his voice deep and raspy.
I gasp, letting go of Simone as I turn toward dad. Taking his hand once more, I hold his fingers tight and breathe, “Hi, daddy.”
“Baby girl,” he grunts, squeezing my fingers lightly. He then nods slightly, his focus now beyond me as he greets Simone. “Good to see you.”
I don’t look away from my old man, but I don’t have to in order to know Simone is smiling. I hear it in her voice when she says, “You stole my line.”
“How are you feeling, dad?”
He grunts again before he mutters, “Like someone sawed my damn chest in half.”
I frown as I ask, “Do you need me to call a nurse or a doctor? Do you need more pain meds? I can—”
“Relax, Lulu. Nothin’ I can’t handle.”
“Are you sure? I—”
“Nurse told me I should expect to feel sore. Don’t fret.”
Chuckling softly, Simone replies, “John, you know she’ll be on you like white on rice for the foreseeable future. Might as well get used to it.”
He grumbles, but I don’t miss the smirk he throws her way. Though, it disappears when his eyes settle on me again.
“Nurse also said I should consider myself someone special. Said I must be, seeing as I had an important guest who made sure I was getting the best care.”
My eyes widen at his statement, and I think back over last night and the earliest hours of the morning. Michael was incredible. He was attentive and, just like dad said, he made sure that dad was getting looked after to the best of the staff’s ability.
“You were with a man last night,” he says, interrupting my thoughts. “Can’t say I remember his face, but you weren’t alone when I opened my eyes. Who was he?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, somehow knowing that dad already knows who he was. Michael asked that the nurses be discreet, but they can’t have known that meant not telling their patient about his visitor, either. One would assume, given the fact that he stayed through the night, that John Foster and Michael Cavanaugh were well acquainted.
“Mike. That’s the name of your boyfriend, or whatever he is, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I whisper, my heartbeat accelerating as he continues to stare at me pointedly.
“Mike happen to be short for Michael?”
“Dad…”
“Am I missing something?” pipes in Simone. “You told me Mike was a professor.”
His eyes shift to Simone. I look over my shoulder, feeling slightly short of breath as I find her standing at the foot of the bed, watching my father and me.
“You know about Mike?” he asks gruffly.
Her gaze flicks from me to dad before she answers, “Only what Blaine has told me.”
“Did you know he was married?”
I gasp, whipping my head around to look at dad. I knew. I knew that when I told him, that he would be disappointed. I know his thoughts on marriage and cheating. I know. And yet, the disappointment I see in his eyes isn’t what I was expecting. It’s worse.
When Simone doesn’t answer him, he focuses his gaze on her. Narrowing his eyes, he purses his lips, as if he’s trying to keep himself from saying something unfiltered. A second later, he relaxes a bit and mutters, “You knew more than me—but she still lied to us both.”
“Daddy,” I whisper, squeezing his hand.
He ignores me, his focus still on Simone as he tells her, “Mike is short for Michael. Seems my daughter, here, has been havin’ an affair with our governor.”
All the air in my lungs rushes out as I sink down onto the edge of my chair.
“Dear God,” Simone whispers.
“I was going to tell you. I was going to tell you when—”
“I don’t want to hear it right now, Blaine.”
My vision grows blurry with my unshed tears as my gaze collides with his. “Daddy, let me explain,” I beg.
“We made a deal,” he grunts, squeezing my fingers in his.
“I know. I didn’t break it. I swear to you, I didn’t—”
“We’ll talk about it later.”
“But dad—”
“Blaine Luella, I mean it. I don’t want to hear it right now.”
I nod, deciding it’s better if I don’t speak at all. Bowing my head, I try to get control of myself, willing my tears to stop. It takes me a minute; but when I remember that we’re in a hospital, that my dad just had major heart surgery, and that it’s completely fair that he doesn’t want to discuss something so heavy as my affair with a married politician, I put my selfishness aside and get myself together.
I draw in a deep breath, wiping away the last of my tears before I ask him, “Do you need anything, dad?”
“Bucket of KFC would be nice.”
My breath hitches in my throat as my eyes snap up to meet his. “That’s not funny.”
Smirking, he mumbles, “It was a little funny.”
A small smile breaks across my face, not because it’s funny but because I know his attempt at a bad joke is his way of telling me that even if he’s disappointed, he still loves me enough to bug me.
My smile starts to slip when I get teary again. Only this time, it’s for completely different selfish reasons.
“I’m really glad you’re okay. You scared the shit out of me.”
“Can’t get rid of me that easily. We made a deal,” he grunts.
How’s your dad, angel?
He’s doing okay. They moved him from the ICU and took out his chest tubes. Doctor says he’s recovering well and should be able to go home in three or four days.
Good.
Veronica knows. I’ll call you when I can.
Okay. Are you all right? I love you…
And I you.
I REACH FOR my phone as I head for the door, stopping before I exit to check my messages. I find nothing new, which isn’t surprising. I’ve been glued to my phone pretty much every moment of every day—except when I’m in the shower—and it’s nearly impossible that I’ve missed anything. Still, I check to make sure anyway. Reading over my short exchange with Michael from Saturday, it takes a great deal of self restraint not to call him or text him right now. I haven’t heard from him in three days. Not a word. I’ve been sleeping like shit, bouncing from work, to home, and to the hospital. Between worrying over my dad and wondering about Michael, I’m exhausted.
Reluctantly sliding my phone back into my pocket, I reach for the duffle bag I sat by the door a few minutes ago and strap it over my shoulder. With dad coming home from the hospital today, I plan on spending my nights in my old room. I know that he’ll hate having me all over his ass every minute I can spare, but he’ll have to get over it. At least for a couple of weeks. Besides, he needs me. He can’t drive anywhere for the next month, and he needs to make sure he’s eating the right foods. I’ll be sticking close whether he likes it or not.
Glancing back into my apartment, I look up to the loft and think of Michael. He hasn’t come for
any early morning visits since before our weekend in Vail. Obviously, he won’t be able to sneak into my bed while I’m at dad’s, but with the silence that stretches between us, I have no idea what to expect moving forward. If his wife knows, then I imagine he can come and go as he pleases—except, he hasn’t come at all.
Not wishing to read into what that means, I remind myself that we love each other and that I shouldn’t worry. Right now, I’ve got enough on my plate with dad—which is exactly why I finally open the door and step into the hallway, locking up behind me.
“Are you all right? Do you need anything?” I ask dad as I grab his empty plate. “The leftovers are in the fridge if you get hungry later. I didn’t have much to work with, so what you’ve got will only last one more meal. If you’re feeling all right, I was going to run to the grocery store before I had to leave for work. I can buy a few things and do some meal prepping for you on Friday. I have the day off. And I—”
“Lulu, sit down.”
“Dad, if I’m going to—”
“Sit your ass down, dammit,” he grumbles.
I stifle a sigh as I set his plate down on the coffee table and sit on the couch. When he doesn’t say anything right away, I stare at him impatiently and remind him, “Dad, I only have an hour and a half before I have to go to work. If you’re going to eat, I need—”
“You’re going to run yourself ragged if you don’t stop. You been gettin’ any sleep at all? You’re startin’ to look pale, Lulu, and I don’t like it.”
His observation makes me feel self-conscious. I look down to my lap as I rake my fingers through my hair, tossing it to one side. “I’m fine, dad. Honest.”
“Well, the store can wait, I won’t starve, and that dish won’t rot if you leave it be for a minute.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as I lift my gaze to meet his once more. “It’s fine. Really. I don’t mind looking after you.”
“Know you don’t,” he grunts. “I mind seein’ you work yourself into the ground. I appreciate what you’re doin’ here, baby girl, but I can see you’re tired.”
“It’ll pass. I’ve got a lot on my mind, is all.”
“Can see that, too. Know it’s not me making those eyes sad.”
“Dad…” I don’t know what else to say, so I don’t say anything.
“You told me it was complicated. That was a fuckin’ understatement.”
I shrink back into the couch, cognizant of the fact that dad’s apparently ready to talk to me about Michael. Though, I feel more like I’m about to get scolded like a child.
“You broke your promise.”
“I didn’t,” I insist lamely.
“No less than you deserve, Blaine—no less than you deserve. You are worth far more than what that man can give you.”
“No, dad, you don’t understand—”
“I understand he’s a married man. I understand that whatever you two might have, you can’t be more than his dirty little secret.”
“Dad!” I cry, my spine straightening as my eyes begin to burn with tears.
“He’s a goddamn politician, Blaine. He’s a public figure with a ring on his finger, which means he keeps you in the dark. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re wrong,” I mutter without hesitation.
“Yeah? He take you out on dates? He hold your hand in public? Huh? Answer me, baby girl.”
I swallow hard, trying to stay in control of my emotions. It doesn’t stop the tears in my eyes from spilling over my cheeks.
“I love him,” I whisper.
“That doesn’t make it right, Lulu. I see you. I see you checking your phone every five minutes. Know what that says to me? You aren’t his number one priority.”
“Stop it,” I beg, my tears coming faster now. “It’s not that simple.”
“Don’t you get it? That’s what I’m sayin’, Lulu. It should be that simple. It’s complicated because he’s married—because you don’t have a claim over him. He’s got you hangin’ on, waitin’ for his scraps, and I’ve got to sit here listenin’ to you tell me you aren’t breaking your promise? No, baby girl, I won’t stand for it. You deserve a hell of a lot better than what I’m seein’.”
“He’s leaving her. For me—he’s leaving her for me.”
I see it as the fight leaves my dad’s face, pity taking its place. My heart aches as he shakes his head at me. His pity hurts so much more than his disappointment.
“He loves me, daddy,” I declare, my voice thick and shaky with my rising sob. “He loves me.”
“Then where is he, baby girl?”
I close my eyes and shake my head. I won’t allow my dad’s doubt to take root. He doesn’t know Michael. He doesn’t understand what we have. I do. I know that Michael is my forever. I know that won’t change.
He loves me.
He loves me.
He loves me.
Needing to be finished with this conversation, I stand abruptly, sweeping my fingertips across my face to dry my tears. I then grab dad’s plate and start for the kitchen.
“Lulu!”
I stop suddenly, turning to face my father. Before he can say another word, I tell him, “I’m going to spend the rest of my life with him. You’ll see. You’ll see, daddy—you’ll see that you were wrong; that I’m not going back on our deal; that he loves me and I love him and it doesn’t matter how it happened, only that it did. I found him. I found the man I’ll love as much as mom loved you. You’ll see.” Turning away from him once more, I call back over my shoulder, “I’m going to the store. I’ll be back before I have to leave for work.”
I hurry into the kitchen, discarding his dish in the sink. Needing just one more second to gather myself, I pause and take a few deep breaths. When I’m sure I can leave the house without bursting into tears, I find my purse and my keys, and I walk out the door.
Michael
I STARE UNSEEINGLY into the darkness, sleep evading me. I’ve been staying in one of the guest rooms since the night I told Veronica about Blaine—but it’s not the unfamiliar bed that has me feeling so restless. As exhausted as I am, I can’t stop my mind from reeling. Over the last several days, when I’m not fighting with Veronica, I’m listening to angry voicemails from my sister, fielding texts from my brother, or avoiding calls from my mother. Work has become more than an escape. It’s an oasis—my responsibilities my greatest distractions. Though, try as I might, I can’t hide there forever. Even in the darkness, when I’m all alone, I can’t ignore the mess I’ve made—the heartbreak I’ve caused—the chaos I’ve unleashed.
Even in the darkness, God is here.
He sees me.
He knows me.
He forgives me.
But He also convicts me.
He’s never been so far away that I didn’t question the morality of what I was doing with Blaine. Except here, in the aftermath, it’s not about morality. It’s about love. It’s about the meaning behind the word. It’s about His love for me. Knowing that God loves me anyway, it crushes me—it breaks me to know that I, a man so undeserving, am a recipient of such grace.
In the quiet, in the stillness of night—I see. I see not just the hurt that I’ve caused the woman who is my wife, but also the way in which I’ve broken my family. I see the ways in which I’ve compromised my own character and my beliefs. I see that I got lost in the lies and forgot that there is grace and honor in truth. Had I been honest from the beginning, maybe none of this would hurt so much. Maybe I wouldn’t be that guy who lied to his wife and hid the other woman—the woman who deserves so much more than I’ve ever given her.
I don’t deserve Blaine. Not like this.
Not like this.
I’m unaware that I’m not alone until I feel the bed sink beside me. When I see the dim outline of Veronica’s form at my side, I push myself up onto my elbows. I don’t speak. It’s a lesson I’ve learned in the last couple of days. It’s better to let her lead the conversation.
“Blaine
,” she says, her voice so low I can hardly hear it. “That’s her name, right?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a picture of her?”
I frown, even though she can’t see me do it, and reply, “Veronica, I don’t—”
As if she can sense that I’m about to deny her, she interrupts and asks, “How old is she?”
Drawing in a deep breath, I stall. To be honest, I’m surprised these questions didn’t come a lot sooner. Nevertheless, I still don’t feel comfortable answering them. It’s not that I’m ashamed of who Blaine is. Rather, I don’t believe her details should be exploited in a conversation like this.
“How old is she?” she repeats, her voice a little louder.
“She’ll be twenty-five in a few months.”
I hear it as she draws in a shaky breath, blowing it out slowly. She does this twice more, causing me to sit up completely.
“Veronica…”
“When did I become—too old? When did I become not good enough?”
“It was never a competition, Vee. It was never as meaningless as all of that. It just happened—it just…happened.”
“I still love you,” she cries.
“Hey,” I murmur, cautiously reaching for her. When my hand finds hers, resting next to my leg, I wrap my fingers around it. She doesn’t pull away, so I don’t hesitate to tell her, “I know my words don’t carry much weight anymore, but a part of me will always care for you. Always. I want you to be happy. I do. I mean that. I just—I can’t be that guy for you. Too much has happened. Too much has changed. I’m sorry. I truly am.”
“You broke my heart,” she chokes out, slipping her hand out of mine.
I curl my fingers into a fist, a wave of guilt and remorse crashing over me. One would think I’d be used to it by now, but I’m not. Not by a long shot.
She stands and makes her way across the room. I barely see the silhouette of her body in the doorway as she informs me, “I’m going to California. Abbie and Tamara—they’ll be by to help pack my things.” She hiccups, and I know she’s restraining a sob as she says, “I won’t go to the papers. I’ve been humiliated enough. I don’t need to be dragged through the mud anymore.”
