Portia Moore - He Lived Next Door

by Unknown

  “What about you and Kira? I caught you together!” I yell, my anger overcoming my guilt.

  His head snaps up, and he looks at me as if I’ve grown three heads. “I wasn’t on a date! God, you’ve had your head so far up your own ass the past few months!”

  I’m so taken aback, I’m speechless at first. He’s never talked to me like that. “Why didn’t you say that then?”

  “You didn’t give me a chance to say anything! You stormed in there like one of those women on the stupid housewives show you watch and embarrassed me! You know me better than that. I’d never cheat on you, and if I was, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to bring someone to our favorite restaurant. You know what? It doesn’t even matter,” he says, shaking his head before turning his back to me and walking away.

  “Bryce! I didn’t have sex with him, I promise you!” I shout as I walk after him. We’re causing such a scene, but I don’t care.

  He stops and turns to me. “What did you do then?” His eyes are full of pain and disappointment.

  My stomach drops. I can’t look at him. No, I didn’t sleep with Davien, but we came pretty close. Even though it didn’t happen, a line was crossed that shouldn’t have been. Me being here is completely wrong. It’s stupid, disrespectful, and inappropriate, and I have no excuse.

  “Yeah, I figured that,” he spits, his words like fire on my skin. “Go be with your dad. That’s who needs you… because I sure as hell don’t.”

  He turns and disappears into the crowd. This time I don’t follow him. I’m on one of the busiest streets in New York, and I’m too devastated to be embarrassed. I ignore the puzzled looks of passersby, some concerned and others amused, but no one approaches me. I just want to stop crying, but I can’t.

  “I hate you!” I shout.

  I’m sure most people think I’m shouting at Bryce, but I’m shouting at God. I know now he exists, because there has to be someone pulling the strings to make my life this shitty.

  I don’t remember walking through the airport. I have no idea how I made it through security and check-in. It’s all a blur.

  Yesterday was supposed to be my escape from the reality that was drowning me. Instead I dove headfirst into it and drowned. Life is so funny. Because if you had asked me three days ago if I was still in love with Bryce, I would have said yes, even with everything that was going on. But if you asked me if could I live without him, if I wanted to, I wouldn’t have had an answer. The moment he walked away from me on one of the busiest streets in New York, I knew I couldn’t. The thought of not having him in my life began to strangle me. The space between us that I thought couldn’t get any bigger went from a hole to a chasm. I feel lost, hopeless, and about to face one of the most emotionally devastating things of my life without my husband.

  I pull out my phone. While waiting for the plane to take off, I go through the missed calls and messages. They’re from my stepmom, mom, Nicole, and Kelsey, all trying to track me down. Nicole’s message went something like, “Bryce really needs to talk to you and begged me to tell him where you were. Please call me. I’m about to cave and tell him.”

  My mother, of course, was frantic over not knowing where I was and wanting to give me the news herself. Kelsey was concerned even though I haven’t answered her last few calls or emails. I think about how different things would have gone if I had called one of them back.

  I’ve ruined everything.

  I think about all of the bizarre things that have happened over the past few days and wonder if it was my brain’s way of trying to tell me, I was about to make one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

  I never thought I could hate her. After everything that’s happened between us, I never thought it’d be possible to hate her, and it still isn’t.

  I hate myself for still loving her.

  After that talk with my brother, I went home, back to our home.

  I was determined to have it out with her, because we hadn’t and I wanted to get it over with so that we could fix things. If we had to break each other to start over, it’d be worth it as long as it saved us.

  When I got to the apartment and saw that she was gone, I didn’t know what to think. Then I checked her Facebook page and saw that she was in New York and I had no clue why. I couldn’t believe she hadn’t told me, but we’d both been crappy to each other, so I figured she was with Nicole, who travels a lot, but she wasn’t. I should have known something was wrong when I had to pry her exact whereabouts from Nicole as if I were a dentist. I was going to wait for her to get back, but then Annette called and told me what was happening with Richard. I knew I had to be the one to tell her. I had to be with her.

  I put in for leave from work and set us up an appointment with a marriage counselor who also specialized in grief counseling. I told myself we were going to get the help we needed even if I had to kidnap her to get her there.

  After sitting in our apartment, waiting for her for hours, I got it. I realized that the loss of our child was strangling her. She’d pushed me away because of her pain, it was always at the forefront of her thoughts. Deep down I knew it, but somewhere along the way, I’d stopped fighting for her and started fighting against her.

  Today was supposed to change all of that.

  Today, I was going to tell her I don’t care if she was giving up on us because I wasn’t and I’d do whatever it took to prove to her that our love was strong enough to get us through this. That I loved her permanently, not temporarily or conditionally.

  That was my plan until I saw her with that douchebag.

  They looked at each other like some awkward one-night stand. I never thought she’d cheat on me, even with her pushing me away. As distant as she had been, I’d never thought it was another man.

  I still don’t want to believe it. I don’t know what I was reading between them. I want more than anything to be wrong. I want him to just be a smug asshole. I wanted her to tell me nothing happened, but she couldn’t. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I know whatever it was, it went too far and it took everything in me not to kill them.

  I’m a fool. All this time, she could have been screwing around on me with that clown. She kicked me out of my house for some knock-off Christian Bale.

  “Drowning your sorrows?”

  It’s Kira behind me. I’m not really surprised. I called Jax and told him what happened. I wasn’t sure how coherent I was while spewing off obscenities, but I guess he figured out enough to realize I’d be either in jail or at the bar of my hotel.

  She takes the barstool next to me. I’m on my second glass of whiskey but signal for my third.

  “I can just sit here if you don’t want to talk,” she says softly.

  I let out a long breath through my nose, feeling like the biggest idiot in the world. All that I’ve worked on with Kira was to save my marriage to a wife who couldn’t care less. I’m embarrassed. I can’t even bring myself to tell her what’s happened.

  “I’d appreciate the not talking.”

  She nods. I don’t know how many minutes pass before she orders herself a drink, but I’ve finished my third one by the time she orders hers.

  “I know you said you didn’t want to talk.”

  I look at my empty glass and signal for another.

  “But did you show her yet?” she asks, and I realize she must wonder why I’m getting dead drunk alone in a hotel bar instead of with my wife. Maybe my message to Jax didn’t make sense, or maybe Jax didn’t want to tell her what’s going on.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore.” My tongue is starting to feel heavy and dry, but that doesn’t matter either.

  “What do you mean?”

  I wonder if she remembers our agreement about not talking.

  “Well, if you don’t want to talk, how about I do the talking?” She bites her bottom lip, and I nod. “I guess it makes it easier to say this to you since you’re pretty wasted and probably won’t remember this tomorrow.”

  I glance at her and realize she
looks nervous.

  “I-I think I’m developing feelings for you,” she blurts.

  I must be drunk, because she can’t have just said that to me. I turn toward her. Her big amber eyes lock on mine, and my heart twitches.

  “Silly, right? Not only because you’re married and Jax’s best friend but… I know how much you love your wife.” She’s balling up her napkin, and her cheeks are flushed. “But you just seem like you’re the only one making the effort in your situation. I’m not sure what happened for you to be with me and not with her tonight, but maybe it’s a sign.”

  I look at her, not knowing what to say.

  “I know this may be shocking to you, but I’ve always liked you. Even while I was with Jax, I was attracted to you and I hated myself for it. That’s why I was so mean to you.” She laughs half-heartedly.

  My eyes widen. I think I’m becoming more sober by the minute, because this is becoming way too much to hear.

  “Will you promise me not to remember this tomorrow?” She sighs with a nervous laugh.

  I let out a sigh, trying to play into my inebriated state. Then she puts her hand on mine and leans in. Her perfume hits me hard, as does her touch, and they mesh with the images I’ve made up in my head of Chassidy and that bastard.

  “If you need someone to talk to, to lean on, I’m always here,” she says, squeezing my hand. Just how she breezed in, she gets up and disappears, leaving behind a twenty dollar bill for her drink.

  I’m thinking about how much more crazy this night can get when my phone rings. It’s Chassidy’s mom, and I refuse to deal with her craziness tonight. I hit Ignore, then turn off my phone.

  Someone’s sitting next to me, right next to me. I hate when people do that. There’re a dozen free stools and they chose to sit next to me. I glance at the stranger, but my glance morphs into a full-blown stare.

  “She’s beautiful,” says the gorgeous brunette—sexy would probably be a better word.

  She looks straight out of a 1950s pin-up magazine, with coal-black hair falling in waves against her perfect tanned skin. She has big pale blue eyes and red lipstick across her heart-shaped lips. If I was sober, I could fight my eyes drifting down her body. She’s wearing a red dress that, even sitting down, shows each of her curves, and her neckline goes damn near down to her stomach. She must be used to making men speechless, because she only grins.

  I can’t help but wonder why a woman like this is talking to me. Don’t get me wrong, I know I can get women’s attention when I want, but this isn’t one of my best days and I reek of whiskey, and this woman is a certified ten.

  “Tough day?” she asks, her smile revealing perfect white teeth. Her voice is husky and seductive, as if designed by my thirteen-year-old self.

  “Worse.”

  She shifts toward me, giving a first-class view of a body created by Hugh Hefner. She crosses her legs and leans toward me, her perfume slipping into my vicinity. “Is that your girlfriend?” Her husky voice is a little more airy and sweet than it was before.

  “No,” I say a little too quickly, and she giggles.

  “Where is she then?” she asks.

  “Who?”

  “Your girlfriend… wife… boyfriend?” she teases as her eyes drift over me.

  “Wife.”

  “Too bad,” she says with a light sigh.

  I swallow hard and make myself look forward and read the labels on all of the liquor bottles. A new bartender replaces the tall older guy one who was here before. This one is young, probably a few years older than me. I think he’s going to distract my beautiful companion, but I notice that instead of flashing her his most encouraging grin, his expression is hard and almost contemptuous. When I glance at her, she’s mimicking him. A coldness passes between them.

  I wonder how any man could look at a woman like her with anything but awe.

  “Refill?” he asks me, his gaze warming, and I realize maybe he’s more into dudes.

  “Yeah,” I tell him.

  “And for you?” he asks. His voice almost sounds bitter when he looks at the woman next to me.

  “The usual,” she says snippily.

  He lingers a few seconds before going to get our drinks. A few moments later, he returns with both.

  “I’m paying for his,” she says casually.

  I turn toward her, surprised, and she winks at me.

  “No, you don’t have to do that,” I say quickly.

  “I insist.” She takes out a fifty dollar bill and slides it over to the bartender, who’s still scowling at her.

  He takes it almost begrudgingly before going to the other end of the bar to serve other customers who have arrived.

  “I wonder what his problem is,” I mutter.

  “He has a permanent stick lodged up his butt,” she says with a smirk, and I can’t help but grin. “So who stole your money?”

  I look at her, confused.

  “There’re only two reasons a man who looks like you sits at a bar like this drinking as much as you are. Either someone broke your heart or stole your money, but since any woman would be insane to do that, I went for the more obvious conclusion.”

  “Neither.”

  She chuckles, arching perfect brow at me. “I’m wrong on both?”

  I take another gulp of my drink, but it’s way weaker than the one before it. “Surprising to you?”

  “Yes, actually. It’s very rare that I’m wrong.” Her tongue glides seductively over her bright white teeth.

  “What’s your name?”

  “You can call me Lucy,” she tells me with a smile. I look at her curiously, my brow arched.

  “Lucy? That’s sort of an old name,” I tell her amused and she shoots me a magnificent grin.

  Lucy gets me through my night, a night that I thought would be the beginning of my destruction. She’s a fantastic distraction. Talking to her is easy, and it turns out not only is she beautiful, she’s intelligent and funny. She’s twenty-six years old, a marketing executive for some high-end boutique in New York, and speaks Russian, Italian, and French. She knows more than most guys about hockey and football, and her life is interesting enough to consume the entire conversation, but she doesn’t. If she hadn’t told me that she was a marketing exec, I would have sworn she was a psychiatrist, because she’s gotten me to talk so much it’s almost scary. She listens too, really listens and never interrupts, and when I’m finished telling her about what happened tonight, I wait for her to give me some words of wisdom because it seems like she has everything figured out.

  “I think resentment is what kills most relationships,” she says.

  I look at her, waiting for her to elaborate.

  “People talk about forgiveness all the time, right?” she asks, tossing her long dark hair over her shoulder. “But forgiveness isn’t the answer. It isn’t even a real thing. ‘Forgive others and feel at peace.’” She lets out a half of a laugh and rolls her eyes. “No one wants to forgive anyone else, and the person you forgive never really believes it anyway.” She takes the last sip of her gin and tonic.

  I look at her, baffled. before finishing the last of my own watered down mess. “Wow, that’s pretty grim.”

  “It’s not grim. It’s life,” she says lightly.

  I squint at her, trying to figure out this beautiful, jaded girl.

  “Let’s say that your wife did cheat on you with this hot agent guy,” she says.

  I feel a flash of anger from just her statement, and I frown because I definitely didn’t refer to him as “hot.”

  “Hypothetically,” she says, using air quotes. “If she did or didn’t, you believe that something did happen between them, so let’s say they did. Could you ‘forgive’ her?”

  I think about it. I don’t want to give her a quick answer because in this small amount of time, I feel like we’ve both been honest and thoughtful.

  I see Chassidy’s face, her smile. I remember her laugh, our first date, the first time I made love to her, our weddi
ng day, how she always let me pick the TV show, how she curled her body around me when we slept. How when I have bad days, she says she loves me at the perfect time… or she used to at least.

  If it did happen and it only happened one time, would that be worth throwing all of it away? Could I give her up over a mistake and live without her?

  “I think I could forgive her. That’s what love is about, right?”

  “No. You think you could, but what would really happen is you’d push the thoughts to the back of your mind, the deepest, darkest place. And it would stay there for a while. But eventually, it will inch its way back to the forefront, making its way up through the cracks of trivial arguments and wrapping itself around the irritating, annoying things she does that she can’t help.”

  I swallow hard, feeling a sense of dread creeping over me.

  Lucy leans closer to me. “You’ll resent her, and it will grow and grow until one day you’ll hate her. She’ll never believe you really forgave her. Guilt would push you guys apart as if you had left her in the first place.”

  Silence passes between us, and my stomach feels sick. Her words sit heavier on me than anything I’ve ever felt.

  “So you’re saying there’s no hope?” I ask, my throat dry, my thoughts dark and consuming.

  “No, I’m just saying forgiveness is a myth.”

  My head drops forward, and I rake my hands through my hair. I feel her closer, her breath on my cheek, near my ear. I turn toward her, and her ethereal blue eyes lock on mine, pulling me in, almost hypnotizing my soul.

  “Don’t despair, Bryce, there’s an answer,” she says lightly, cupping my chin. “Revenge.”

  It’s a whisper that echoes. She leans in until we’re only inches apart. Her perfume lingers around us, putting up a wall between us and everyone else.

  “It’s the simplest answer. It’s what will save your marriage if that’s what you want.”

  “I don’t see how that would save my marriage,” I say, dumbfounded. My thoughts feel slow and sticky, stuck in molasses. I know I’ve had a few drinks and my brain cells aren’t functioning as they should be, but I don’t understand her at all.