by T. K. Leigh
“You’d tell us if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?”
“What’s wrong?” Charlotte presses.
“Nothing is wrong. I didn’t get to see you girls much during hockey season. I want to make up for that now. Unless you’d rather do homework this afternoon…”
“No!” they both reply simultaneously.
“Good. Then let’s have some fun.”
I hold my hands out for the girls to grab. Charlotte takes one immediately. Alyssa scrutinizes me for a moment. Then, instead of insisting she’s too old to hold my hand, she takes it. I don’t know if I should be happy or worried about this.
Chapter Six
Brooklyn
A sliver of light from the streetlamp shines across the hardwood floor in Wes’ master bedroom as I lay awake, sleep evading me, like it has every other night this week. Occasionally, a car drives by or a dog barks before silence resumes. Most people like the peacefulness of living in the suburbs. Not me. I prefer the sounds of the city. It reminds me that there are other people around, that I’m not alone in my troubles, that there are others with bigger problems than mine. I’ve never lived in a quiet neighborhood where the only sounds are chirping birds or the occasional breeze. I’m not sure I want to leave the city and live in a house in the middle of nowhere with Wes. Won’t he miss the city, too? Or is he willing to make that sacrifice because he thinks I want the perfect house, an enormous yard, and beautiful landscape?
As I stare at the ceiling, there’s a subtle jingle of keys, followed by the door opening. Footsteps sound on the floorboards of the first level before they shuffle up the stairs. I hear the exhaustion in them as they grow closer. When the bedroom door opens, I shut my eyes, steadying my breathing, pretending to be asleep.
Wes is quiet as he walks past the bed and ducks into the ensuite bathroom. Soon, the shower turns on. I blow out a breath, then glance at the clock. 1:45 a.m. Is this what I have to look forward to? Dinner alone while he works late? Him sneaking in after midnight? Only seeing him for a few minutes in the morning before the cycle repeats for another day? I’m not sure I want that life, a marriage in name only, to be at his beck and call when it’s convenient for him to show up.
After ten minutes of trying to convince myself I’m just overthinking this, that these feelings are the result of seeing Drew again today, a warm body slides into bed, an arm snaking around my midsection. Wes pulls me against him, my back to his front. I sigh as he plants a soft kiss on my neck. The aroma of his body wash finds its way to my senses and I melt into him, my muscles relaxing as I try to quiet my mind. His kisses become warmer, more seductive, hands roaming my stomach, my hip, my ass. He brings me even closer, his erection hardening behind me.
“Wes,” I whine, my voice raspy. “Not tonight.”
He exhales a long breath, his frustration evident. I hate turning him down, hate I’ve turned him down the past three nights. I should want to be intimate with him. But since Sunday, since fantasizing about Drew while Wes was inside me, I’m fighting a tumultuous tug-of-war. I feel guilty for thinking about another man when I’m with Wes. And I feel like I’m betraying Drew by sleeping with Wes. It’s a reminder that no matter which path I choose, I’m hurting someone I care about.
“Did I do something wrong?” He lowers his voice. “Was I too rough the other night?”
“No.”
Quickly, I turn over to face him, although I fear he’ll see the truth I’m finding it increasingly difficult to hide, especially when I stare at Wes’ lips and can only think about Drew and how I was a breath away from kissing him. Had he not put a stop to it, I would have. Lust controls me when I’m near him. When he’s gone, I want to confess my weakness to Wes and beg forgiveness. I’m riding a constant seesaw. How much longer can I do this before I hit the bottom hard enough to shatter my world?
“I like it when you’re not gentle with me.” I stare at his chest, playing with a few tendrils of hair. “I don’t want you to treat me like this delicate thing you put on a pedestal and worship.”
He pulls me closer, rubbing his arousal against me. “But I like worshiping you. It’s what you deserve.” He lowers his mouth to my neck, dragging his tongue across my skin. I close my eyes, wanting to tell him I’m not in the mood, but how much longer will that work? Eventually, he’ll want to know why I went from being happy to have sex every night to being cold and uninterested. How long will he buy the same excuse before he begins to suspect something? Do I want him to suspect something?
With a moan, I crane my head back, allowing him better access, telling him with my body I changed my mind. His skin is soft on mine, no hint of stubble. Before, I preferred clean-shaven men. Now, it’s not what I want. I want the jarring, scraping ache of a man’s unshaven jaw rubbing against my most sensitive parts, bruising, punishing, electrifying.
His fingers are quick and awkward as they lift my shirt over my head. In an instant, his mouth clamps onto a nipple. I sigh, pretending I like it. It used to do the job, but now it seems lacking. He moves to the other breast, giving it the same treatment before traveling down my stomach. He pauses as he reaches the waistband of my pants, floating his eyes to mine. Biting my lower lip, I nod. It’s not eager, but not resigned, either.
Once my panties are gone, he kneels between my thighs, positioning himself. There’s no attempt to make me feel good, and I wonder if it’s always been this way between us. If it’s always been about him but I was too blind to care. I could tell him what I want, what I need, and he’ll give me whatever I ask for. I don’t. After the past few days, I don’t deserve that. I prop my legs up, bracing for his invasion, our gazes locked on each other. There’s so much love, respect, and need for me in those eyes.
“Wait,” I say, my voice sharp.
He immediately stops, looking at me with concern. “Are you okay?”
I open my mouth, burdened with a sudden urge to come clean, tell him the truth. Tell him I’ve been in love with Drew since the first time he kissed me seventeen years ago. Tell him it’s Drew I want, crave, need. Tell him when he makes love to me, it’s Drew I’m fantasizing about. Instead, I flip onto my stomach and prop myself onto my knees and elbows, glancing over my shoulder.
“Like this.”
Wes’ gaze darkens even more as he repositions himself. When he pushes inside, his motions filled with love and lust at the same time, I face forward, squeezing my eyes shut, fighting against the tears welling. This feels so wrong, so dirty, so unforgivable. The fact I’m letting him fuck me like this so I’m not reminded of his affection guts me. Wes always says I’m such a kind person, my heart so full of compassion. If he only knew the darkness that lies within, he wouldn’t think so.
I’m on autopilot as I drown in my guilt. Finally, Wes’ hold on my hips tightens, his motions increasing. He groans, his thrusts jerky as he finds his release. We remain still for a few moments. He reaches around, toying with me in an effort to bring me to orgasm, grinding against me as his erection slips out.
“It’s okay,” I say, scooting away from him. “I’m okay.” I fling my legs over the side of the bed, collecting my clothes.
“Are you sure? I don’t—”
“I’m okay,” I repeat, avoiding his eyes. “I need to clean up. It’s after two and I need to be up in three hours.” I head toward the bathroom.
As I’m about to disappear behind the door, he murmurs, “I love you, Brooklyn.”
I pause, lifting my gaze to his. I’m barely keeping it together, all the events leading to this moment like a weight crushing my chest, making it impossible to breathe.
An ache in my throat, I swallow hard, giving him the response he needs. “I love you, too.” Then I close the door.
Drawing in a deep breath, I lean my forehead against the wood. In my solitude, I allow all the emotions I’ve kept under lock and key to fall forward. I’m being tugged in a thousand different directions. Part of me wants to go back to that fork in the road and choose a different path. Anot
her part wants to stay on the current course to see what’s waiting around the bend. Still another part of me wants to walk away from everything, to disappear and start over somewhere new where nobody knows who I am, what I’ve done.
I turn on the shower and step under the water, not caring it’s not yet warm. Placing an arm along the marble tile to support myself, I close my eyes, choking out a sob. To an outsider, this decision would be an easy one. Choose love, they’d say. Follow your heart, they’d encourage. But they haven’t lived through the heartbreaking knowledge of always being tossed aside when something better came along, of getting your hopes up, of dreaming, pining, planning for a future, only to have those dreams dashed in an instant with no explanation.
I wish life were easier, wish I didn’t feel like I had to choose between two men I care deeply for, but in entirely different ways. I wish I didn’t feel like the longer I wait to choose, the more I’ll hurt them. That I’m struggling with this should tell me everything I need to know about which path is correct, and it does. It doesn’t make the decision any easier.
I lose track of time as I stand under the water, allowing myself to cry. But who am I crying for? Me? Wes? Drew?
It’s not until my skin prunes I realize I’ve been in here longer than I originally intended. I quickly finish up, then towel myself off. After pulling my yoga pants and t-shirt back over my body, I tiptoe into the bedroom. The light from the streetlamp now illuminates a small portion of Wes’ slumbering face, his expression peaceful, serene, temperate. It’s at complete odds with the turmoil filling my subconscious.
Slipping into bed, I try not to disturb him. When a small snore fills the quiet space, I know nothing will wake him. I close my eyes, but just like every other night I’ve lain beside Wes in this bed of lies, my troubled thoughts prevent sleep from finding me. I stare at the walls, exhausted, but wide awake. I pick up my phone, aware it won’t help matters any. As I’m about to check my email, I click on my text icon instead, pull up my most recent exchange with Drew, and type out a message.
Me: Just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay.
I hesitate before hitting send. It’s nearly three in the morning. I doubt he’s awake. What will he think when he sees the message? Will he wonder why I’m awake, why I’m texting him instead of slumbering in the arms of the man I’m supposed to marry in a month? I should let it go, but I can’t.
I remain still, barely breathing as I watch the text pop up in our exchange, then the little note it had been delivered appear below it. When I’m about to close out of the chat, I notice a text bubble below my message, indicating he’s typing out a response. My heart rate picks up and I stare at the screen. It seems like it’s taking a ridiculously long time when it’s probably only a matter of seconds. Finally, his reply comes through.
Drew: I’m doing as good as can be expected, I suppose. Can’t sleep, though. What are you doing up?
I carefully get out of bed and pad on light feet out of the room, heading down the steps. The last thing I need is for Wes to roll over and notice me texting Drew in the middle of the night.
Me: I can’t sleep, either.
As I lower myself onto the couch and snuggle up with one of Wes’ comfortable throw blankets, my phone buzzes with what I expect to be an incoming text. Instead, a picture of Drew on the ice during his hockey days appears on the screen, indicating he’s calling me. It’s not unusual. He calls me all the time. At least he used to. But now I’m nervous, like a teenager whose crush is calling her. It’s not that far from the truth.
“Hey,” I answer, my voice breathy.
“Hey,” he whispers back. He sounds tired, the lack of sleep clear.
“How are you?”
“I’m not sure,” he sighs, the honesty refreshing. “After meeting with Alice, I felt better. But when I picked up the girls from school and saw Charlotte...”
My heart breaks from his pain. I want to go to him, promise him it’ll be okay. The lines are already blurred. Driving to his house in the middle of the night would only make them even more indistinguishable.
“What happened?”
“She had art class,” he replies, his voice wavering. “She made Mother’s Day cards. And she made one for me. I just... I hated standing there, hugging her, knowing I may not be her dad.”
“You don’t know for sure,” I remind him.
There’s a long pause, then another sigh. “Yes, I do.”
“Nothing’s a certainty until—”
“When Carla told me she was pregnant, I didn’t question her,” he interrupts. “The only thing I focused on was that she wanted me back, that she wanted to work things out. I remember waking up to my phone ringing. When I saw her name on the screen, I didn’t answer it at first, figuring nothing she had to say was worth my time. It wasn’t until I lay there for a minute I realized I was in an unfamiliar bed.”
“Drew...” I swallow hard, unsure if I’m ready to hear his side of that night...and the following morning.
“Please, Brooklyn.” There’s a vulnerability about the way those words leave his mouth. “I just... Let me get this out.”
Swallowing hard, I nod, even though he can’t see.
“I should have known Carla would never be faithful to me. That wasn’t her style. She had a reputation for tracking down where every hockey team was staying, going to the hotel bar, then striking up a conversation with anyone who seemed interested. But there was this part of me that wanted to believe she’d honor the vows we made to each other, regardless of the fact they were made in a Vegas wedding chapel. Although I didn’t love her like I should have, I took those vows seriously. To her, they were just words. Nothing more. Before Alyssa was born, we used to go at it all the time.”
I try to remain attentive, but hearing about Drew’s sex life with another woman is difficult. I’m not fooling myself to think he hasn’t been intimate with his fair share of women. It still stings.
“No time or place was off limits. After she gave birth to Alyssa, things...changed. I figured she was just stressed with getting used to being a mom. We hired a nanny, but it didn’t help. She wasn’t happy. After that, we rarely had sex. I tried to initiate it, but she was never interested, always gave me some excuse how she was tired from having to take care of a colicky baby. Sometimes she even pretended to be asleep.”
Hearing his story forces a pang in my heart, what Carla did ringing a little too close to home regarding my current situation with Wes. I always disliked her for how she hurt Drew, but aren’t I doing the same thing to Wes? Carla led Drew on until she didn’t think he had anything more to offer her. When you look at it, I’m no different than Carla.
“In the month leading up to her first request for a divorce, I can count on one hand the number of times we were intimate. I tossed my doubts aside, ignoring the giant red flag I constantly tripped over. Hell, I didn’t even question her when Charlotte was born a month before the due date and was over eight pounds and twenty-one inches. I didn’t question her when she seemed to schedule all her doctor appointments for when I was on the road with the team. And I didn’t question her when I held Charlotte the first time and saw those flecks of gold in her eyes...which Chase has.”
“That still doesn’t mean anything.”
“Yes, it does.” He sounds more resigned than anything else. The sadness and anger he fluctuated between earlier today is gone. He’s admitted defeat. “It means everything. There’s no denying that when Charlotte was born, she was full term. Carla and I would have had to be intimate around the beginning of May the year before for Charlotte to be mine. We weren’t. I remember that specifically because it was around Mother’s Day. I flew home on a day off during a bunch of away games to surprise her, but she wasn’t even there. Our nanny said she hadn’t been home in over a week, leaving her to care for Alyssa.
“So I can sit here and say I don’t know for certain until I get those test results back. A part of me hopes I’m wrong, but deep down, I know she’
s not mine. And I’ve known it all along.”
“That may be so, but would that change anything? Does it matter whether you share the same DNA?”
“Of course not. She’ll always be my daughter.”
“Then don’t waste your time thinking about all the other things you could have done differently back then. You’re a good man, Drew,” I say, hoping my tone relays the sincerity of my words. “And you’re one of the most devoted fathers I know. Those girls are incredibly lucky to call you dad. Both of them. No matter what happens, no matter what those tests show, they’ll always call you dad.”
Silence settles between us as my words hang in the air. No father who puts the amount of effort Drew does into his daughters’ lives should have to learn he was lied to, that the child he’s raised and loved from the day they were born isn’t his. The thought of walking into that house and only seeing one art project hanging on the wall, one pair of shoes thrown haphazardly around, one backpack sitting in the mudroom guts me. But I need to keep it together and be strong for Drew. If I lose hope, how much longer will he hold onto it?
“Well…” I clear my throat, sitting straighter on the couch as I glance around the darkened living room. “I should let you go.”
“I suppose you should probably get some rest, even if I can’t sleep. No sense keeping you up, too.”
“I might just get ready and go into the office early.”
“You’re not going to sleep?”
“It’s not worth it. I’ll probably wake up more tired than I would if I just powered through.”
Drew doesn’t immediately respond. When I open my mouth to say goodbye, he interrupts. “Want to stop by for a cup of coffee first?”
“What?” My voice evidences my surprise.
“You don’t have to,” he adds. “I figured you might want some coffee. And I’d like to see you.”
