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“What am I doing?” I shout to myself as I pace the open space.
“Briar,” he calls toward me, but my mind is not open to listening at the moment. It’s too caught up in passion and conflict.
“I love my husband,” I argue. “I’m not stuck in some loveless marriage.”
“I didn’t say you were,” he says.
“Then…what are we doing? Why did we do that?” I’m practically screaming, clearly hysterical from that heated moment.
Meanwhile, Dean is as cool as a cucumber, strolling toward his car with his hands in his pockets.
“This isn’t a game, Dean!” I shout toward him.
When he spins toward me, he’s wearing a twisted expression of frustration. “What do you want me to say, Briar? That I’m sorry? Because I’m not.”
“You can’t just…kiss married women, Dean.”
“I just did,” he replies smugly. “And don’t tell me you didn’t want it.”
“I—” This isn’t fair. My body wanted something my heart didn’t.
Or did it? My heart wants Dean, too. Sweet, dominant, compassionate Dean. But wanting and having are two different things, and if loving Caleb is my crime, then not having Dean is my punishment.
His car beeps as he unlocks it. Then he opens the passenger door and looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to get in. The painful surrender on his face guts me.
“I won’t touch you anymore, Briar. If you don’t want me to, I’ll respect that.”
My throat starts to sting as I strangle the urge to cry. Without another word, I walk to the car and climb into the passenger seat. The drive back to the house is silent and uncomfortable, but there are no words to say that would erase the harm we’ve just done.
Eighteen
Caleb
21 years old
I’m passed out on my bed, the TV still playing across the room, when my phone starts buzzing on my chest. In a rush, I sit up and notice the name on the screen—Briar.
My fingers have never moved so fast to answer a call.
“Hello?” I stammer groggily as I glance at the clock on my nightstand. Twelve o’clock in the morning.
She sniffles into the phone line. “I’m outside,” she whimpers.
“What?” I nearly bolt out of bed. “You’re outside where?”
“Your house,” she replies. “I know it’s late. I just…didn’t know where else to go.”
“I’m coming,” I say in a rush as I throw on a pair of sweatpants and quietly open my bedroom door. The house is silent. Luckily, my parents’ room is on the other side, so I don’t risk waking them.
When I tear open the front door, my heart lurches at the sight of Briar standing there, huddled against the cool breeze. Her nose is red, and there are blotches of pink splattered all over her cheeks. It’s obvious from the swells under her eyes that she’s been crying.
“Jesus, what happened?” I whisper as I go to her, wrapping her up in my arms.
She melts against my chest, sobs racking through her tiny frame as I hold her.
After a while, she finally murmurs, “Sean and I got into a fight.”
It’s wrong of me to perk up at that, but I do. I hate to see her hurting, but maybe this is what she needs to finally take the steps she has to take.
