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The pain was just a dull ache now, nothing I couldn’t handle. “You did, though,” I said, looking straight into her eyes. “You did mean them. I told you to be straight with me. There’s no need to take anything back.”
“I’m just confused sometimes,” she said, distressed. “I don’t say the right thing. Everything’s such a mess.”
I leaned down and brushed my lips gently against hers. “Sweetheart, we just did three rounds of amazing sex. Neither of us is thinking straight right now.” I kissed her again, feather-light. “Sleep on it. Sleep on everything. Decide later. Just promise me you’ll think about school, all right?”
“Okay,” she said. I kissed her once more, and she sighed. “You’re so sexy.”
I smiled. “I’m glad you think so.” I kissed her collarbone and she rolled over again so I was against her back.
“What about you?” she asked when we were settled again. “What do you want to do when this is over?”
I almost laughed. I had the same blank spot in my life that she did. But then I thought about it, and something came to mind—something I’d almost never let myself think about. “I’d
like to travel,” I admitted. “I’d like to see more of this country—there are so many beautiful places here. Just go from one place to another, seeing it all.”
“A road trip,” she said, sleepy and amused. “Like the one we’re on now. You’re a good driver. Can I come? I promise I’ll let you pick the radio music.”
“You won’t, liar,” I said, nudging her and watching her smile. “Go to sleep and we’ll talk about it in the morning.”
“Okay,” she said, and closed her eyes.
We slept like the dead after that, passed out on the twisted hotel bedsheets. The cleaning staff was going to know exactly what happened here, and I didn’t care. Those few hours were stolen; I took them for me and me alone, something I would keep close to me forever. I forgot about everything, gave myself the gift of a few sweet hours sleeping with my wife. Then, at the first light of dawn, I got up.
While Dani still slept, I showered and dressed. Jeans and a Henley again, the suit packed away. I put all my things in my bag and sat at the lonely, uncomfortable little hotel table, the pad of hotel stationery in front of me. I wrote for a while. I left her most of the money—a sizeable stack of bills—and my car keys. The marriage certificate. Then I stood and walked to the door.
I paused. There was no sound from the bedroom; Dani was still asleep. I knew what she looked like, her face beautiful in rest, her dark lashes against her cheeks, her black hair tousled from sex, her skin slightly flushed with pleasure. The ring I’d bought still on her finger. She was the best thing that had ever happened to me, and in the quiet dawn light I could admit it to myself: I loved her.
I’d never loved anyone before, and I didn’t know what it meant. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with love, except give it away, which was what I was doing. What was I to her? An illusion, an idea, a means to an end? It didn’t matter. If Dani didn’t love me, I still loved her. That was the only thing I knew.
So this, what I was doing right now—it had to be done.
I couldn’t drop it and go back to bed with her, no matter how badly I wanted to. And I couldn’t stay and explain. I couldn’t make things different just by hiding in bed with my wife and wishing. I had to go face the problems and make things different on my own terms.
And still I couldn’t move.
I took a breath, which hurt. I blinked and turned my gaze away from the bedroom doorway, which hurt. I opened the door, which hurt like hell.
Then I went through it, and I shut it behind me.
Twenty-Two
Dani
No. No, no, no, no, no.
I knew something was wrong when I woke and Cavan wasn’t in bed. It was instinct; my gut telling me something. But I knew he wasn’t in the shower or gone to get coffee. I knew it was bad.
I got out of bed stark naked and left the bedroom. On the table were a piece of paper, the car keys, a stack of money, and a handwritten note.
No, no, no…
What had he done?
The piece of paper was our marriage certificate. I picked up the note.
Dani,
I’m sorry about this. I know that’s inadequate to say, but I am. If I had a choice, I would never leave you. Not for a day, not for a minute. This isn’t what I want. But we don’t always get what we want. We both know that, I think.
