Page 20 of Marriage and the Midlife Crisis

“Don’t. Just fucking don’t,” I bit out through clenched teeth. “I’ve only had a few hours of sleep – which was rudely interrupted by you and the porn star wannabe who just slammed out of here, by the way – and I’m not in the fucking mood to talk about the shitshow from last night. Let’s just get ready and head out to the course.”

Mitch reared back, looking a little shocked at my show of anger, and then nodded slowly. “All right, man. Whatever you say.”

I tried to relax my jaw since I was probably in danger of cracking a molar, then walked out of the suite before I said something I might regret. He followed behind me, and we didn’t speak again until we were seated at the hotel’s restaurant. Even then the conversation was unnaturally stilted, limited to what we were ordering and the logistics of the rest of the day.

We managed to get to the golf course and watch without further incident as Landon Brown won the final day of the tournament, but it damned sure wasn’t easy. I was quiet and withdrawn, trying to work through what I was going to tell Melanie. Mitch resorted to acting as if nothing were wrong, laughing and cracking jokes as he always did. When I didn’t respond as I normally would he became irritated and surly himself, and by the time we got back to the hotel late that afternoon, the tension between us had gone from a simmer to a full-on rolling boil.

As soon as the suite door closed behind us, I went straight to my room to grab my bag.

Mitch followed close on my heels, despite my terse reminder that we had to leave so we could get some dinner before our flight.

“We’ve got plenty of time for that,” he said dismissively, then flopped down to sit on the foot of my bed. “Look, I know you’re pissed, but –“, he paused, then shrugged. “You didn’t have to make such a big fucking deal about it. It was just a lap dance, for Christ’s sake.”

“Just a lap dance? Is that supposed to make Melanie feel better?”

His eyes widened incredulously. “You told her?”

“No,” I shook my head, “She doesn’t know yet. I didn’t even try to call her when I got back here because I didn’t know what the fuck to say.”

“Why the hell do you have to say anything? It’s not like you have to confess your supposed sins, for fuck’s sake. I know I call you Saint Ryan sometimes, but you don’t have to take it so literally, man. Why the hell would you put yourself through that kind of ball-busting?”

I took a deep breath, but before I could explode, he continued.

“Repeat after me…what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” he said, emphasizing his words with a wag of his finger as if he were scolding a little kid.

My hands clenched at my sides as I fought the urge to knock the obnoxious smirk right off his face. I couldn’t remember being this angry with him since the clusterfuck surrounding my bachelor party twelve years ago. Unable to look at him, I turned and started pacing the floor.

“Think about it. She hasn’t been blowing up your phone this weekend, which means she’s already pissed off that we made the trip and is giving you the silent treatment. Why make it any worse?”

I shook my head in denial. “First of all, Mel’s not like that. She doesn’t play games. She’s been putting in a lot of extra hours at the office since they’re trying to win some big account, so she’s probably been busy working this weekend.” I stopped next to the window and stared blankly out at the view of the Strip, then voiced the thought that had been plaguing me since last night. “I should have never stepped foot inside that club. How am I going to be able to look her in the eye when I get home and pretend that I didn’t betray her?”

He rolled his eyes. “Betray her? Oh, come on, that’s a little dramatic, don’t you think? You went to a strip club, not a goddamned Roman orgy, and you were only there for maybe an hour, tops.”

I whirled around and pointed a finger in his face. “It doesn’t matter what you think about it, my wife will feel that I betrayed her – and our marriage – and she’s right. I didn’t just go to a strip club, which is bad enough. Thanks to the fucking, boneheaded stunt you pulled last night, I had a topless woman grinding her ass on my lap.”

Mitch shot to his feet with a glare. “I bought you a lap dance to chill you the fuck out. Not exactly the crime of the century, dude. Most men would have been grateful.”

“I guess I’m not ‘most men’, because I’m feeling anything but gratitude toward you right now,” I sneered, stepping up toe to toe with him. “I love my wife, and I made promises to her that I’ve had no goddamned problem keeping for over twelve years. And in one night, I broke them. I should never have stepped foot in that place. I should never have had another woman all over me, and I sure as fuck shouldn’t –“. I stopped my rant mid-sentence, my chest pounding and my stomach heaving. I took a step back and swallowed hard, trying to force back the bile rising up in my throat.

Mitch had the good sense to look slightly abashed. He also had the good sense to keep his mouth shut for a damned second.

When I felt like I could speak without losing the little food I’d eaten today, I said quietly, “I fucked up. I could barely look at myself in the mirror this morning. There’s no way I can face Melanie and lie to her. The guilt will eat me alive.”

“So you’re gonna hurt her in order to make yourself feel better? That doesn’t make a damned bit of sense to me,” he shrugged as he shook his head. “You don’t need to throw yourself on your sword, Saint Ryan. You’ll just relieve your misplaced guilt at her expense, and that won’t help either one of you. It will just make it worse, and you know it.”

I turned away to lift my suitcase off the luggage rack, then paused and glanced back at him over my shoulder as I considered his words. Seeing that he was getting through to me, he pressed on. “The fact is, you don’t want to hurt her feelings, so don’t. Just don’t tell her. You know damned well that I won’t say a word about it to her either. She’ll never find out, she won’t be hurt, and you won’t be in the shithouse for the foreseeable future. It’s cold enough in Indiana without her giving you the deep-freeze at home, too.

It would be selfish to unburden myself, knowing how much pain it would cause her, I mused as I thought it over. As much as I hated the idea of lying to my wife, I hated the idea of hurting her even more. I just needed to man up and find a way to live with the fact that I’d not only crossed a line that Melanie had drawn in the sand years ago, but I’d also crossed it and lingered for far longer than I should have.

And enjoyed it, my conscience pointed out.

I ignored that little voice in the back of my head and took a deep breath, then squared my shoulders and slowly nodded at Mitch.

“What happens in Vegas…,” he paused expectantly.

“Stays in Vegas,” I finished resignedly.

He flashed me an approving grin and clapped me on the back, the subject settled as far as he was concerned. Without another word, he turned and went to get his duffle bag from his room while I stood there trying to convince myself that I was doing the right thing.