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It’s late, just before midnight when I step inside the house and quietly place my keys on the hall table.
“You’re late,” he says from within the living room.
The room is dimly lit, only the small lamp illuminating a corner of the large room. I stop and keep my back to him, afraid he can see it etched on my face.
“I had stuff that needed to be taken care of.”
He remains silent, breathing quietly as I wait nervously for him to speak. “He asked for you.”
And then, the guilt and shame override any happiness I felt for the past few hours. My heart almost falls to the floor, heavy and saddened by the hurt I’ve inflicted on him. Unintentionally, yet still, I should’ve known better.
Dragging my feet, riddled with guilt, I make my way toward the back of the house and quietly open the door to his room. His nightlight is on, sitting just above his pillow. With gentle snores, I tiptoe to his bed and see him curled in a ball, holding onto his favorite train, Gordon. The oldest and wisest train that lives on the island of Sodor. I don’t dare take it out of his hands, instead pulling the blanket over and stopping just below his chin.
Leaning in, I kiss his forehead and pull away, watching him for a few moments. He doesn’t realize how special he is. Despite the challenges he faces daily, he belongs in the hearts of so many people. Mine, utterly full of love for him, and all I want to do is protect him.
I close the door, leaving it slightly ajar in case he calls out through the night. I walk back to my room, where he’s lying on our bed, keeping to his own side.
“He didn’t settle well.”
I apologize again, displaying my guilt. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”
“You’re busy,” he says with his iPad in his lap. “I’ll be out of town this weekend. Will you be okay?”
His eyes linger on mine, and I can read him perfectly. Like me, he carries his own guilt. I know he isn’t comfortable admitting it, and I’m not comfortable asking about it. I know this—her name is Jessica, and she has a knack for messaging him when he’s in the shower.
I remove my bracelet and place it on the dresser. “Uh… yeah, I think Dad’s coming into town, anyway.”
He nods, shifting his focus back to his iPad. I make my way to the bathroom and peel off my clothes. My skin is red, marked, and tainted by Noah. I close my eyes for a brief moment, running my hands along my breasts, tracing his steps. I shouldn’t want more, but my body craves it more than I could have imagined. I shower long enough to ease my sore muscles, and when I’m dressed for bed, I turn the light off in the bathroom and stand beside our bed.
He keeps to his side, again, and I climb in—the click of the lamp echoes through the room. Then darkness falls between us.
“It’ll work out, Morgan,” he says quietly in the dark.
My cell beeps inside my hand. I lift it to read the text.
Noah: Something urgent has come up. Raincheck?
Me: Of course. Is everything okay?
Noah: It will be.
I didn’t have the heart to ask if that something is a someone. I have no way of controlling how I feel anymore, and no way of pulling my heart out of this game. I’m afraid the feelings, which have consumed me since the moment Noah stepped in my office, have led to one thing.
I am in love with him.
KATE
I stare at the equations on the screen, computing numbers in my head as Richard, our director of finance, is talking a mile a minute.
“I’m not pleased with these numbers,” Richard declares, removing his glasses as he wipes them with some old handkerchief. “Our numbers are unachievable.”
We’ve been inside this boardroom for over four hours. Aside from the sandwiches brought in an hour ago, I drank several coffees, and my nervous system is on the verge of combusting.
“Richard,” I begin, swiveling my chair to meet his direction. “We’re bleeding money with these small enterprises. The funding needed to boost their capital will be better off spent on our more profitable sectors.”
“Kate,” Richard says with a condescending smile. “My numbers don’t lie.”
“They’re not accurate, Richard,” I tell him, frustrated for having the same conversation over and over again. Pinching my lips together, I piece my thoughts like a puzzle clicking in place before criticizing him for being incompetent. “Jonathan, in our London office, has tripled profits in our European market. How? Because he projects accurate numbers to begin with. I don’t understand why we aren’t able to replicate this here.”
