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Davis
Murky early morning sunlight filters into the room and across the blankets that cover my lower half.
I’ve been awake for hours now, thinking about how my life has changed and dwelling on all the mistakes I’ve made, yet strangely hopeful in the most terrifying way that my life might actually be improving.
It’s been three days since that life-altering moment in Merrick’s bedroom. Predictably, I was less than calm the following day; freaked so far out of my mind that I had to leave work early. I couldn’t concentrate, kept fucking up everything I touched, and finally Patsy leaned over and whispered in my ear that I’d be doing all of them a favor by going home “sick”.
That statement sent me on a crazy spiral for the entire afternoon. Was I “sick” because I’d allowed another man to kiss me? Were my feelings for him demented, twisted, and wrong? I paced for hours, trying to lose myself in a bottle, and when that didn’t work I took one too many sleeping pills and didn’t open my eyes for twelve solid hours.
The rest did me good, and by the time I arrived at work the next day I was mostly back to my old self. Mostly.
Regardless of what happens between the two of us, I’m a changed man. Letting down my carefully erected guard has been completely unexpected. And freeing. So damn freeing. Somehow, Merrick has forced my eyes wide open so that I see all the possibilities in life, rather than having zero expectations about anything. He’s made me see that the loss I’ve suffered will always be a part of me, but it does not define who I am or who I might become.
Hope scares me.Hell…it terrifies me. I haven’t hoped for anything in six years. I’ve accepted my fate, settled into a loveless marriage, and lost any will I might have had to be positive about anything in my life. I wish I could pinpoint how he changed that for me; what it is that he’s done to make me believe I deserve to be happy. It isn’t any one thing, that I know for sure. His presence in my life, his genuine goodness and positivity, has made me realize that it’s okay to want those same things for myself.
I kissed him.
I. Kissed. Him.
I’ve gone over and over that moment in my head; the moment where I said to hell with what’s right and wrong. The moment when—after so many years of doing nothing—I decided to do something completely unpredictable. In truth, I didn’t “decide” anything. I wanted to, so I did.
It’s fair to say that I’ve done nothing but analyze that kiss, and the many things that followed, in the hours since I last saw him. I’ve gone over it and over it until my brain hurts, and the only conclusion I can come up with is that I can’t walk away. We may only ever be friends, but I’m not ready or willing to tell him goodbye. I’m also not willing to ignore whatever the hell this is between us, even if I’m not at all ready to handle it.
Without saying so I know he’s giving me space, giving me time to absorb what happened and either take a step forward or retreat. I’ve not spoken to him in three days, not since I stepped out of his front door that evening, slightly tipsy from the beers I shared with him and his friends. As promised, once we emerged from the bedroom he treated me no differently than he had before. We got a few interested glances, but no one said anything. Gunner continued to flirt with me. Aiden continued to dart worried looks between Merrick and I. And Chloe did her best to keep the mood light. All in all, it was the perfect end to the most unexpected day of my life.
I’d classify today as unexpected as well, although in a completely different way. It’s time to begin to take back my life, and the first step in doing that is to end my marriage to Chantal. As much as we barely tolerate each other anymore, I don’t want to hurt her. At one time I did love her. I loved her completely and as deeply as I possibly could. But I’m also very aware that the reason she remains married to me is not out of any sense of devotion toward me. She does it solely because of how people will perceive her as a divorced woman. She’s so damn wrapped up in her image it is nauseating.
I’m done being the fall guy and remaining where I haven’t been wanted in a long, long time. There’s no easy way to do it, but this is a good first step. I’m certainly willing to meet her more than halfway. If she wants the house, she can have it. I’m very happy to walk away from her with only the clothes on my back and the few memories of Charlotte that I have. I can start fresh, and I don’t give two shits where that is. A crappy studio apartment in town, or the back of my truck. I don’t care where I lay my head at night as long as I’m no longer living in a space where I’m cast aside, discarded, and unwanted.
Tossing the covers aside, I stretch to work out the kinks, and pad naked across the floor toward the bathroom. I don’t bother to shave since the stubble thing seems to be working for me. I scrub my teeth and glare at the wedding ring that mocks me. I need to give that back to her. Or trash it. Or tuck it out of sight until the day when I can look at it without feeling so much anger about all we’ve lost.
Forcing those thoughts aside, I finish up and step under the warm spray. My mind immediately goes to Merrick, to the other night, and to the feel of his lips on mine. I smile as I soap down, recalling the surge of pleasure that overtook me when he had me against the wall, his body grinding slowly against mine. With that one thought, I’m half-mast.Damn….how the hell did this happen? How did I go from a lonely almost-alcoholic to desperately growing hard to thoughts of another man?
Leaning one hand on the shower wall, I reach down and wrap my hand around my shaft. I give myself up to the urgent need that is now blazing throughout my entire body. In my memory I see us together how we were that day….desperately clinging to one another as our tongues played furiously together. I feel the warmth of his body against mine, the outline of his cock begging to be touched. I imagine what might have happened—if I’d been stronger, more sure of myself—and if his friends weren’t in the other room. I stroke furiously to the thought of his mouth on my body, his hand doing what mine is doing now, him moaning my name as he spills himself all over me.
My toes curl as I thrust into my palm, letting the moment take me over completely. “Fuck!” I come in streams over my hand, the water instantly washing it away as I work myself through a hard, brutal orgasm. The surge of heat up my spine sends shivers over my entire body, the release leaving me gasping for breath and lightheaded.
Slumping forward, I let go of my cock and start to chuckle. Well…if that didn’t prove to me that’s there is something special between me and Merrick, I don’t know what else could. Never in my life have I gotten hard for a man, let alone come so fiercely that I almost passed out just thinking about him. My head is just now starting to clear, and if I didn’t have this pre-scheduled meeting with Chantal I might slide back under my covers and sleep off some of the exhaustion.
With a shake of my head, I quickly shampoo, rinse the suds away, and cut the water. Towel dry, pull on clothes and make myself a cup of coffee to take with me, knowing I’ll need the caffeine kick to get through seeing her. A glance at the clock tells me I have ten minutes to spare, and the feeling of annoyance to have to schedule a talk with her blankets the feeling of contentment I was experiencing not moments before.
Cup in hand, I trot down the stairs and step into the kitchen. She’s standing near the counter, pouring her own cup of coffee, her armor fully in place: shoulders back, body tense, chin lifted in defiance. It’s Saturday but she’s dressed for the office, or wherever it is she goes to most of the time. I’ve long given up worrying that she’s spending all her time with someone else. If that makes her happy, than I’m all for it. We might not exactly be close right now, but I’d never wish her misery or unhappiness. I know all too well how those emotions can consume your life.
“Morning,” I greet, taking a seat at the table and waiting for her to join me.
“Good morning.” Gone is the warmth in her voice that she long ago spoke to me with. Now the sound is almost robotic, detached in every way possible. She glances at her watch, than tucks one side of her sleek dark hair behind an ear. “I really hope this won’t take long. I need to get to the office.”
Annoyed, I lean back in the chair and pull my arms across my chest. “I’m sure you can spare me a few minutes in your busy life.” Sarcasm drips from my tongue and I remind myself that pulling her into an argument will solve nothing. “Come on Talley, just sit down for a minute and talk to me.” She glares at me, probably pissed that I resorted to using my old nickname for her. She really can be such a snob sometimes.
After much silent debate, she settles her thin frame into a chair, crosses one leg over the other and grasps her cup between both hands. She’s sitting so rigidly upright, it’s like she’s got a stick up her ass.
I bite back a smile at the thought and force a serious tone to my voice. “Will you look at me for a sec?”
Damn stubborn woman, she keeps her eyes averted for long, uncomfortable moments, before she finally turns her narrowed eyes my direction. “What is it that you want, Davis?”
“I want a divorce.”
Chantal is very good at hiding her emotions, always has been. And this moment is no different, except for the fear that momentarily passes through her eyes, and the thread of grief that follows. If we were the same two people who met that day in the auto shop so long ago, I might feel bad for her. But too many hurt feelings have transpired between us over the years. The woman I once fell in love with is gone. The woman who gave birth to my daughter is gone too. This woman left behind is cold, mean, and someone I no longer know at all.
