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“She’s going to say that, isn’t she?” He grabbed himself a beer from the fridge, chugged it back. He pulled his tobacco from his pocket, rolled a cigarette. “I can’t believe you did it. Aftereverything we said.”
“You can believe it,” I said. “Of course you can. She asked, I answered.”
He held up a hand, waved me to shut the fuckup. “I need a fucking smoke,” he said, and left me. He let himself out through the back door, and the security light came on, illuminated him as he paced up and down the path. He smoked one and lit up another, and I watched, sipping wine in misery while he fumed.
He was outside for an age, pacing and smoking.
I’d moved to the living room by the time he came back in, my stomach paining worse than ever as reality set in.
He propped himself in the doorway, his face stripped of its easy charm. I sat forward in my seat, forced out the words I’d been churning around my mind.
“Her issues are with me, Rick, not you. It was all about whatIwanted.”
He shrugged. “So? What does that matter now?”
I met his eyes, holding the gaze even through the anger in his. “My point is you could… be with her. You two could still… without me…I’mthe problem, Rick, I know I’m the problem. She knows it, too.”
His lips were tight, eyes hollow and wide. “What the fuck are you trying to say?”
“I’m trying to say I’m sorry, that I don’t want to ruin this for you, for eitherof you.” It hurt so fucking bad to say it. “I’m saying you could be with her. You and her.” I clasped my hands in my lap. “I’d understand, Rick. You shouldn’t have to pay the price for my mistakes.”
I didn’t want to look at him, turned my head away as he stepped towards me.
“Hey,” he said, dropping to my side on the sofa. “What the hell is this?”
“I fucked up,” I admitted, and my words came out choked.
“Probably,” he said. “But we’re together, you and me. We come together or not at all. That’s never gonna change, Carl, no matter what.” He pressed his hand to my cheek, turned my face to his. “Look at me.”
I looked at him, and I felt defeated. Empty. Guilty.
“I’m pissed off, and fucking gutted, and think you’re a dick for running your blunt fucking mouth off, but you’re still the best fucking man I’ve ever known. You’re still the one I want to be with. Christ, Carl, I still fucking love you.”
I leaned forward, pressed my forehead to his, and his hands clasped my face, held me there. I closed my eyes, and breathed, just breathed. “It hurts,” I said. “This one hurts so bad. I thought this one…”
“I know,” he said. “I’m right fucking there with you.” He sighed, long and deep. “Come here.” He folded me in strong arms, pulled me close. He kissed my cheek, held me tight, and I held him back. I felt weak, exposed. Open. The dull ache in the pit of me making me nauseous. “You’re so fucking strong,” he said. “Like a bull. Always so fucking unstoppable.” He kissed my mouth, his lips firm. “You’ve got to stop sometimes, you’ve got to learn to ease up on the fucking reins.”
I didn’t have any words left. I just nodded, just enough for him to see.
“We make decisions together, we’re supposed to be a team.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
I squeezed him tight, my arms around his muscular shoulders, and he was rigid and strong, and there. Rick was right there with me.
Rick was always there.
And I loved him so much I thought my heart would burst.
Samson picked up pace as we headed up through Haugh Wood, his hooves churning up the track as he broke into a canter. We were early, the sun still climbing through the trees to the east. I squeezed Samson on, driving him faster, and he put his head down, ears forward and alert, breath steady. I gave him free rein and he extended himself, a snort and he was away, galloping up the main incline.
I loved it here so much. So did he.
We belonged here. I’d always known we belonged here.
Only we didn’t.
Not anymore. Not now.
