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On the other side of the street is a row of houses, including the yellow stucco one from Marie’s memory, just a little out of sight from our house, just enough so that I wouldn’t see her enter during all those nights with her “friends,” with her “uncle.” She had her affair in the open for anyone else to see but me.
I haven’t thought about what I’m going to say. It’s not enough to yell at this man, to strike him, reprimand him. I’m not here to make him pay, I’m not here to ask him why.
I’m here to know why.
I stride over to the door and knock on it.
A tanned man with dark chestnut hair opens the door.
His face falls once he sees me.
“Expecting someone else?” I ask him pointedly.
He frowns at me, thick dark brows furrowed together. God, he’s handsome. The thought strikes me like God is smiting me from above.
“Mr. Crane,” Ray says uneasily. “Can I help you?”
“You can,” I say, surprised at how even my voice is. “Can I come in? I’d like to discuss my wife with you.”
Ray’s golden face pales. He stands there, hand on the door, like he’s unsure if he wants to close it in my face. He glances down at me, checking if I have a gun. He thinks I’m here to murder him.
I should be there to murder him.
But the shame I feel over Marie isn’t because she’s broken my heart.
She hasn’t.
I stopped loving Marie months ago, probably around the same time she stopped loving me. I stopped when I realized she had no room in her stone-cold heart for mine anymore.
I’m here because I need to know what kind of man I should be.
I’m here because I need to know what kind of man Ray really is.
“I’m sorry,” he says, fumbling for the words. “This is a bad time…”
I put my hand on the door and push it open, my height coming to my advantage and intimidating him. “I would like to talk to you,” I tell him calmly, removing my hat and holding it in my hands. “I’m not here to cause trouble. I just want to talk. Please,” I add.
He takes in a sharp breath, his eyes wild, trying to calculate what I really want, but he still opens the door.
I step inside his house. I’d never been in here before. It’s smaller than mine, so it can’t be a money thing. And though he’s dressed in neat clothing, nothing about what he’s wearing says that he’s more sophisticated or smarter than I am. I admit I don’t know much about my neighbor, but this isn’t giving me any clues.
“We’ve never really had a chance to talk, have we?” I ask as I eye the small living room, the roaring fire, the loom rug on the hardwood floor. “Do you prefer Ray or Raymond?”
“Ray,” he says uneasily. “And you?”
“Call me Ichabod,” I tell him, turning my hat around in my hands. “That’s what Marie calls me.”
He blanches. “Of course. Look, Ichabod, I know you say you don’t mean to bring me any trouble, but I can’t…can’t imagine that you won’t. If you want to strike me, beat me, go ahead. Just get it over with.”
I frown at him. “What kind of man do you think I am?”
“One that’s found out his wife has been cheating on him.”
I give him an acidic smile. “That I am.”
He gulps, his eyes darting around the room. They’re a beautiful shade of green, like spring moss. His mouth twists into a grimace and his lips are beautiful too, wide but full. I can see why Marie wanted this man. He is warm while I am cool. He is the sun, where I am the fog. He is soft where I am hard.
And from the pressure building in my cock, I am hard.
Shame hits me for a moment.
I’m a sinner for even having these thoughts.
I’m a deviant for wanting them.
If my father only knew his only son was fantasizing about another man, he would condemn me straight to Hell. But he knew I was going there anyway, didn’t he? I had already been too different from him, from everyone, right from day one, and no amount of church would change that. There would never be any salvation for Ichabod Crane.
“What do you want from me?” Ray says.
I step toward him, slowly, and he backs up until I have him cornered against the wall. The wallpaper is peeling in places, a painting of a bull hangs askew.
“I want…” I begin, breathing hard. I lick my lips as I stare at him. “I want to know what you have that I don’t.” My gaze drops to his mouth. “And I want to have it.”
I place my hand on his throat and give it a squeeze.
Ray’s pretty eyes bulge, his fingers wrapping around mine to pry me off, but I’m not applying much pressure. I’m just trying to hold him still.
