I reach for the doorknob and he grabs my hand to stop me. “Tell him to leave.”
“Are you kidding me? No way.”
“Do you see that?” He nods toward where his hand is covering mine. “You’re not trembling anymore.”
I slide my hand out from under his and shake my head. “No, Houston. You’re married. You’re not allowed to come here and fuck with my life. Go home.”
He pulls his other hand out from behind his back and brandishes a small metal box with a Sierra Nevada logo on the top. He stares at the box for a moment before he holds it out to me.
I take the box from his hand and my heart sputters. There’s something small and hard sliding around inside the box.
“What is it?”
“It’s my promise to make this right.” He takes a step toward me and I’m frozen as his hand lands on my cheek. He brushes his thumb softly over my cheekbone, then he leans in and plants a soft kiss on my forehead. “You look beautiful tonight.”
I want to hurry inside the apartment so I don’t have to watch him walking away, but I can’t tear my gaze away from him. As I watch him getting into the elevator, I get the urge to run after him and kiss him. Instead, I close my eyes and listen to the soft swoosh of the elevator doors closing.
I heave a deep sigh as I turn around and head back inside the apartment. The sight of Liam sitting on my sofa with Skippy’s head in his lap instantly puts me at ease.
“Is everything all right?” he asks, and I sense another question in there. Do you want me to leave?
I smile as I set the small metal box on top of the breakfast bar, then make my way to the sofa. “Never better.”
I consider not asking Skippy to move, but that would mean I’d have to sit on the opposite end of the sofa from Liam. And right now I think I need to be close to someone. I gently order Skippy to get down and he begrudgingly obliges, then I take a seat on the middle cushion next to Liam.
“Do you like Animal Planet?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.
“I thought you asked me over here because you hate small talk.” He smiles at me and I’m treated to the sight of his gorgeous teeth framed by his perfectly groomed beard.
“You want to know who that was?”
He shrugs and I take that as a yes.
I let out a soft sigh and continue. “He’s the one… the one who changed everything.”
“Oh.” He nods as if he totally understands, but I can tell this information has made him uncomfortable. “So… he wants to get back together?”
I glance at the metal box on the breakfast bar. “He wants to make things right, whatever that means.”
“Is that possible—to make things right?”
I stare at Liam for a moment as I contemplate this question. “I don’t know.”
He smiles and I take the opportunity to scoot a bit closer to him. He quickly takes the hint and wraps his arm around me so I can lay my head on his shoulder. It’s only ten p.m., but I can already feel myself getting very relaxed and sleepy in his arms. He must feel it too, because a few minutes later he kisses my forehead and uncoils his arm from around my shoulders.
“I should let you get to sleep.”
“But you didn’t get to talk big.”
He chuckles as he stands from the sofa. I move to get up, but he holds his hand out to stop me. “Thanks for being honest with me, Rory.”
“Why would I not be honest with you?”
He shakes his head. “You know, the thing about honest people is that they can’t imagine why someone else would be dishonest.”
“Are you calling me naive?”
He laughs again. “No. No way. I’m just saying that you’re an honest person and… I find that very sexy.”
“Sexy?”
He smiles, then heads for the door, leaving me feeling a bit unsatisfied with his twenty-minute visit. Though, I get the feeling he’s leaving out of a need for self-preservation. What did I expect? I invited him over and he found me talking to my ex-boyfriend in the doorway. Then I went and told him the truth, that I don’t know if things can ever be made right between Houston and me. I should have lied and told him that Houston and I are irreparable.
Maybe Houston was right. Maybe we will always make it back together.
Then we’ll never stop hurting each other.
August 23rd
* * *
I sit in my car for about five minutes, contemplating my next move. I consider waiting for Liam to leave. Maybe—hopefully—my presence scared him and he’ll leave early. Then I consider going up there and dragging him outside where he can’t touch her. But I lost my right to be territorial with Rory five years ago. Ultimately, I decide to take Rory’s stern advice and go home to face my wife.
I pull out of the curved driveway in front of Rory’s building and set off in the opposite direction of my apartment. I need to figure out how to approach Tessa before I get there. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in two years of marriage, it’s that you must have a plan when arguing with a woman. If you go in blind, you’ll be knocked over the head and slaughtered before you know what hit you.
My mind draws back to the day I asked Tessa to marry me. We had been together a whopping four months before I decided that she was exactly the type of woman I needed to spend the rest of my life with. Someone who would stay with me no matter how often she suspected she should leave. Someone who wouldn’t question why I was never fully hers.
It was December 4th, the third anniversary of Hallie’s death. As always, my plans were to get so drunk that I blacked out. Tessa knew my sister had committed suicide, but she didn’t know all the grisly details of how I found her. Or how the next six months I spent with Rory were the best and worst months of my existence. And she certainly didn’t know about my tradition of getting blackout drunk on the anniversary of Hallie’s death. So when Tessa tried calling and texting me a dozen times with no reply, she didn’t know why I wasn’t calling her back. And when she showed up at my apartment and found me shit-faced drunk, fucking a girl I’d met at a bar and took home because she reminded me of Rory, what she did next changed everything.
I expected Tessa to hit me, or the girl whose pussy was wrapped around my dick. I expected her to cry or storm out of my apartment. I expected her to do pretty much anything other than what she actually did.
She threatened to kill herself.
She told me, rather calmly, that if I didn’t make the girl leave she would take her own life. She insisted that after losing her brother she wouldn’t have anything to live for if she lost me, too. That was when I knew I couldn’t leave her, and that I didn’t really want to, because she didn’t care if I loved her. She didn’t care that I was still in love with Rory. All Tessa wanted was for me to stay with her. To me, this made her perfect.
It was quite a dramatic scene, getting the Rory lookalike out of the apartment and convincing Tessa that I was going to stay with her and she didn’t need to kill herself. Dare I say I even relished the moment? It was a second chance to save her the way I couldn’t save Hallie. Once Tessa was wrapped safely and calmly in my arms, I asked her to marry me right there. And she accepted, with no ring.
I had never felt more disgusted with myself and more relieved at the same time. The burden of trying to find someone to measure up to Rory was lifted. I could settle for someone who accepted me at my worst, as long as my worst was merely that I loved someone else from afar.
But showing up at Rory’s apartment and presenting her with an engagement ring that’s far more expensive than the ring I ultimately gave my wife is not quite “loving her from afar.” And normally I would deal with this type of problem by drinking myself into unconsciousness, but all I can think of right now is What would Rory want me to do? She tolerated my drinking binges when we first got together, often trying to outdrink me. But by the end of our six-month relationship, just the sight of beer annoyed her.
Half of me wants to get blasted so I can deal with Tessa.
Because I know she won’t care. She’ll probably use my drunken state to her advantage to try to have sex with me. The other half of me wants to stay sober so she knows I mean it when I tell her I’m leaving.
I’m leaving? This thought surprises me even though it originated in my mind. Am I really going to leave Tessa for getting pregnant behind my back? That would make me the worst husband in the history of Tessa’s Catholic family. Maybe the more important question is: Am I going to leave Tessa because she deceived me into getting her pregnant or am I leaving her for Rory, and if I leave her… what will she do?
I get my answer as I’m pulling the SUV into the underground parking garage. A text message from Rory.
* * *
Rory: This box won’t stop staring at me.
* * *
I smile for a split second as I imagine going back to Rory’s and slipping the ring on her finger. Then I remember what happened the last time Tessa caught me cheating on her and my smile evaporates. I stare at the message for at least a minute before I respond.
* * *
Me: What’s in the box?!
* * *
I hit send, hoping she’ll understand the reference to Brad Pitt’s famous line from the movie Seven. I always used that line whenever Rory ordered something online and the package arrived on our doorstep.
* * *
Rory: If this box contains Gwyneth Paltrow’s severed head I’m going to be very disappointed.
* * *
I shake my head and grin like an idiot. She’s still the same Rory I knew five years ago. I have to stop myself from responding with a dirty text about giving good head, the way I would have responded when we were together. Then I try to come up with a clever response, but after a couple of minutes I decide to call her instead. I’m surprised when she answers.
“Houston.” The way she says my name, preceded by a small, reluctant sigh, makes me smile.
“Rory.”
“What’s in the box?”
This is the moment of truth. Whatever I say right now will change my marriage forever.
I draw in a long breath and she waits patiently as I let it out slowly. “I’d rather open it for you and show it to you myself.”
She’s silent for a moment. An excruciatingly long moment. “Fine. I won’t open it until tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“That’s when I start my new job. Are you saying you had nothing to do with me getting a promotion?”
I can’t sneak anything past her.
“I may have had a little something to do with that. Are you upset?”
“Upset? Why would I be upset? Because I’m making double what I used to make and I can walk to work now? Yeah, I’m totally upset. I’m writing my manifesto right now before I go blow up the grocery store.”
I smile though there’s an ache inside me when I think of how much I’ve missed her quick comebacks.
“I knew I should have told Jamie to fire you instead. Is there anything I can do to make it right? Maybe I can help with that manifesto.”
She’s silent for a moment and I wonder if I’ve said something wrong. Then it dawns on me that she mentioned she was working on a book in her spare time.
“Rory?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s your book about?”
She’s silent again, but this time there’s no fidgeting or background noise. As if my question has created a vacuum of space between us, sucking out all the sound and energy.
I glance at my phone to make sure the call didn’t drop, then I bring it back to my ear. “Rory?”
“Yeah, I’m still here.”
“You don’t have to tell me. I was just being nosy.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll tell you what my book is about when you show me what’s inside the box.”
And just like that, all my trepidation over whether I should give Rory that ring disappears. Because I want to know what she’s writing. I desperately want to know what’s important enough for her to spend months or even years thinking about.
Who the fuck am I kidding? I want to know if she’s writing about me. And, yes, I’d give up my marriage to find that out.
Five years ago, February 13th
* * *
This is my fifth trip to Barnes & Noble this week and I’ve come away empty-handed each time. I’m in a rut. I haven’t read anything for two weeks straight. If I don’t find something to keep my mind occupied outside of studying, I’ll go crazy.
I trace my finger along the edge of the wooden table as I enter the Barnes & Noble off campus. The table is stacked with all the latest new releases from authors like Danielle Steel and J. D. Robb. Some nonfiction bestsellers are mixed in, but nothing that catches my eye.
Normally, I’d just pick up the latest book from one of my favorite authors, but I’ve read all the most current releases. And I’m not in the mood for the same type of romance or family drama I normally read. I’m trying to avoid that kind of story right now, seeing as I’m unable to escape those things in real life.
Tomorrow is my first Valentine’s Day with Houston and he hasn’t mentioned it at all. I’ve been silently obsessing over it for a few weeks now. Which is probably why I haven’t been able to read for pleasure lately.
A hardcover near the back of the table grabs my attention and I pick it up to get a better look. The jacket cover depicts a quaint arched bridge set in front of a rich midnight-blue sky. A gray satin ribbon appears to be gently falling from the sky toward the glistening water under the bridge. I brush my thumb across the embossed title: The Fall by Amanda Cabot. I’ve never heard of this author, but I make an impulsive decision to buy the book without reading the description on the inside flap.
I pull up in front of our apartment building twenty minutes later and I’m surprised to see that Houston is parked next to the curb. We switch between parking at the curb and using the carport that came with the apartment. There’s only space for one car in the carport, so he parks his truck in the space Friday through Sunday and I park my seven-year-old Toyota there Monday through Thursday. It’s Friday evening, so he should be parked in the space tonight. I assume he’s invited a friend over and they took the carport, so I park my car next to the curb behind Houston’s truck and head inside.
I open the front door and I’m surprised to find Houston lying shirtless on the sofa with no one else around. “Are you alone?” I ask, throwing my keys and my backpack onto the kitchen table. I take my Barnes & Noble bag to the sofa and he sits up to make room for me.
“No, my imaginary girlfriend is in the shower.”
“Why are you parked at the curb?”
He watches intently as I pull my new book out of the bag. “I forgot to park in the space and by the time I remembered I was already lying here in my boxers. I’ll move it in the morning. What’d you get?”
“I don’t know. I just picked a random book off the display table and bought it.”
He laughs as he takes the book from my hand. “You’re such a dork.” He holds up the book and reads the title aloud. “The Fall? Sounds literary.”
“I guess I’ll find out soon. I’m gonna go take a bath.”
I reach for the book and he holds it above his head so it’s out of my reach. “What are you talking about? You can’t read it without me. That’s not fair.”
I can’t stop the stupid grin spreading across my cheeks. “Fine. But I have to take a shower. I smell like the smoker dude who sat in front of me in the lecture hall today.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “What were you doing with the smoker dude?”
“Oh, you know, the usual bj followed by lots of cuddling.”
I stand up to go to the bathroom and Houston grabs my hand. “I’ll cuddle with you, Scar.”
“But will you give me a bj?”
He lets go of my hand and smacks my ass. “Go take a shower, dirty girl. I’ll get the bed ready for your bj.”
Five years ago, February 13th
* * *
Whenever Rory starts reading a new book, she always wants to read the story aloud to me. I think it’s cute, but I’ve never cared for women’s fiction or romance, which is what she mostly reads. A month ago, after shooting down her fourth request to read to me, I told her I’d only listen if she took off all her clothes while she read. I thought she’d get a little pissed, then resume her book without me. I didn’t expect her to say yes.
I’ve acquired a new appreciation for women’s fiction and romance ever since then. Especially the love scenes. No matter what the circumstances are in the novel, I always imagine the characters are us. The difficult part is trying to keep my hands off Rory’s creamy skin.
She comes into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around her body and another wrapped around her head. She heads for the dresser to get some clothes, but pajamas go against everything I have planned for her tonight. I leap out of bed and slide between her and the dresser.
“I’ll go turn up the heater. No clothes is part of the deal.”
She shakes her head as I set off into the hallway to turn up the heat. When I come back, she’s gone. I peek into the bathroom and she’s standing naked in front of the sink, brushing her hair. I enter behind her and take the brush from her hand. Her reflection smiles at mine and I continue brushing. I grab her towel off the rack to squeeze more water out of her hair, then I finish by blow-drying it.
Rory loves when I do girl stuff with her. I try not to imagine that this is because my sister isn’t around to do this kind of stuff with her anymore, but it’s hard not to. What’s worse is that I actually enjoying blow-drying her hair and painting her nails because I know how happy it makes her. As long as she keeps her promise never to tell anyone I do these things, I’ll probably be doing it for the rest of our lives.