One Ring

by Tymber Dalton

  Luckily, Don didn’t mind he kept the Chevelle occupying one half of the two-car garage. Carl parked his Subaru out in the driveway.

  Don leaned in, propping his elbows on the fender cover draped over the far side. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’ve hardly said two words in the past two weeks, besides now.”

  “I’m fi—dammit!” Carl pulled his hand out and examined his scraped knuckle. “I’m just…I’m fine.”

  “You didn’t know, okay?”

  He sucked on his knuckle, finally letting his gaze settle on his friend and roommate.

  Don Montgomery had entered Carl’s life a couple of years ago when Carl went to work at the same hospital. They were both radiology techs and had been sharing the same shift. With several of the same interests, they ended up becoming friends.

  Don was a serial monogamist without a current girlfriend. At the time, Carl thought he’d had a solid marriage…

  Until he came home early one day to eat lunch six months earlier, because he’d forgotten to take it with him, and caught his wife in bed with her boss when they were both supposed to be at meetings in Venice all day.

  He’d gone back to work, not knowing what else to do, and Don had noticed he looked…off.

  Don had invited him to move in with him, since his own roommate had decided to get married and move out.

  Perfect timing.

  It wasn’t until Carl moved in with Don that he realized why Don hadn’t settled down with one woman yet.

  Don was a Dom, and hadn’t yet found the right woman for him.

  Out of emotional numbness more than anything, Carl went with Don to the BDSM club and met new friends, learned new things, and realized he’d found something that was missing from his own life.

  He liked tying women up. He liked spanking them and making them orgasm.

  He liked the control, when before now, during his entire life, he’d been told it was “wrong” to try to control a woman.

  Everyone who’d ever told him that little useless nugget of information had neglected to add the caveat, “unless she wants you to control her.”

  So “Dom Don,” as Carl teasingly called him sometimes, had taken Carl under his wing and taught him the ropes.

  Literally.

  Still, the final hearing a couple of weeks ago, and getting the final divorce order from the attorney, was still sinking in.

  He took it personally that his marriage had failed despite what everyone else said. Maybe if he hadn’t tightly reined in and ignored his dominant instincts all of these years, maybe she wouldn’t have cheated on him. Maybe she would have been happy with him. Maybe he would have found someone different who would have been happy with him.

  Maybe maybe maybe.

  They’d been roommates for nearly six months now, a situation that didn’t look like it was going to change anytime soon. They could actually have a third roommate, if they wanted, because there was a spare bedroom they were using for storage. But financially they hadn’t needed one.

  This wasn’t where Carl thought he be at this stage of his life. No, he wasn’t rich, but he’d been doing okay. Maria worked as an insurance agent, and between the two of them they lived modestly, but comfortably. They’d both been building their retirement portfolios.

  He thought they were happy. He’d been happy.

  He never realized Maria had been bored out of her mind and seeking comfort and excitement elsewhere.

  Like, oh, with her boss.

  Don arched an eyebrow over one blue eye. “I know you’re hurting, but denning up won’t help anything.”

  “I’m not denning up. I said I’m going tonight.”

  “But are you going to actually, oh, talk to people tonight instead of sitting there with a sour expression on your face that makes you look like you’re getting a lemon enema?”

  “I’m not that bad.”

  “Uh, yeah. You have been.” He straightened. “I know I can’t tell you to suck up, buck up, and move on. I get it. It hurts. You had started healing, then the finality drove home that you couldn’t ignore it and pretend it wasn’t happening, or that it was temporary.”

  “Spoken like the man who’s never been divorced.”

  “Uh, yeah. Exactly. For a damn good reason. My dad went through five wives, dude. Five. My mom is on husband number three. My sisters have all been divorced at least once. I haven’t met the woman I’m willing to risk half my shit for yet. And I’m open and honest from the beginning with anyone I date that I’m not someone to rush into a marriage just because reasons. Be faithful and monogamous to them? Absolutely. Spend the night? A given. But shack up and sign a piece of paper that will later allow her to possibly force me into selling my house? No, thank you. I worked too damn hard for it. And I won’t let someone just move in with me, and then if things go bad not be able to get them moved out again. Only if I decide to marry them will I move them in with me first for a test run. And even then, they’re signing a damn lease.”

  Don had bought the house at a bank short sale. It had been inhabited by a hoarder and needed a lot of work. He’d gutted it and started over from scratch, doing nearly all the work himself over a period of three years while living in it most of that time.

  You’d never be able to tell the disaster it’d been when he’d bought it. He’d originally planned to flip it, but he’d liked the place so much that he stayed. With a pool, a nice shaded backyard, and a hot tub, it was his calm retreat from the rest of his life.

  Another reason he refused to give it up.

  Carl also couldn’t argue with Don’s logic. At thirty-eight, Don was five years younger than Carl, and apparently had made far wiser choices.

  “I’m going to go take a dip in the pool before the rain comes in,” Don said. “I finished mowing the front and back yards. Your turn next week to do them.” He headed back inside the house.

  Carl had a lawn service at the house he’d shared with Maria. Getting back into the swing of yard work had taken a little getting used to, but at least it kept his mind occupied for a while.

  Just like working on his car.

  Except while working on the car, Carl couldn’t help but think about Jeff.

  He examined his skinned knuckle, which still bled. Losing Jeff had hammered home to him how short life was. Jeff had only been two years older than him. Had only been married to his wife for four years.

  Life was damned short and not getting any longer.

  Maybe it was time he stopped looking back and started looking forward.

  * * * *

  Don felt a little bad about getting on Carl’s case, but he hated seeing his friend so down. That was the only word to describe Carl lately. Carl had been maintaining before, but then the divorce being finalized seemed to push him into a new low. Don knew it wasn’t a clinical depression, just a logical emotional response to the situation, but he still fought the urge to shake some sense into Carl.

  Maria had fucked the man over. Yes, that would piss anyone off and depress the hell out of them.

  But every time they went to the club, there were usually plenty of eligible, attractive women who wanted to play with Carl, and he was just too self-absorbed in his pain to see it. If it wasn’t for Don arranging play for his friend, Carl would sit at a table all night and talk, eventually meandering back to the subject of his divorce.

  Don also knew it wouldn’t do a damn bit of good to point it out to his friend, either. It was something Carl had to work his way through, in his own time.

  Yet it reinforced Don’s own beliefs, that no woman who wasn’t completely worth risking half his shit over would work her way that deeply into his psyche. He wouldn’t allow it.

  There’d been a few close calls before. Invariably, when the women realized how strongly he felt about them, it was like they changed, maybe thinking they had him under their control.

&
nbsp; And no, he wasn’t going to play that game with them.

  The first one walked and thought he’d come chasing her, and had gotten even more pissed off at him when he hadn’t.

  That had been a close call, to see her anger issues cropping up like that.

  The other two thought they’d play games, and when they realized he wouldn’t play them, they tried other tactics, like guilt.

  Nope.

  He’d slowly found himself learning how to weed those kinds of women out of the potential dating pool. He’d rather be single and play at the club than get emotionally entangled with a woman who wasn’t mature enough to meet him firmly halfway and stay there. Sure, he easily could have had his pick of several women who wanted a man to run their lives.

  He didn’t have the time or emotional energy for that, either. He didn’t want a doormat. A submissive, sure. But she needed to be a self-starter, self-sufficient, a plug-and-play partner who wanted to be there with him, not needed him to be there with her.

  He also had no interest in some young, barely legal newbie, either. He wasn’t even interested in any particular body type over another. Thin, thick, it didn’t matter to him. He was more interested in a woman’s brain, her personality, her confidence. Her sense of humor and self-respect.

  He changed into swim trunks and walked out to the lanai, jumping into the deep end and sinking below the surface before floating to the top and flipping onto his back. Despite the overcast day, the pool was the perfect temperature because of the heater.

  Wiping the water from his face, he stared up at the top of the pool cage. He’d need to get the pressure washer out tomorrow and blow a few leaves off the screen once the weather front moved through. Otherwise, they’d rot up there and cause mildew.

  He wasn’t a perfectionist by any stretch, but he’d learned what not to leave undone in terms of taking care of this house. The other option was to get rid of the trees in the backyard, and he refused to do that.

  Swimming over to the side, he grabbed the hand brush he kept there and worked his way around the pool, scrubbing at the tile above the water line. The automatic pool sweeper he kept running didn’t reach here, and if he did it once a week by hand, it didn’t get gross.

  That done, he flipped onto his back again and closed his eyes. Life was peaceful.

  Just the way he liked it.

  He’d hesitated to ask Carl to move in with him at first, and for that he now felt guilty. Carl had proven himself to be an excellent roommate. He did his chores, paid his share on time every month, and was a good friend.

  Now if Don could just help boost his friend’s morale, that’d be a win, in his mind.

  Chapter Three

  Amelia wasn’t sure what she’d face when she got home. She left her car parked in the driveway and went in through the front door instead of popping the garage door.

  Sure enough, Mike lay sprawled in his chair, eyes closed, TV on one of the ESPN channels. A hockey game from what looked like the 1980s was playing on TV.

  Yep, there was the banner, saying the game was from 1987.

  He started awake. “You just getting home?”

  “Yeah. For a few minutes. Marcia invited me to come over tonight, go out to dinner with her, and spend the night. A bunch of her friends are going to brunch in the morning.”

  “Oh. Okay. Have fun.” He leaned over to see past her, where she was blocking his view of the TV.

  She didn’t even know how he hadn’t turned into a puddle of lard yet. He didn’t hit the gym. Yes, he carried a couple extra pounds more than he did when they’d first met, but so did she.

  “Thanks.” She headed back to the bedroom, struggling not to cry as she quickened her pace down the hallway.

  Apparently he hadn’t even noticed that she wasn’t wearing her wedding or engagement rings. They were now tucked into a zippered pocket in her wallet.

  She didn’t feel right wearing them any longer. It felt like a lie.

  She grabbed an overnight bag from under the bed and quickly packed, grabbing her travel kit from the bathroom. She was a systems troubleshooter for a local tech company who dealt with custom retail software packages. Sometimes she had to travel out of town to do site visits, for installs, or for when a client had issues that couldn’t be corrected from their end by remotely logging into the system.

  That was about the only travel she ever did, and then only for business. Maybe once or twice a month, if that, and usually only one or two days at a time.

  She and Mike never traveled. She’d asked him plenty of times in the past, even to do something like drive over to the east coast and spend a weekend in a hotel there, or down to the Keys, or…something. Anything.

  Nope.

  They had perfectly good beaches here, and a house to sleep in. Why spend the money? Why drive a couple of hours?

  Why give a rat’s ass about his wife being miserable?

  She sank onto the bed and pressed one hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs.

  That was why she didn’t even notice Mike until he was standing in the bedroom doorway.

  “You okay?” he gruffly asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Look, I don’t understand what your problem is. Maybe you need a night away with your girlfriends to shake some sense into you. Marcia and Derrick have been married longer than we have. They’ll tell you the truth, that this is what it’s supposed to be. Not some stupid garbage book that’s fantasy. They make that escapist shit up for a reason. It’s not real life. It’s so people who are miserable can read that shit and get out of their heads for a while. It’s not meant to be a blueprint for life, Amy.”

  Strangely enough, it was his last word that snapped her out of her mood.

  She reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a handful of tissues to blow her nose. “You’re right,” she quietly said. “It’s not real life.” She stood and grabbed her overnight bag, afraid for a second that he might not get out of her way when she headed for the doorway.

  But he did.

  “Have fun,” he said as she headed down the hall. “I’ll see you sometime tomorrow. Hope you feel better when you get home.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Sometime tomorrow.” She grabbed her laptop bag from where she’d left it last night on the dining room table when she’d returned home from work and headed out the front door.

  I damn sure won’t feel better when I get back here. Not until I’m out of this situation and finally living life again.

  * * * *

  She made it to Marcia and Derrick’s five minutes before the worst of the rain moved in. Standing there in the front hallway, she sobbed in Marcia’s arms for a good five minutes before her friend got her maneuvered into the living room and sitting on the couch.

  Mel related what happened to her friend. “It’s like he’s completely oblivious. He thinks everything’s fine, so I should think so, too.”

  “That’s exactly what he thinks,” Marcia said. “So the question is, what are you going to do about it?”

  Mel took a deep, hitching breath. “I’m going to set up an appointment with Ed for next week and get started filing for divorce.”

  “We’ll need to move your stuff out of the house before that,” Marcia said. “You don’t know what he might do. While he probably won’t react like an asshole, you never know. Better to get your stuff before the papers hit.”

  “I can take a couple of days off next week. My workload is flexible right now. After next week, we’ve got a new client that will keep me wrapped up for a while.”

  “Perfect. I’ll ask around tonight and get a crew put together. We’ll shoot for Wednesday.”

  “I can’t believe I’ll have to go back and sleep in the same house with him.” She shuddered. “I can’t believe a couple of weeks ago I was trying to get him to touch me. Now I can barely stand the sight of him.”

  “You did what you had to do. If you hadn’t, you might have been second-guessing yourself later. At least t
his way you know there wasn’t any other option. You gave it your best try.”

  “He is really convinced that I’m the one with the problem.”

  “Let me play devil’s advocate,” Marcia said. “Not to say he’s right, because he’s not. He’s not meeting you halfway, here. But what if the situation was reversed, and you were perfectly happy, for years, and suddenly he came out of the blue and told you he wasn’t?”

  She thought about it. “I’d feel pretty shitty.”

  “I’m not trying to make you change your mind,” Marcia emphasized. “And I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I’m also not saying you handled things wrong. All I’m saying is that communication broke down a long time ago between you two. So when you’re dealing with him, keep in mind he’s painting you to be the bad guy for his own skewed reasons. He also might not want to admit he’s wrong. Or any number of things.”

  “Now I’m even more confused. Should I stay and keep trying to work things out?”

  “Not what I’m saying. I’m trying to give you perspective to help you combat your anger. Because anger will eat you alive, if you let it. I’ve seen it happen before. When you deal with him, try to do it with compassion, no matter how much of a raging doucheball asshole he’s being.”

  That finally made her smile. “Raging doucheball asshole?”

  “People react badly, sometimes, when their perfectly constructed fantasy is shattered. Are you absolutely sure he’s not cheating on you?”

  “Positive. I doubt he’d have the willpower to follow through. He’s got a routine. He does his forty hours at work, punches his timeclock, comes home, does his chores, and sacks out in front of the TV. That’s the sum of his happy little universe. That is his greatest aspiration, to have TV time.”

  “And he wasn’t like that when you met him?”

  “No. Were we wild and crazy? No. Hell, if he’d not stopped wanting to make love to me, I could have dealt with the boring. But I can’t even get him to cuddle with me anymore. I cannot remember the last time I had an orgasm I didn’t have to give to myself.”