Walking Away

by Xavier Neal

  “What’s in there?” He whines loudly.

  Grabbing the keys to my car from the side pocket of my bag, I inform, “The gift I’m giving for Valentine’s Day.”

  Ronnie’s eyes widen in curiosity. “Oooo things must be going better with the hubby if you’re getting him a gift this year!”

  There’s no urge to correct. No desire to fill him in on the unorthodox situation we’ve cultivated. I’m not ashamed despite the natural thought to be. I’m not cheating on the man I love. I’m not lying to him. I’m not hiding anything. Hell, the most sexual thing Hudson’s ever done without him around is kiss me. And while I was mentally begging for more we seem to have silently established an agreement not to allow for it to happen without Jason’s approval. Without Jason’s inclusion. At least not yet. I think at some point that’ll change, that we’ll all be more comfortable about what happens out of one another’s view, but for now I am content with what we all have, including the shift between me and my husband. After a couple of forced outings, in which they still refuse to tell me where they went, Jason has begun to talk to me more. He’s not sharing his daily frustrations or anything of emotional depth, but he says more than good morning now. His texts are longer. His attitude slightly warmer. He even kisses me hello and goodbye…on the cheek. It’s not exactly the jack pot of intimacy, but fuck it. I’ll enjoy whatever I can get. A year of having my husband treat me like the enemy taught me an unwanted lesson in gratitude. It’s important to appreciate everything you can. You never know when it could be gone.

  I don’t respond to Ronnie’s comment, but rather let him fling himself into a rambling tangent about the pending evening. He follows me out to my car while going on and on about his hatred for the holiday, and how his desperation for a date on this day has him either bed hopping for the night or drowning his sorrows in pink wine.

  The combination of leaving the office late and unpredicted traffic has me flying through the front door with apologies ready to fall from my mouth. However, they instantly vanish when I round the corner into the living room. Seeing both men dressed up for the evening unexpectedly renders me speechless.

  “Hey!” They coo in unison.

  It takes a brief moment before I manage to swoon, “You two look handsome….”

  Both men respond with the same blushing expression.

  My smile widens as I take the time to drink them both in. Hudson has on a black on black suit without the tie, while Jason has on dark jeans I haven’t seen him wear in ages and a black button up shirt. Hudson’s neatly groomed scruff is expected, but Jason’s completely clean-shaven face isn’t.

  Before I can stop myself, I croak at Jason, “You shaved.”

  He nods enthusiastically.

  “And showered,” Hudson adds with a teasing smirk.

  I swallow the lump of jealousy building in my throat. My eyes meet Hudson’s. “He…he let you help him shower?”

  Hudson cuts Jason a glance, which redirects my eyes to my husband’s.

  He puts up such a protest when I help with the task, you would think I was trying to declare war on third world infants.

  Masking the hurt in my tone is impossible. “You let him help you shower?”

  Hudson immediately commands, “Tell her why.”

  The two begin to exchange in a nonverbal debate that has my eyes bouncing back and forth. Eventually, Hudson wins, and Jason meets my eyes as he declares, “Because…it doesn’t make me feel weak.”

  My jaw tumbles to the ground unsure of what to say.

  A heavy sigh leaves him. “You…are…my…wife. Looking helpless…feeling feeble in front of you makes me feel like less of a man.”

  His additional statement has my shoulders defensively tightening. I prepare to jump off the deep end and chew him out for how ridiculous he sounds when I catch the stern expression Hudson is shooting me to reconsider.

  This is the first time he’s ever admitted anything like that to me. Even back when we still talked and it felt we were battling this together, he never confessed something of this magnitude. No. He wore the stone cold “man” face, gritted through the pain, and proclaimed he would be fine on his own. This is new….This is…relationship changing.

  I toss out my initial response and softly state, “I respect your feelings.”

  Jason’s eyebrows crinkle in confusion.

  “I may not agree with them, but if that’s the way you feel, then it is my job as your wife, your partner, to respect them.” My heart tries not to race as I continue. “The last thing I would ever want is for you not to feel man enough for me or any less amazing than I find you, so…if having Hudson help you shower and shave prevents you from feeling that way, I stand behind your decision. He can help do that for you whenever he’s here or available.”

  Or doesn’t cancel last minute. An annoying habit he needs to work on.

  My husband’s green eyes begin to glisten in what can only be gratefulness. Whether it’s over my understanding or Hudson’s push to have him communicate with me doesn’t matter. The only thing I care about right now is that we keep repairing the damage done. That we keep healing our marriage.

  “Should I go change?” I innocently ask unsure of what the plans are.

  “Yes,” Hudson answers with a mischievous grin. “Not that you don’t look fucking hot in that.”

  Rolling my eyes, I begin to move for our bedroom when Jason’s voice stops me, “Gwen.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You should wear a purple dress. You always look really pretty in purple.”

  His words wrap around my lungs and squeeze every last drop of air from them. Unable to conjure up a verbal response, I tuck my bottom lip between my teeth, and acknowledge his request with a sharp nod.

  The change from one outfit to another goes quicker than it ever has in the past. I slip into a short, purple dress that hugs my chest tightly, but hangs loosely everywhere else, and slide on silver accessories including a pair of peep toe heels. After touching up the natural make up look with just a smidgen of color, I strut back out into the living room to find the two of them arguing over something on the television.

  Hearing the sport’s announcer state they’ll be answering a specific question when they return from commercial break, reminds me of the present waiting for them in my clutch. “Would you two like your gift now?”

  Jason and Hudson turn their faces towards me in tandem, the dropping of their jaws in perfect harmony.

  The intensity from not only one stare, but two, has my knees threatening to give out. While both have an apparent hunger thrumming through their eyes, their secondary gleams are much different from one another. Hudson’s is swirling with pride as if he can’t wait to parade me around the world as the woman he managed to get into his clutches, while Jason’s is pumping with pure disbelief. I wanna question it. I wanna ask if it is because he can’t believe how long it’s been since he allowed himself to really look at me, or if it’s because he can’t fathom me staying at his side for this many years, or something else entirely. Reading Hudson is like getting the old school version of a text message. It’s shorthanded due to laziness, but you always understand the general gist. Jason, post his accident, is more like the new complex version of texting where objects represent other meanings like eggplant for dick, and unless you’re willing to investigate a little harder or ask a million questions, you’re going to suffer for days in the land of decoding.

  Hudson’s mouth moves, though it’s Jason who successfully speaks first. “You look beautiful….”

  His compliment causes my breath to catch.

  It’s been months since he said anything like this to me.

  “Ab-so-fucking-lutely,” Hudson agrees with a predatory grin. “You naked under that?”

  The question receives a quick glare from Jason until he realizes he’s wondering the same thing.

  They both lift their eyebrows in request of a response.

  “If you two behave you’ll find out late

r.” I add a flirty snicker and a wink.

  “We’ll I’m fucked.” Hudson shrugs with humor in his demeanor. “Bring us home a win, Blondie, or it’ll be your fault my nuts are blue in the morning.”

  Jason shakes his head with a similar playful attitude.

  “Before we get going to wherever it is we’re going, I wanna give you both your Valentine’s Day gift.” I close the gap between us, pull the envelope from my clutch, and hand it to Jason.

  He gives it a puzzling look, which is when Hudson makes a grab for it. Jason’s reflexes are quicker than Hudson anticipated by the pout on his face.

  My husband tears open the envelope to remove two tickets.

  “Courtside tickets to the Highland Hellcats game on Monday.”

  Jason’s jaw bobs, and Hudson snatches the objects out of his hands. “How the hell did you get these?”

  Cockily, I smirk. “Called in a favor.”

  Jason’s face hardens. “What kind of favor?”

  Ugh. Just because I’m now involved with another man in a sexual way doesn’t mean I’ve been whoring myself for work since he stopped crawling between my legs.

  I bat away the instinct to voice my irritation. “One of the owners is a client. He offered the extensive gratitude in helping find his daughter a birthday present last year by giving me an open ended invitation for tickets during the season. He stressed that they won’t always be courtside, but when possible-”

  “We have Hellcats tickets?!” Hudson croaks again. “We have fucking Hellcats tickets!”

  The excitement spawns a smile on Jason’s face and relief in my chest.

  It takes a moment, but Hudson inevitably asks, “Wait. Why are there only two?”

  “Gwen hates sports,” Jason answers, eyes drifting to mine. “She only goes for the nachos.”

  “So true.”

  The three of us engage in a small laugh together.

  Afterward, I state, “I know how much you both love basketball, particularly the Hellcats, so I figure this could be something you two do without me.”

  Which I am still conflicted about. We all need time together as well as separate. There has to be trust or this whole thing is going to fail miserably. I honestly never thought sharing Jason would be this difficult, but then again, I never saw him actually opening up like he is.

  “Don’t flake out on this.” I point a stern finger at Hudson. “You do and the only seats you’ll get from me in the future will require binoculars.”

  “I won’t.” Hudson gives Jason a hard pat on the back at the same he says to me, “You definitely fucking win for best gift, Gwenny. I’m just paying for dinner tonight.”

  “Where are we going?” I promptly ask.

  “This little pizza bistro close to downtown. You two are going to love it.”

  “I’d love it if you ate more than just pizza.”

  He fakes his appalment. “Not cool, Gwenny.”

  Our light laughter is unexpectedly interrupted by Jason, “I got you both gifts too.”

  All of a sudden bewilderment sweeps through me once more.

  Since the accident, I barely get acknowledged on holidays let alone gifts. For my birthday and Christmas last year he sent me an e gift card with the generic message attached. I didn’t want any type of tangible gift. What I really wanted was for him to just treat me like his wife or even a normal human being, but instead he dismissed that digitally.

  “Come on,” Jason commands backing out of the space he’s occupying and wheeling himself the direction of the dining room.

  The two of us hastily follow, intrigue being passed back and forth in our expressions.

  He stops in the front of the liquor cabinet, looks at Hudson, and motions his head toward it. “Check the shelf.”

  Hudson does as instructed, immediately locating the present. “No shit….”

  “Last year’s anniversary bottle.”

  I watch the two exchange a warm look.

  “This was from the limited-edition batch.”

  “Yeah.”

  The awe in Hudson’s eyes is undeniable. “Thanks, Blondie.”

  “You’re sharing so don’t get too fucking sentimental.”

  “Celebratory shots after the Hellcats game?”

  “Or drinks of disappointment if they lose.”

  More laughter bounces around the room until Jason’s hand reaches for mine.

  The air in my lungs completely disperses.

  He simply smiles sweetly and uses his free hand to lead us into the kitchen.

  I don’t have to be told where to look. My clutch holding hand presses the object to my lips to stifle the sob anxious to escape.

  “I arranged them myself,” Jason announces proudly. “Hudson took me to the flower shop this morning after you left for work, and I created the bouquet with the florist. Picked only the best roses. The best lilies. The prettiest tulips.”

  “Felt like I was going to grow a vag if we stayed in there any longer,” Hudson grumbles from behind me.

  “I remember how much you used to love when I’d bring you home flowers.” My eyes meet Jason’s just in time to see him swallow his nerves. “Hope they’re okay.”

  With tears strangling my vocal chords, I coo in a choked voice, “They’re perfect.”

  His hand squeezes mine tighter and a tear tumbles down my cheek.

  I don’t give a fuck if he can never make love to me again. This is the part of my husband I’ve missed so much. The one who remembers I like flowers. The one who puts the effort in. The one who reaches for my hand rather than yanks his away in disgust. Even if this whole thing with Hudson doesn’t work out, at least I’ve been given hope. And that’s more than I’ve had in a very, very, long time.

  We watch with matching appalled faces as Hudson struggles with the slice of pizza he was challenged to eat.

  Heaven By the Slice is one of Hudson’s favorite restaurants he informed us on the car ride over. He explained how he had been going since college, and how he’s such a frequent customer he even gets Christmas cards in the mail from the family who owns it. It’s a large restaurant with a quaint American, Italian atmosphere. Our reserved table is outside on the heated patio where there also happens to be a live band for the evening.

  The way it works is a customer can order any combination of pizza they want by the slice. While they have traditional selections like what I’ve been enjoying, pepperoni and black olives, the two idiots I adore, turned what could’ve been a laid-back date into an awkward Man vs. Food competition between them.

  Hudson finally swallows and pants his pain. “Challenge complete. Anchovies and jalapenos with salsa instead of marinara.”

  “Your breath smells like hot ass,” I gag, reaching for my glass of wine.

  Jason lets out a loud, deep chuckle so powerful neither of us can look away.

  God, it’s so amazing to see the old Jason again. The one who loved to go out and be social. The one who lived life instead of loathed it.

  “That was probably the weirdest combination I’ve had,” he confesses after downing most of his water. “Well played, Blondie.”

  My husband cockily folds his hands in his lap. “I play to win.”

  Their eyes lock, and Hudson smirks. “So do I.”

  From behind my nearly empty glass I relish in the sexual tension bouncing between the two. Sometimes I wonder if they feel it and are denying it, afraid of letting themselves touch or be touched by a man, and then sometimes I wonder if they feel guilty because initially this should’ve been all about me in the sexual aspect. But I’m learning it’s not. Jason has needs even if he is denying me from meeting them. Maybe Hudson breaking him into talking is just the tip of the iceberg.

  Hudson submits first and turns the conversation to me. “How was work today, Gwenny?”

  “You know, same shit, different day.”

  “What’s the strangest thing you ever had to find?” he questions with humor still in his voice. “Pair of ruby slippers or some shit?”

  I hum to myself in brief contemplation. Unexpectedly, Jason’s hand lands on mine as he tosses out, “It’s gotta be the doll.”

  Having his touch and his attention spreads goosebumps across my flesh.

  Hudson immediately notices. “Cold, Gwenny? You want my jacket?”

  My eyes drag themselves away from Jason’s initiated contact to reply, “I’m fine.”

  “You sure, baby?” Jason echoes his concern.

  Our eyes meet, and I can’t help the soft smile that crawls onto my face. “I’m sure.”

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