Loving Jessie

by Dallas Schulze

  Jessie sniffed and blinked back tears. She was not going to cry. There was nothing to cry about. Her hormones were just wacky these days. She’d actually teared up at a trash bag commercial yesterday.

  Still sniffing, she got up and went into the kitchen. Maybe she should stop planning special dinners, she thought, looking at the ingredients spread out over the counter and thinking about the pork tenderloin medallions she’d pounded earlier and left waiting in the fridge. Last week it had been Reilly coming here. Tonight it was Matt with Dana. What’s wrong with this picture, people?

  There was definitely something wrong with this picture, Matt thought. There was Dana, all freshly showered, her hair falling in artfully tousled curls around her forehead, skin all dewy and soft-looking, wearing a pair of pale pink cotton pajamas and a look in her eyes that made him very nervous.

  He’d made a pot of coffee and sent her upstairs with a cup in hand and orders to take a hot shower and go to bed. Instead she’d come downstairs—to get another cup of coffee, she said—and had asked him if he would mind coming upstairs to open a stuck closet door. What could he say? I’m afraid you’re going to attack me? Ridiculous.

  So he’d followed her upstairs, carefully not noticing the way her hips swayed under the thin cotton. The sliding door was actually off its runner, and it took a bit of muscle and considerable maneuvering on his part to get it back into place. When he turned around, Dana was standing between him and the door, which was no big deal, right? It wasn’t as if she was stalking him. Except she was walking toward him, and the look in her eyes set off alarm bells.

  “Dana—”

  “Hmm?” She stopped in front of him, head tilted to look up into his eyes.

  “You don’t want to do this,” he said.

  “Don’t I?” She lifted her hand and set it on his chest, directly over his heart, moving closer until he was crowded back against the closet door, caught between the cool smoothness of the mirror and the warm curves of her body.

  She really was astonishingly beautiful, he thought, maybe even more beautiful with her hair like this, that cap of tousled curls framing the oval perfection of her features. He didn’t think he’d ever in his life seen a more beautiful woman.

  Dana lifted her other hand and set it on his shoulder, leaning into him, letting him support her weight, tilting her head as she rose up on her toes, bringing her soft mouth closer to his, her eyes drifting closed.

  “Revenge fuck?” he whispered almost against her mouth. “Is that what you really want?”

  Her eyes flew open, and she stared at him. He didn’t know if it was the deliberate crudity of his words or the fact that he’d read her thinking so clearly, but she couldn’t have looked more stunned if he’d slapped her. The hand on his shoulder tightened, nails biting through the fabric of his shirt. Then she made a conscious effort to relax her grip. She looked at him, eyes bright with a mixture of defiance and pain and scotch.

  “Why not? They did.”

  “No. They didn’t.” Matt reached up and wrapped his fingers around her wrists, bringing her hands down between them, holding them against his chest. “A kiss isn’t sex.”

  “Only because you walked in,” she snapped.

  “No.” Matt shook his head. “It wouldn’t have gone any further even if I hadn’t walked in.”

  She pulled away from him, moved across the room to stand by the bed. The bedside lamp was on, the light spilling over her from waist to bare feet, leaving her face in shadows.

  “I can understand why you want to believe that, but you don’t know that for sure. No one does.”

  “I do know it.” Matt leaned back against the closet door, wishing he could be anywhere but here. He didn’t want to discuss this with Dana. Didn’t want to think about it. “Jessie wouldn’t do that, and neither would Reilly.”

  “Really?” She turned to look at him, arching one brow in question, her full mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “What would you say if I told you that Reilly isn’t quite the poster boy for monogamous America that you think he is?”

  “I’d say that it happened one time and he’s never regretted anything so much in his life.” He saw the shock register in her eyes.

  “He told you?”

  “He told me. He also told me he loves you.”

  She turned away, hunching one shoulder as if to shrug that off. “He has an interesting way of showing it.”

  Matt cocked his head, watching her, waiting until she turned to look at him. “How do you show it to him? Or do you just think it’s enough that you married him?”

  She stared at him for a long moment, and then her face began to crumple. “It’s not that. I swear I don’t think that.”

  Matt was across the room in three long strides, putting his arms around her, pulling her up against his chest. “I’m sorry. That was a rotten thing to say.”

  He didn’t know if she heard him. She seemed to dissolve into his arms, pressing her face against his chest and sobbing as if her heart was broken. And maybe it was. He stifled the fervent—and cowardly—wish that he could be miraculously transported somewhere else, preferably an all-male somewhere else, and held her while she cried it all out. When she was done, the sobs dying down to hiccupping little breaths, he turned back the bed and tucked her under the covers, then went into the bathroom to dampen a washcloth. It was actually a relief to see that her face got red and blotchy when she cried, just like anyone else’s.

  “I’m sorry, Matt.” Dana snuggled her head deeper into the pillows, her eyes heavy with sleep and tears and drink. “I’m sorry I cried all over you and that I tried to…um…”

  “Ravish me?” he supplied helpfully, and she gave a watery chuckle.

  “That too.”

  “’S okay.” He grinned down at her. “It isn’t every day I’m pinned against a wall by a beautiful woman.”

  She laughed again. “You’ve obviously been hanging out with the wrong crowd.” Her smile faded, and her fingers plucked uncertainly at the edge of the blanket. “Can you… I mean, are you and Jessie going to get past this?”

  “Yes.” Matt was a little surprised by how easily the answer came. He’d already known the answer. Even before last night, when Jessie had held him close, chased away the demons, he’d known he wasn’t going to let this break them up. If it had been anyone but Reilly, he probably wouldn’t have held on to the hurt and anger even this long. “Yeah, we are. How about you and Reilly?”

  “I…don’t know.” Dana’s long fingers twisted the edge of the blanket.

  “Do you love him?”

  “More than anything,” she admitted.

  “Then make it work.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Yeah, it is.” He crouched down beside the bed, putting his face level with hers. “It is that simple. It isn’t easy, but it is simple. Talk to him, Dana. I’d like to feed him his teeth right now, but he’s a pretty decent guy, and he’s miserable without you.”

  Her eyes dropped away from his, and her teeth worried her lower lip. “You’ve seen him?”

  “Not this last week, but I’ve seen how unhappy he’s been since I came home. Either get past it and forgive him or walk away.”

  “Why do I have to be the one to decide?” she asked pettishly.

  “Because he’s the one who made the mistake. He probably feels like he deserves to be miserable. I know Reilly. No matter how unhappy he is, he’ll stay until you make him go.”

  Dana met his eyes and then looked away again. “I…don’t know if I can get past it.”

  Matt nodded. “That’s your choice.” He pushed himself to his feet, and she made a quick little sound of distress and reached out to catch his hand.

  “Don’t go.” She gave a choked laugh at his wary look. “I’ll be good. I just…don’t want to be alone tonight.”

  Matt hesitated and then nodded. He’d told Jessie where he was and not to wait up for him. He’d planned on talking to her tonight, clearing the air bet
ween them, but maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to wait a little longer. Not to punish her, but to give himself a chance to order his thoughts, to find the right words.

  “I can crash on the sofa downstairs.”

  “Use the guest room. Reilly… Reilly says the sofa is like sleeping on the rack.”

  “He always was a wuss,” Matt said, and was rewarded with another choked laugh.

  Dana watched him leave the room and felt her eyes fill with tears again. Stupid. She’d already cried enough tonight. More than enough. God, she hated a maudlin drunk. She closed her eyes against the light from the lamp on the nightstand. Her mouth tasted like week-old laundry, and she had a low-grade headache that she knew, from past experience, was going to be worse in the morning.

  She’d made a total fool of herself tonight, had thrown herself at Matt like a two-bit whore. After spending a lifetime learning to maintain her poise under any circumstances, she’d certainly fallen off the wagon in a big way. She rested her forearm over her burning eyes. She couldn’t believe she’d actually tried to seduce him. No, seduction wasn’t the word for it. That implied a certain grace and dignity.

  Sighing, she rolled onto her side, tucking one hand under the pillow and letting her eyes drift shut. She left the light on, the way she’d done every night since Reilly left. Since she’d asked him to leave. Matt had told her to either forgive Reilly or let him go. Sound advice, but she couldn’t help wondering if the decision was still hers to make.

  Chapter Twenty

  It was just after six o clock in the morning. In theory it was daylight, but the sun had yet to make it past the thick cloud cover and drizzling rain. Matt had turned on two of the under-the-cabinet fluorescents but hadn’t bothered with the main overhead light, which left the kitchen mostly in shadow. He was fully dressed, except for his jacket, which was draped over the stair rail in the entryway. He needed a shave and a hot shower, he thought, scraping his fingertips over the stubble on his cheek, but he was only a couple of minutes away from his first cup of coffee, so the world was a tolerable place, even at this ungodly hour.

  The scrape of a key in the back door had him reaching for another mug. He set it down next to his before turning to face the door, one lean hip braced on the counter, arms crossed on his chest. Reilly pushed open the door, hesitated a moment when he saw Matt, and then stepped into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him. His keys made a faint, metallic jingle on the counter when he dropped them.

  “Coffee’s almost done,” Matt said by way of greeting, and saw Reilly’s shoulders slump an almost infinitesimal amount, as if he’d been holding himself very stiff and had relaxed some of that tension. “You’re getting too old to be spending the night in a truck. You look like shit.”

  “Go to hell,” Reilly said without heat. He scraped his fingers against the stubble on his chin, much as Matt had done, grimacing a little at the feel.

  The coffeemaker gave a last gurgle as the filter emptied. Matt slid the pot out and filled the two waiting cups. He picked up one and slid the other down the counter a bit, watching Reilly as the other man came forward to pick it up, cradling the mug between his palms as he shifted to lean against the counter opposite Matt, mirroring his pose. By unspoken mutual consent, neither of them said anything while they waited for the coffee to cool enough to take that first vital sip. The silence was not uncomfortable.

  “You spend the whole night out there?” Matt asked finally. He’d seen Reilly’s truck parked across the street when he looked out the window in the guest room this morning.

  “Yeah.” Reilly rolled his neck, stretching stiff muscles.

  “Waiting to see when I’d leave?”

  “Maybe.” Reilly stared down into his cup, his expression brooding, unhappy. “I came over to see if I could talk to her. Saw your truck.” He looked up suddenly, his eyes sharp with anger. “You want to tell me what you’re doing spending the night here?”

  “You want to tell me what you were doing kissing my wife?” Matt shot back.

  “Acting like an idiot,” Reilly admitted without a moment’s hesitation, and Matt slumped back against the counter, mouth twisted in a reluctant half smile.

  “Man, I hate it when you pull the honesty card.” He heard Reilly’s snort of laughter as he took a swallow of almost-too-hot coffee. “Dana was feeling a little down last night. I kept her company.” He shot Reilly a look. “I slept in the guest room.”

  “I know. I saw the light. Besides, I trust you.”

  He decided to take Matt’s grunt as acceptance. He thought about asking where Dana’s car was, thought about asking how Matt had come to be here, since it was unlikely Dana had just called him up at home and asked him to drop by and keep her company, but those were all unimportant details, not worth wasting time on.

  “Matt, about what happened last week…” He saw Matt stiffen, his fingers tightening around the mug, but he plowed ahead, determined to get it said. “It didn’t mean a damned thing except that I had temporary brain fade. It was just… I don’t know. I’ve always thought of Jessie as a sort of little sister—our little sister. And then you came back and the two of you were engaged and getting married, and it made me…look at her.” He ran one hand through his hair, groping for the right words. “It was… She’s always been there, you know? I could always count on her. And I’ve made such a freaking mess of my marriage, and she was looking at me with that sympathetic look she gets, and I just…kissed her. But it didn’t mean anything to either of us.”

  Matt stared down into his coffee cup, weighing the words, balancing the hurt and anger against more than twenty years of friendship, against the pain in Reilly’s voice, in his eyes. He released his breath in a long, slow sigh. Hell, life was too damned short to hold a grudge, and friends were too few and far between. He lifted his head and looked at his friend, saw the tension ease in his shoulders as Reilly read his look.

  “Okay.” He held out his hand, and Reilly took it, his smile shaky with relief. Matt’s fingers tightened, and his eyes became razor sharp with warning. “But if you ever kiss my wife again, Ri, I’m going to beat the shit out of you.”

  Reilly nodded. “Fair enough.”

  The sound of water running upstairs drew their attention. Matt dropped his hand and jerked his head in the direction of the stairs. “If I were you, I’d go upstairs and do some groveling, and then I’d make her talk to me.”

  “I’ve tried both.” Reilly ran his hand over his face, suddenly looking every one of his thirty-eight years. “She doesn’t want to hear it.”

  “Yes, she does.” Matt finished off his coffee and set the mug in the sink. “She’s just scared to death of being hurt, like all the rest of us. Make her listen to you.”

  Reilly nodded, but not like he actually believed it would do any good, and Matt cuffed the back of his head. “Don’t give up until she hears what you’re telling her, Ri.”

  “Pushy bastard,” Reilly mumbled as he followed Matt to the door, but Matt just shrugged.

  “Talk to her,” he ordered, and disappeared out the door into the drizzling mist.

  “Easy for you to say,” Reilly muttered, turning to look up the stairs. On the other hand, he didn’t really have anything to lose. He’d been sleeping on the sofa in his office for the last week, showering at the Y and eating more fast food than the human body had ever been meant to endure. He missed his home, his bed and his wife. Maybe it was time to have it out, to settle things between them once and for all.

  Dana was just coming out of the bathroom when he entered the bedroom. She froze when she saw him, and he wondered if it was just wishful thinking that made him see a flash of pleasure in her eyes before she looked away.

  He’d planned out a speech on the way up the stairs, starting with “I’m sorry” and ending with “I love you.” What came out instead was, “You cut your hair.”

  Her hand flew up to tug self-consciously at the short curls that lay against her nape. She bit her lip and tilted her chin,
as if his words had been a challenge. “Exhusbands generally don’t get a say about things like hairstyle.”

  It was like being punched in the gut. All the air was gone from his lungs, leaving him breathless with pain. He stared at her across the width of the room, trying to read something behind the mask she was so adept at wearing.

  “Is that what you want?” he asked quietly. “A divorce?”

  He saw something that might have been shock slide into her eyes, as if she hadn’t realized where her own words were taking her. Her chin quivered, and she pressed her hand to her mouth. The mask fell away, and for just an instant he saw straight into her soul, into her heart.

  “Dana.” He took a step toward her, and she spun and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Reilly didn’t remember getting across the room, but the doorknob was suddenly in his hand.

  She’d locked the damned door.

  He pressed his forehead to the cool wood and tried to make his voice sound reasonable. “Let me in, Dana.” Choked-off sobs were the only response. From the sounds of her, she’d retreated to the far side of the bathroom, as far away from him as she could get, but he wasn’t going to take that personally, not after what he’d seen in her eyes. “I love you.” That got something that was nearly a wail, but the door remained locked. His temper edged upward. “Unlock the door.”

  “Go away.” The words were barely distinguishable amid the sobs, and Reilly let his tightly held control slip free.

  “No, dammit. I’m not going away.” He stepped back and slammed his foot against the door just above the lock. It popped loose with a startled crack, and the door slammed back against the wall. He caught a glimpse of Dana staring at him, wide-eyed with shock, and then she turned and buried her face in her hands.

  “Go away,” she wailed.