The Complete Irreparable Boxed Set: Irreparable #1-2

by Sam Mariano

She shrugged a little, resting one of her hands on his chest. “Can I ask you something? I don't want to make you mad though, I'm not judging or anything.”

  His gaze dropped to her shoulder, and he began lightly dragging his finger in little circles on her upper arm. “Sure.”

  "Do you feel guilty, being here like this, with me?"

  Smiling a little dryly, he said, "When I think about it."

  Dipping her head, she murmured, "Sorry."

  "It's okay," he said easily. Then, since it hadn't been a very satisfying answer, he added, "I don't think of this as...cheating. That's probably my own fucked up way of rationalizing, but when I'm here, with you, I don't feel like...I feel like our past, our relationship is separate. It's this whole life that Amanda knows nothing about, a life separate from her. Regular rules don't apply right here, right now. If they did, I wouldn't be here."

  "Men are better compartmentalizers than women. I read that somewhere once, I don't remember where. Have you ever cheated on Amanda before?"

  "No."

  "Ever thought about it?"

  "Once," he answered honestly. "Marriage isn't easy all the time. It's a lot of work. It wears on you after a while."

  "You don't have to make excuses, I just wondered."

  "I don't have to make excuses, I didn't act on it, I was just explaining. You're young, you haven't been in any relationship long enough for it to become difficult, burdened by the stressful situations that everyday life can throw at you. You haven’t been with someone long enough for the romance to become stale, stagnant to the point that you don’t even feel like lovers anymore, on any level."

  "I didn't say I had,” she replied easily.

  He realized he was being defensive so he stopped. "Have you ever cheated on a boyfriend?"

  "No. If I don't want to be with him anymore, I leave."

  Ethan smiled slightly. "Smart."

  “Yep,” she replied, nodding her head. “I’m not like a lot of other girls; I have an odd way about me when it comes to relationships—I did even before all of this happened, and I doubt this is going to make things any easier.”

  “Knowing when to get out isn’t a bad thing. It’s far more common for young women to tolerate a lot of shit they shouldn’t until they’re in over their heads.”

  Grinning, Willow looked at up him. “Don’t say young women, it makes you sound old.”

  “Wait until you hear me telling all the kids to get off my lawn.”

  “Mm, sexy,” she teased.

  He let the moment pass, then he said, “I’m a little surprised you’re putting up with this, considering.”

  “You haven’t surpassed my bullshit tolerance level. Plus… I like you. I like the way you’re honest, I like how you make me feel most of the time. I like that you know you’re not a good guy and you’re not a bad guy, because that’s how most people are, they just don’t have the guts to admit it. I like your flaws.”

  “I would say I like your flaws, too, but honestly I’ve seen very few.”

  Smiling and biting her lip, she asked, “Which ones have you noticed?”

  “Aw, no, you can’t ask that when we’re in bed together. I do have manners. For tonight, you’re perfect.”

  Willow wrinkled up her nose. “No, that would be fake. Nobody’s perfect. I would hate it if you thought I was.”

  He tugged her a little closer. “You’re pretty great though, you know that, right?”

  “Of course,” she said playfully. “Just ask my army of boyfriends.”

  He squeezed her and she laughed. “I get jealous occasionally,” he admitted.

  “I know,” she replied, sounding amused.

  “I have no right to.”

  “I know that, too. I don’t mind though. It’s cute.”

  “Cute?” he asked, laughing lightly.

  She merely nodded, wrapping her arms around him more snugly. “In moderation, it’s cute. I do too, once in a great while. That’s new for me. I don’t usually get jealous. Then again, my usual companions aren’t married, and if they were, I doubt they would tell me about date nights with their wives.”

  Ethan grimaced, remembering that cringe-worthy text. “That was probably rude.”

  Willow just shrugged. “I guess it was just honest. Maybe too honest though—I think there’s typically a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy in situations like this.”

  “Sorry.”

  She didn’t seem overly concerned, so he let the topic drop.

  For a moment, he just enjoyed holding her, enjoyed the feeling of her arms wrapped around him—enjoyed that moment, separate from his own life.

  He wondered if her attempt to replace the first experience would work even a little bit.

  Where would they go from there? In a way, it seemed like the completion of their time together—like closure. They had begun their journey in that fucked up place and shattered everything, and he felt like they had exhausted their last effort to try to heal those wounds. The line was beginning to blur already—he hadn’t thought of it as an affair before, but lying in her bed with her naked body pressed up against his, he couldn’t think of another word for it. Not anymore. Before, he could pretend he was only trying to help her.

  Fucking her was not helping her.

  Even admitting that, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Not yet.

  “What do you want out of life?” he found himself asking her.

  A few seconds passed, then she said, “The same thing most people want, I guess. To be happy, loved, fulfilled. I want to travel and see new places, experience new things. Live out my dreams.”

  “What are your dreams? What do you want to do after college?”

  “Honestly? I’d like to have my own art gallery.”

  Quirking an eyebrow, he said, “Really? I never knew you liked art. What do you like about it?”

  “Well, we haven’t exactly talked about it,” she pointed out. “I like how it’s open to interpretation—the same piece can mean a million different things to a million different people. I seldom see anything the way other people do; at least in the art world, that’s perfectly acceptable. Do you have any interest?”

  “I never studied it much. I think the extent of my exposure was the humanities class in college—Botticelli, Da Vinci, Van Gogh, Michelangelo, those guys.”

  “That makes sense. I want to go to Italy one of these days, see the Sistine Chapel. And Paris. I want to go everywhere. Well, not everywhere, but at least a lot of places.”

  He smiled absently. “I hope you do.”

  “If that doesn’t work out, then maybe open my own restaurant. I want to work for myself, regardless, not for someone else.”

  “I can understand that. I always felt that way, too.”

  "What about you?" Willow asked, tilting her head back to look up at him. "What did you want to do with your life?"

  "I'm doing what I wanted to do. Professionally, anyway. I wanted to be a detective initially, but then I realized I didn't actually want to get into law enforcement.” Ethan shook his head slightly. “I was angry when I was your age. I wasn’t focused on where I was going or what I was doing with my life, I was just concentrating on getting out, getting away as fast and as far as I could. You seem much more put together than I was.”

  “Try telling my parents that,” she joked.

  “They don’t think you’ve got it together?”

  “Not anymore. They don't understand that I'm not the same as I was before, and I don't understand either...but I'm not. I'm just not the same. I used to be more normal than this,” she told him, tilting her head back to look up at him.

  He smiled faintly, his fingers still caressing her bare shoulder. “Yeah, me too.”

  She nodded in understanding. “Why were you so angry?”

  “Crappy childhood. The usual,” he said lightly.

  She nodded, not prying since he didn’t seem to want to go into detail. "What about personally? Did you always want to get married and ha
ve kids?"

  "Yeah, eventually. I always thought I would've waited a little longer than I did, but I always wanted kids." He smiled a little. "I know you're at a different stage in your life, but you'll see if you have kids someday. They're like nothing else. Being a parent is...it's really great."

  "I think I want kids someday," she told him. "Or at least one. I'm not firm on a number. Not like 12 or anything, but 1 or 2. Step kids are fine, too. Obviously if I end up with my professor, at his age, there could be step kids involved," she added lightly.

  Ethan cracked a smile. "Obviously. Do you want to get married?"

  "Maybe. It's interesting that you ask that, most people assume marriage is a given if you want kids."

  "Your parents aren't married," he pointed out.

  "That's true, but that's a little different, isn't it?”

  "I guess. Not completely. You can build a life with someone without being married. I don't have to tell you that. The state of marriage is really just a piece of paper, in the scheme of things."

  Smiling slightly, she said, "I take it your wife was the one who wanted to get married?"

  "It was mutual, but yeah, she was pushing for it more than I was. I wasn't in a hurry, but I'm not anti-marriage or anything. I just don't think it's necessary."

  “I agree,” she said. “It’s not something that’s ever been important to me. I’m definitely not the girl who’s been planning her wedding since she was 12.”

  “You will never inspire your own romantic comedy.”

  Cracking a grin, she said, “Damn, there goes that life goal.”

  A moment of companionable silence passed, and Ethan thought about checking the time, but…he wasn’t ready to give up the night just yet.

  “Tell me something else, something about you.”

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, anything. Tell me about your family or your fears.”

  “Mm, well, my fears have been updated and would only taint the moment, so we’ll go with my family. You’ve met most of them, so you have a pretty good idea already. I have two moms and a brother, my mom is the optimistic one, forever seeing the glass half full. Even if you tell her straight, ‘Mom, this damn glass is empty’ she will be disheartened for however long, then she will repress the knowledge again and literally forget that you ever told her. Ashlynn had a rough start in life, and kind of a rough middle, too. I don’t know anything about her family really, because she doesn’t talk to them. She and my mom have been together since I was four, and my brother is two years younger than me. He’s…pretty much your average teenage boy, but he’s always there for me when I need him to be.”

  “What about your dad?”

  “Yeah, he’s not so much my dad as just some guy that my mom slept with because she was young and stupid and thought he was exciting, and then—whoops—I was born. Now we all have to deal with it.”

  “You’re not close at all?”

  She scoffed. “If by close you mean he didn’t even care that I was kidnapped, then yeah, we’re tight.”

  “You never heard from him at all?” Ethan asked, frowning.

  “He sent me flowers and a stupid gift card,” she said with annoyance. “He didn’t even call right away. Even when he does try to call now, it’s like…I just don’t even want to talk to him. His actions have said plenty since everything happened. I mean, I didn’t expect him to become Liam Neeson or anything, but…I did expect some concern.”

  “That’s crazy. I can’t even imagine that.”

  Willow nodded. “He won’t be winning father of the year anytime soon—at least, not from me. Who knows how he is with his other kids.”

  “Do you know any of his other kids?”

  Shaking her head, she said, “Not really. I’ve met them a few times—the legitimate ones, at least; if he has more bastards, I’ve never met them—but we don’t talk or anything. I barely talk to him, so…”

  “That sucks, I’m sorry.”

  “I’m better off. Honestly, I’ve finally lost the desire after all this. He called yesterday and I didn’t even call him back. I used to…pathetically crave his approval,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It was a fool’s errand, and I hated that I even cared, so I guess I should be glad that he gave me the push I needed.”

  “It’s not pathetic, it’s normal, but I know what you mean.”

  Suddenly, startling them both, Ethan’s phone vibrated on the bedside table. Neither of them expected the interruption, so both of their gazes jerked to the screen.

  A photo flashed across the screen, maybe a text message, and Ethan grabbed for the phone, but before he could tilt it away from her, she got a good view of an adorable baby in a blue and white blanket sleeper, conked out in a bed, his little mouth gaping open, his head tilted back, and an empty pillow on the side of the bed behind him.

  A pained expression flashed across Ethan’s face and he looked at it briefly before closing the message and pushing himself up into a sitting position.

  Willow moved off of him, and he sat on the edge of the bed, scratching the back of his neck and not looking at her. “I have to go.”

  “Okay,” she said, a bit weakly.

  Bending to grab his discarded clothes off the floor, he quickly pulled his underwear and pants back on, then glanced back at her. “I’m sorry.”

  Forcing a smile, she shrugged her shoulders. “It’s okay.”

  He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something else, but then he closed it and pulled his sweater over his head.

  Willow didn’t know what to say either. The very moment she wanted to go on forever only a minute ago was suddenly lasting forever, and it felt like a punishment.

  She couldn’t even seem to make herself get up off the bed. Instead, she yanked the blanket up to cover herself, frowning a little at the change in atmosphere.

  Ethan slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Um…”

  “Do you mind just locking up? I…I think I’m gonna take that shower, so…”

  “Sure,” he said, nodding briefly. Then, almost hesitantly, he said, “The…wine bottle. Your parents might notice that wasn’t here before.”

  “You can take it, or just throw it out. Or I’ll just say Caden brought it over.”

  “Right.” He nodded once more, hesitating as he made his way to the door.

  It looked like he wanted to say something else, and she sort of wanted him to, but nothing came.

  “I’ll text you,” he finally said.

  Smiling thinly, Willow nodded. “Okay.”

  And then he was gone.

  Shoulders slumping, instead of going in to take her shower, Willow climbed under the blankets, pulling them up around her, and hugged the pillow that still smelled like him.

  From the time he pulled out of Willow's driveway, large chunks of Ethan's waking hours were devoted to trying to decide what to say next time he spoke to her.

  He wanted to tell her that their situation could only end badly. That he felt like a bastard for letting it happen, for putting her in that position in the first place, but as much as it would suck for both of them, it would be easiest in the long run if they cut things off sooner, rather than later. Not only because he knew for a fact that the longer an affair went on, the higher the chances of getting caught, but because he didn't want to hurt her more than he was already going to.

  He also didn't want to say that and sound like an asshole, since Willow often seemed very casual, and maybe it wouldn't hurt her as much as he thought it would. Maybe she would brush it off, replace him with any number of guys who would be happy to fill his spot, and go on about her life without concern.

  Even if he selfishly disliked the idea of being so replaceable, that was what he was hoping for. Everything he had seen so far indicated that might be the case... everything except the look on her face when he got that text from Amanda.

  He couldn't believe he forgot to shut his damn phone off.

  When Amanda sent h
im the text about Caleb having a fever, he was glad that he hadn't, at least after the awkwardness with Willow. It wasn't like she didn't know he had a wife and kids at home, but knowing that and seeing evidence of it were two different things.

  By morning, Caleb's fever had dissipated without explanation. Amanda took him to the doctor anyway just to make sure, and everything checked out.

  Ethan felt like the worst person ever.

  Torn between Amanda, who was patient enough to give him the space he'd been needing since he came back home, and Willow, who forgave him for hurting her and then invited him to hurt her some more.

  He should have known better. Did know better.

  Dammit.

  How could he have let that happen?

  How could he stop it, without making more of a mess?

  When he was with Willow it felt like a separate life, but he didn't have two lives, he only had one.

  And she didn't fit into it.

  But he wanted her to.

  Even if he knew logically that the only sane course of action was cutting her loose, he knew right down to bottom of his soul that he would miss her.

  He should have never slept with her. It was a line that he knew better than to cross, and yet, he did. Sure, Willow had wanted to, but he should have had enough sense for both of them and talked her out of it. Talked to her about the dreams, about her counseling sessions—really any other reaction that didn’t involve his penis.

  Instead he fucked everything up.

  He couldn’t even try going back to just being friends with her—or some twisted version of friendship, at least—because he had cheated on his damn wife with her.

  If he had tried, he couldn’t have made a bigger mess of things.

  Unsurprisingly, three days passed without a word from Willow. He wasn’t sure that she even wanted to hear from him after that rather abrupt ending to what was essentially the night she lost her virginity….

  On day four of no contact, he went out for groceries by himself and took the opportunity to send out a text message so he had some time to wait for her response. By the time he made it to the produce section, she had responded—just “hey back” but he hadn’t expected much more than that.