by J. Daniels
Was I that blind? How stupid was I?
With each passing minute, my hands formed tighter to the wheel until a crack of pain shot up my forearms. I adjusted and readjusted, flexing until my shoulders began to shake. I was a bottle of pent-up aggression, a warrior in a cage, watching as a threatening figure inched closer…closer until I saw the intimidation radiating off them in heated waves. Until I felt it on my skin. The warm bite of hunger scratched the back of my throat. I wanted to bare my teeth and sink them into flesh. Draw blood. I couldn’t remember ever feeling this alive before, but I was ready.
Ready to release my anger onto someone who truly deserved it.
It was after nine when I finally arrived, parked my car behind Tori’s Volvo, and grabbed my duffle, leaving my other bags in the backseat.
The smell of salt water soaked into my lungs as I climbed the stairs to the porch, and for a brief moment I thought about how peaceful my new life was about to become.
Living at the beach was a fairy tale to me. A pipe dream that was about to become a reality…at least I was hoping it would.
I was showing up at my friend’s house, unannounced, seeking refuge.
Bag in hand, I held my breath and knocked three times.
Seconds passed before the door swung open.
Tori stood before me in her pajamas, a pair of pale blue linen shorts and an oversized T-shirt that hung off her shoulder.
Her jaw hit the floor as she looked me over with wide, startled eyes.
“Syd! What are you…” She paused, gaze lowering to the duffle in my hand. “What’s going on? Where’s Marcus? Is he with you?”
She glanced behind me in the direction of the driveway.
Explanations were in order. This was the boldest move I had ever made in all of my twenty-four years, aside from getting married straight out of high school.
I never visited Tori without planning out my trip, and she always knew about it well in advance.
This wasn’t simply a visit, though. This was a permanent relocation.
But explanations could wait. I had to deal with something, or someone, to be specific, before I revealed anything.
I pushed past her and entered the house.
“No, he’s not. And he won’t be joining me either. I hope that offer you made me last year still stands. I know you were just joking about us ditching our men and starting a lesbian life together, but as long as we keep it purely platonic, I could swing it.”
I tossed my bag on the couch in the large sitting room and spun to face a very, very confused-looking Tori.
Rightfully so.
She tilted her head, motioning around the room as if the house, and not the woman standing in front of her, had just magically appeared.
“What’s going on here? What are you doing?”
“I need that asshole’s number. Let me handle this first, and then I’ll explain everything. I promise.” I tugged my phone out of my back pocket. My hand shook ever so slightly. “What is it?”
She slowly inched closer.
“Who? Wes? Why? You’re not going to call him, are you?”
“Tori,” I growled. “Give. Me. His. Number.”
My words, and the tone behind them, acted like a fire lit to blaze under her ass. She gasped, then moved with purpose through the tiny but lavish beach house.
Tori came from money. Her family came from money. You didn’t live this close to the water and in digs like this without either having connections or a stacked bank account.
“Okayyy.” She spoke with uncertainty, her tongue clinging to the word as she walked back into the room. “Okay, um, seriously, I have no clue what’s going on right now, but I’m almost afraid you might choke me if I don’t do what you say. You’re a bit scary right now, Syd.”
If I’d had it in me, I would’ve smiled at that.
But I didn’t have it in me to smile.
Tori dug the heel of her hand into her eye while her other scrolled through the contacts on her phone.
Her long blond hair was haphazardly pulled back into a loose pony, with several pieces falling onto her shoulders and curling there.
She looked unkempt and exhausted, but still unbelievably gorgeous, because she always looked unbelievably gorgeous no matter how unkempt or exhausted she was.
Tori was a natural stunner and the definition of small-town beauty queen. She grew up in the pageant circuit, won every competition she ever entered without even caring enough about them to try, it was all her mother’s doing, putting her in those pageants and exploiting her daughter’s beauty, and Tori went through the motions to make her mother happy, but that didn’t mean Tori didn’t know when to put her foot down and that occurred when she was approached by some agency to do shampoo commercials when she was fourteen.
My best friend wasn’t interested in the kind of attention appearing in a shampoo commercial would bring a fourteen-year-old who had developed a lot earlier than the rest of her peers.
So that offer was the end of Tori’s pageant days and, subsequently, the beginning of her mother’s descent into the world of plastic surgery.
If her daughter wasn’t going to bring her attention, Mrs. Rivera would find her own way to grab it.
I watched another strand of hair fall out of Tori’s messy yet still utterly perfect pony.
I imagined after she destroyed God knows how many breakables in the house, she probably tossed about in her bed, praying for sleep and dreams involving Wes’s unfortunate but highly deserved demise.
Bastard.
Keeping her eyes on her phone, Tori shook her head then finally spoke.
“He probably won’t answer you. That’s his thing. But whatever. Ready? It’s 919-555-6871.”
I opened up the keypad on my phone and moved my thumb furiously over the numbers.
He would answer. I’d hit Redial until my fingers bled if needed.
I placed the phone to my ear and waited.
I felt anxious and slightly dizzy. My pulse was racing. I knew I probably needed to sit down, take a breath, but the second that motherfucker’s deep voice seeped into my ear with a tired yet undeniably sexy “yeah,” which pissed me off to no end seeing as I hated this man with every fiber of my being and had no business thinking his “yeahs” were sexy, I was on high alert and once again found myself pacing the room like a strung-out junkie.
“You,” I growled, voice vibrating low and sore in my throat. “Stupid, worthless piece of dog shit.”
Tori gasped behind me.
“Excuse me?” Wes sounded put off. “What the fuck—”
“Who the hell do you think you are, huh? And in what universe is a douche bag tool like you able to bag a wife? Is she also a fucking idiot?”
I heard his heavy breathing on the other line, but nothing else. His silence boiled my blood.
“Hello! Remove the dildo from your mouth and fucking speak!”
I spun around, shocked at my own coarse words, and looked up at Tori, curious to see her reaction.
She stood frozen between the couch and the wall, her eyes swollen and red from her earlier tears, doubled in size now that I’d let my mouth loose on this dipshit.
A light, amused chuckle hissed in my ear.
I pulled in a breath through my nose.
“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled. “Think you might have the wrong number, Wild. I don’t normally suck on dildos after six o’clock on Tuesdays.”
I blinked at the floor.
Wild?
Was he making fun of me?
He was. He was making a joke, out of me, out of this, out of my best friend’s pain.
I flattened a hand to my chest, feigning regret.
“Oh, I am so, so sorry. I forgot. You’re into ass play. Hard and deep, right? Tori told me all about it. My mistake. Is that something your wife enjoys? Do you take turns fucking each other?”
“Fuck,” he groaned. “You serious?”
“You hurt her,” I bit out through clenched teet
h. “You hurt my best friend. And you better pray to the God of assholes like you that I don’t ever see your ugly, motherfucking face. Jail doesn’t scare me, loser. I will cut your dick off and make you eat it in front of your mother.”
He laughed again, only this time it was bold and straight from his belly. One of those laughs I knew had his head thrown back and tears brimming his eyes.
My feet stuck to the carpet. The hand at my side curled into a tight fist with nails threatening to break skin.
“You’re…wow,” he said, his voice floating with another soft laugh. “Damn. Just slow down a minute, all right? Quit yelling for a second.” He cleared his throat. I heard the creak of the mattress. “Look, I’m not going to deny that I partake in a little ass play on occasion, but no joke, I’m the one delivering it. There is no other scenario. As for my dick? I really need him to stay attached. We’re close. You get me?”
Did I get him?
“I hate you,” I whispered, closing my eyes, my heart pounding.
Suddenly, I forgot who I had dialed and could only picture Marcus standing in the doorway of our bedroom.
Marcus, telling me it was over.
Marcus, digging his nails into my chest and clawing out my heart.
Marcus, my husband, who had stopped loving me and wanted out.
He didn’t look remorseful in that moment. He looked…relieved.
There was no need to lie anymore. No need to pretend he was happy. He was free, and I was falling.
Down.
Down.
Into the unknown, where I had to find the person I was without him. I didn’t even know where to begin looking for her.
Wes hesitated responding, finally giving me a quiet, “Don’t even know me,” followed by a heavy sigh. “Again, you got the wrong number. This guy who you think I am, he screwed over your friend? Right? Do me a favor and check the number you were supposed to dial. I’m betting you’re only off by one.”
“Fuck you,” I spat.
I was sick of hearing his denial, but then strangely found myself pulling the phone back and studying the screen.
There was something in his voice when he dropped the enjoyment of my verbal lashing. A concealed sadness, and I didn’t think the man who had shamelessly introduced his wife to his girlfriend had the ability to feel anything that deep.
You had to have a heart first. Wes clearly didn’t.
I couldn’t remember what number Tori had given me. It could easily have been the number lit up on my phone, but I wanted to be certain.
I lifted my head to look at her.
“What was that number again?”
Tori narrowed her eyes, her mouth dropping open. She then glanced down once more at the phone in her hand and slowly repeated, “Uh, 919-555-6871.”
Shit.
Exactly one number off. I’d dialed 6872.
“What’s going on?” Tori asked, stepping forward.
I knew the man on the other end of the line heard the confirmation he was betting on. By the time the phone touched my ear again, he was finishing the last subtle notes of a throaty chuckle.
“Sorry you’re going to have to go through that epic speech again, Wild. You nailed it, though, if that helps.”
Wild.
His voice was smooth and low, wickedly playful.
Sexy.
I was ready to dig a hole in the sand and bury myself in it.
God, I am such a shit.
I slapped a hand over my eyes, groaning.
“Oh, my God. I am so, so sorry. This…was clearly a call not meant for you. I’m sure you’re not a douche bag tool.”
“Who sucks on dildos and gets fucked by his wife?”
He chuckled again.
I could feel the heat burn across my cheeks and down my neck.
“Yeah,” I said through a wince.
“Not really my thing.”
Tori nudged my elbow, then held her hands out, silently questioning what was going on.
I shook my head. I needed to get off the phone with this guy. I’d abused him enough already.
I held up a finger to Tori and spun around, facing the large bay window at the front of the house.
“Right. Um, again, I’m very, very sorry I cussed you out and accused you of enjoying…those things. I don’t normally go off like that. It’s just been…one of those days. You know?” I blew out a quick breath. “Sorry again. Take care.”
Quickly, before he had the chance to respond, I slid my thumb over the End Call button.
My body slumped into the nearby recliner and I curled into the leather, dropping my head back with a sigh.
That felt good. Even if I hadn’t spewed that hatred at my intended victim, something in my chest felt lighter. It was bizarre. Maybe I didn’t need to dial the correct number to chew out Wes, or face my new reality and lay into Marcus.
Speaking of douche bag tools.
Marcus had gotten off too easy. He pulled the pin on our relationship and walked away without any refusal from me. I’m not a wallflower. Far from it, actually. I would eventually face him and give him every word I was meant to say in that bedroom. He deserved to know how I felt, but more than that, he deserved to feel it.
“What…the hell was that?” Tori appeared in front of me, her hands stuck to her hips. “Did you seriously say all of that to a wrong number?”
I nodded.
“Holy shit, you badass. Way to commit.” Her smile faded a second before her eyes went soft. “Are you going to try Wes again? Because really, Syd, you don’t have to do that. I’m not asking you to fight my battles, and to be honest…” She trailed off, swallowing heavily as her eyes lowered. “I think I’m okay. I mean, I’m completely done with men for the time being, but I’m not chasing a bottle of pills with some hooch. I’ll get over it. He was just another mistake.”
After I was silent for a few seconds, she bent down and placed her hand gently on my knee.
“Hey,” she whispered.
I rolled my head to the side until our eyes met, and before she spoke her next words, I knew from the look on her face what she was planning on asking me.
I decided to beat her to it.
“Marcus told me tonight he wants a divorce.”
She sucked in a breath.
“What? Why? What happened?”
Before I could answer, she shot up abruptly, holding her hand out to keep me quiet.
“Wait. We need wine for this discussion, and all of the chocolate in this house. Give me a minute.”
She turned to take a step, but halted, spinning back around and pointing at the floor.
“You will be living here.”
My mouth lifted in the corner.
“Thank you.”
She disappeared down the hallway in a blur of blond hair and long limbs as I tucked myself into a ball, staring off into the quiet house.
My new home.
Chapter Two
SYDNEY
“I just…I don’t get it.”
Tori slid down onto the floor next to me in front of the couch with another bottle of wine.
We had polished off the first one rather quickly while I revealed the details of my evening, which included everything involving Marcus, plus the ending of my employment in Raleigh I handled over a phone call on the drive here, and I was already starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. My cheeks were flushed and I was growing tired.
Wine always made me sleepy.
She popped the cork and poured herself another glass.
“How do you fall out of love with someone after seven years together?” she asked. “How does that even happen? And with no warning, that’s the strangest part. It’s like he just woke up and, boom, he wants out.”
I took the bottle from her and brought it to my lips. The moscato warmed my throat.
“There were warnings,” I confessed, staring straight ahead. I could instantly feel her eyes on me.
“Like?”
Tori sounde
d baffled, which was to be expected. I hadn’t shared with her the details of the past few months with Marcus. Not because I wanted to keep her in the dark, but because at the time, I was lost in it myself. I didn’t want to see what was happening to my marriage. I didn’t want to feed any truth to it. So I made excuses for Marcus. I played down obvious cautions and ignored my suspicions. Anything to keep myself from acknowledging the reality.
“Syd.”
Tori nudged my shoulder, snapping me out of my head.
“Sorry.” I gave her a weak smile, then focused on the bottle in my hand. “You know how Marcus’s job is. He’s always worked crazy hours, but lately, it was nonstop. Twelve-to-fourteen-hour days. He’d pick up side jobs on the weekend for extra cash. We never saw each other anymore. If he was home, I was working and vice versa. It was like we were living separate lives in the same house.”
“But you guys still talked to each other and stuff, right?”
I subtly shook my head.
“Not about anything other than stuff we had to discuss, like if a certain bill was paid or what I needed to pick up from the market. He became quiet, like really distant with me, but I figured it was just the job getting to him. I knew he had to be exhausted. He was never home.”
“Mm.” She brought her glass to her lips. “What about texting? Didn’t you two talk on the phone at all?”
I gave Tori an odd look. She should’ve known the answer to that question.
“You know how Marcus is with technology. He hates cell phones. He rarely carries his with him. And texting is out of the question. He refuses to do it.”
I took another swig of the wine, remembering the countless conversations we’d had about him never returning my messages.
“How am I supposed to respond to a smiley face? And I’m not typing on that small as shit keyboard. It’s lame.”
I took a deep breath before continuing on with my confession.
“We stopped having sex, too. That should’ve been the biggest red flag, but again…long hours. I just figured he was too tired.”
I prayed he was too tired. The other possibility, my husband no longer finding me physically attractive, wasn’t something I wanted to believe, and it wouldn’t have been something I could’ve understood either.