Her chin quivered, not from tears but from the burning rage that warmed her body from the inside out. Once again, he was twisting things to suit himself. He had spent months holding firm to her while at the same time pushing her away. It was an untenable dynamic he had created and she was finally ready to put an end to it.
“No, you didn’t. You made me this way,” she replied. “You made me just as weak and selfish as you because even though you pretend you want to be alone with your misery, you’ve always made sure I was right there with you. So, don’t you pretend it’s anything else."
The truth of her words froze him.
She yanked opened the car door and paused. “Are you coming home?” she asked, the anger drained from her voice.
Nodding, he got in the car with her.
~
They embraced silence. Silence during the drive. Silence as they entered the house. Sophie went to their bedroom’s en suite to take a shower without saying a word. Gavin mutely traded places with her as she was stepping out.
Dry and warm now under a layer of heavy bedding, Sophie still couldn’t stop trembling. Gavin soon joined her, wrapping his arm around her from behind. She felt the regret and fear in his body as he clung to her, the desperation in his mouth as he pressed his lips to her neck and shoulder. And when he pulled her so she lay on her back, she let him make love to her, even as she felt the tears he tried to hide by sinking his face into her hair.
She suspected it was a silent goodbye. And this was confirmed when in the morning she found him gone again. This time he left a note. As she read it, her chest burned and her heart ached.
My sweet girl, I've left for LA. Jackson's filming there and has offered to help me sort things out for good. You are all that I have ever wanted. But you deserve so much more. I'm going to get to a place where I can give you something other than my misery. Be patient. I love you.
—G
PART FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
Gavin had pulled the ultimate push-pull maneuver by running away to LA but asking Sophie to stay patient. He had always asked a lot of her, and she had always sought to fulfill his needs. Being needed by him had been the defining aspect of her life. Then he took that away when he fell into depression and cocaine. And now he told her in his phone call from LA that he couldn’t shake his cocaine habit in her presence, that he couldn’t bear the weight of her disappointment in him. She could only hope that going along with his wish for space would be what he truly needed to get well.
Over the course of a few weeks, Gavin seemed to be doing better. Sophie saw through tabloid coverage that he was a healthier version of himself with a little weight gain and a light tan. He reported to Sophie in short, impersonal texts that he was clean and enjoying being on set with Jackson. It was also clear that he wasn’t in a hurry to come home to her, and she was left wondering if this separation was bound to become permanent.
When Sophie saw the headlines announcing that Conor had broken off his engagement with Colette, she wanted to reach out to him. She wanted to see his handsome face and engage in the mildly flirtatious banter they had perfected over the years. She wanted to hear what books he had been reading, what hikes he had done, what exotic food he had tried, and if he had seen any good art shows. She missed his friendship. Hurting him the way she had when he’d come to commiserate about Sammy-the-Stripper was something she deeply regretted. She’d been no better than Gavin in the way she pushed Conor away so she could be alone in her own misery.
As she thought about him, she realized she didn’t just miss his friendship. She missed him. Because she had fallen in love with him. Though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it had happened, she knew she had been in denial about it for a long time. How could she admit she was in love with both Gavin and Conor? It was only now that she had real time with her own thoughts, removed from Gavin’s angst, that she could be honest about her feelings.
Looking out at the expansive sea view from the deck, Sophie focused on the way the sun was breaking through the clouds and shining down on the deep blue water and thought about all the times Conor let her cry on his shoulder over Gavin. Now that he was dealing with a breakup, she thought she should at least offer him the same.
After a moment, she took her phone and typed: “Let me know if you want to talk.” It seemed supportive without being provocative.
She was surprised by the nearly immediate response. “As a matter of fact, I do. I’m at your gate. Let me in.”
They had a surveillance system that showed the gated driveway and she rushed to the computer set up in a nook of the kitchen to be sure he wasn’t joking.
He wasn’t. He sat in his Aston Martin, waiting. She was unable to stop the smile from spreading across her face as she pressed the keys to allow him access.
It didn’t take him long to drive through and she met him at the door with unbridled excitement. As he walked up the wide-set staircase to meet her, she took in the sight of him. He wore form-fitting jeans along with his ever-present pocket chain and a thin black cashmere sweater. His hair was recently trimmed, his face clean shaven, and his blue eyes unadorned by sunglasses. She could see, then, as he met her eyes that despite having hurt him the last time they saw each other, he still adored her.
Closing the short distance between them, she threw her arms around his neck and squeezed him tightly. He hesitated in returning her embrace for a moment, but then held her just as tightly, lowering his face into her neck.
Their hug lasted minutes rather than seconds, and when Sophie finally pulled away, she could feel her heart thumping in her chest.
“Come inside,” she said, pulling him by the hand.
He hadn’t seen this house before and took his time looking around at the high ceilings, the cream ‘L’ shaped sofa positioned to take advantage of the sea views, and the sophisticated but cozy lit gas fireplace. “A bit of a step up from the other place, yeah?” he asked with a smile.
“How are you?”
He tilted his head noncommittally. “Fine. It’s for the best. I see Gavin’s off in Los Angeles, playing movie star.”
“I’m so happy to see you, Connie.” She playfully plucked at his ribs. “You look good.”
“You too, honey.”
She nodded. “Come, let me show you the rest of the house.”
~
As she walked him through the house they traded notes on the sad state of their personal affairs without getting too deeply into things. The tour ended in the master bedroom where Sophie insisted Conor try the oversized chair in the sitting area of the room to enjoy the endless sea view.
As he looked out at the water, he wondered at her welcome of him. God, it felt good to be received like that. Her smile was more brilliant than the view spread out before him. And the feel of her body against his with that lingering hug, well, it had almost done him in.
“This is spectacular,” he told her. “Well done.”
She didn’t reply but instead moved in front of him, blocking his view. The deep v-neck of her sweater allowed a tempting peek at the curves of her breasts, and he assumed she hadn’t expected any company as she usually wore some sort of pretty layer under such things. But he wasn’t complaining. Slouched in the chair, he smiled up at her in anticipation of some winsome remark she might make. Instead, she fell to her knees, her body pressed between his legs. That sweater was now pulled even lower at the neckline and as he looked down at her he could tell she wore his favorite style of bra beneath it. The pale pink demi-cup bra gave her smooth breasts the look of an offering. And she was tantalizingly close to being at eye—or rather, mouth—level with his groin. This was not at all what he had anticipated when he came here. He had simply wanted to see her, to be sure she was all right.
“Em,” he started and moved to straighten up in the chair because his body was already responding to her. Jesus, what she could do to him.
But she grabbed his hips to stop him and he watched her. She reached out
and touched his face, then let her fingers trail slowly down the side of his neck and along his chest, over his abdomen and across the waistband of his jeans. When her hand reached his crotch, he was hard.
“Sophie,” he said and put his hand over hers. But she didn’t try to slip her hand away. Instead, she rubbed the length of him and he bit his lip, fighting to find the strength to stop her. And yet, he did nothing when she pulled open the buttons of his fly.
“This is what I want. Is it okay?” she asked.
He met her eyes and there was only desire for him. It was what he had wanted to see and feel for so long, and now there didn’t seem to be any hesitation on her part. He didn’t want to think about her motivations or what would happen beyond this moment. He didn’t want to think about the fact that she was likely using him in some way or what the consequences would be. It was wrong, but he couldn’t stop himself now that she was the one seducing him.
“You’re fucking right it’s okay,” he said and leaned toward her, kissing her full and hard on the mouth.
~
As only the second lover Sophie had ever had, Conor did not disappoint. He was confident and clearly knew how to touch a woman. After all their years of restraint, this could have been a feverish and quick initial experience, but he was deliberate in slowing it down, making sure he read her cues as he caressed every part of her body. She surrendered herself to the moment, thinking only of him: the way he smelled with the trace of cologne she suspected he wore so women would lean close to him; the strength and definition of his muscles; the mixture of heated desire and satisfaction on his face when she touched him with her hands and tongue. Their closely aligned orgasms had them dissolving into subdued laughter at the sweet pleasure of it.
Wrapping her arms around him and pressing her naked body to his, Sophie kissed his temple. “Don’t think I’m done with you,” she whispered into his ear. “We are going to make this last.”
“Christ, I hope so,” he replied with a sigh.
She trailed her fingers over his chest and downward to the sculpted oblique muscles above his hips and he flinched.
He was fighting off a smile when she looked at him.
“How did I not know you were ticklish?” she asked with wide eyes.
Taking her hand, he kissed her fingertips and smiled, relaxed and content. She pulled away and quickly straddled him, pushing his arms up above his head.
“What’s this?” he asked, unable to hide his delight at her unexpected move.
“I want to see how much of me you can handle.”
He raised his eyebrows. “A lifetime’s worth, honey.”
That response made her chest burn with a mixture of emotions she didn’t want to confront. Instead, she leaned over him and began to kiss, bite, and lick the sensitive skin on the inside of his bicep, moving slowly upward. Beside a few twitches, he held his own. She should have known he could control himself if he wanted. The rest of his body responded to her positioning, however, and she soon took advantage of that. There was no fumbling with each other or second guessing on rhythms and pressure, just pure chemistry.
It was beginning to get dark out when they finally settled into each other’s arms again. He held her as he had in New York, facing her and with her head pulled against his neck and shoulder. Having enjoyed more than one orgasm in their uninhibited love making, she was now perfectly content to hold him and be held in return.
“This is everything,” he told her quietly.
She smiled into his shoulder and he stroked her back lazily in return, and they were quiet. The crushing guilt and regret she knew she should feel wouldn’t come. This was a connection years in the making that had finally culminated in one of the most exciting, intense, and satisfying experiences she had ever had. She had wanted to know this part of him, even though it was incredibly selfish. Selfish because this didn’t change the fact that Gavin was who she wanted. He would always be the one she wanted, even if she was capable of loving someone else. Her guilt, therefore, was in having given Conor hope for them being something more.
“Will you stay the night?” she asked. She knew she shouldn’t draw this out longer, but couldn’t stop herself.
There was a long silence before he responded with, “I can’t.”
“No?” The idea of him getting up and walking out left her feeling empty.
He pulled away from her so that he could look into her eyes. “Sophie, I would love to stay. I would love it. But if I don’t let you go now . . . I won’t ever be able to let you go.”
So, he had known where her heart was all along. It was just another way in which it was clear that he was attuned to who she was and what she needed, and that realization was so bittersweet that she ached physically.
“And I do have to let you go, don’t I?” he asked, stroking her cheek.
Tears filled her eyes and she managed the slightest nod. “It hurts,” she whispered.
“It does.”
“I’m sorry, Conor.”
“Don’t be. I’m not.”
She searched his eyes and found he meant what he said. She kissed him anxiously, wanting him all over again, for the last time.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
Conor stayed away for two and half days before returning unannounced with a bottle of wine and takeaway Italian food. His only expectation was friendship, though they shared the kind of intimacy reserved for lovers.
Over the next couple weeks, he made a habit of arriving midday and they would take long walks to explore the surrounding Dalkey area. They played tourist when they came upon the James Joyce Tower, a utilitarian stone structure built to withstand an invasion by Napoleon, and now a museum devoted to the life and works of its namesake. Joyce, they learned, had made the tower the setting for the first chapter of Ulysses. They walked along Colimore Road, delighting in finding both Cliff Castle, a mock castle built in the 1850s, and Elsinore, the house rented by U2 in 1991 where they completed Achtung Baby. In the park above the eight Victorian homes that make up Sorrento Terrace, they took in spectacular views of the whole of Dublin, along with the full sweep of Killiney Bay across to Bray Head and the Wicklow Mountains. They’d return to her house after these walks chilled from the fall weather, make a simple dinner and eat in front of the fireplace.
Gavin hadn’t contacted her in sixteen days by this time. Sophie and Conor’s bubble could have stretched on uninterrupted had she not realized how late she was. A home test confirming her suspicion was followed by conclusive results at the doctor’s office.
That afternoon, Sophie lay on the sofa, staring out at the sea while Conor sat on the floor close by, reading a Dave Grohl interview in Rolling Stone.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hmm?” He turned the page, continuing to read.
“Do you ever wonder why certain things happen at certain times?”
“God works in mysterious ways and all that,” he said with distraction.
“Conor?”
“Just a sec.” He held up a finger while he read.
“Conor, I’m pregnant.”
That got his attention. He dropped the magazine and turned to her. “You’re—but, I thought you were on the pill,” he stammered.
“You’re in the clear,” she said with a wry smile as she sat up. “I’m seven weeks.”
“Oh, Soph,” he said. “Congratulations?”
“It’s such an amazing thing to think that there’s a life growing in there,” she said, touching her flat belly. “I want to be excited. I want to celebrate and make plans. But, Conor, I’m pretty sure my husband left me and just hasn’t gotten around to telling me.”
“He’s got his head up his arse. But once he knows about this everything will change.”
“That could be true. But would it be for the right reason?”
“Isn’t a baby the right reason?”
“I want him to want our marriage.”
“He does. Of course, he does. I can’t say I’ve known him well
these past months, but I know that much about him.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“There’s only one way you’ll know, honey. You need to tell him face to face.”
She nodded but her stomach was queasy with the thought of trying to force her husband to be present again in their marriage. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
Yellow haze obscured Sophie’s view as the plane readied for landing in Los Angeles. She turned away from the window and closed her eyes. Her hometown had become a foreign place to her in the last few years. It was ironic that she felt more comfortable in Ireland than in America and that her Irish husband now seemed so at home in America.
After trading a series of messages with Gavin, Sophie had decided to force the matter and simply fly into town. By the time the car service dropped her off at their Venice Beach home, the sun was setting with an unnatural purple-orange intensity aided by the thick layer of smog over the ocean.
The house was empty, but had obviously been lived in. Gavin hadn’t kept up with his laundry or dishes. And there were beer and water bottles strewn around carelessly. From what she could tell, the bed in the master suite had been used only by him. But she couldn’t be certain.
Their interior designer had agreed with Sophie’s suggestion that they break up all the white space in the house with colorful rugs and pieces of furniture. It had all come together to form a bright, cheerful home. But that now stood in contrast to her conflicted emotions.
Grabbing a plastic bag from the kitchen, she began gathering the bottles. As she worked, she thought how she was once again chasing after Gavin. This dynamic had begun in their school days, where she lingered at Rogue’s band practice hoping to get a chance to talk to him. It repeated itself when she tracked him down during their first tour, only to be blown off. The following year she had that momentous radio phone call with him and later showed up at his hotel room. And here she was again, running after him. After almost ten years of marriage, she was still the one doing the hard work in their relationship. She had excused so much in deference to the wound he wallowed in. It was time to break the pattern, no matter what that meant for their future family.
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