One More Step

by Colleen Hoover

  I kneel down and pull them in for an even better hug. “We came to surprise you!” Andi says, jumping up and down.

  I glance up at Michael and force a smile. “I see that.”

  He slips around us, just as I stand back up. He leans in for a kiss. “Sorry,” he mutters. “They insisted I not tell you.”

  “It’s fine,” I say, hoping my reaction is convincing. “I needed the break.”

  Michael is holding two bags of groceries. He sets them on the counter and heads back to the front door. “We’re going to cook dinner for you,” he says. “I’ll grab the rest of the groceries.” He walks back outside and I pry the girls away from me.

  “Mommy needs to change out of her nightgown,” I say. “You two start putting away the groceries.”

  They’re too young to know how to put away groceries. Andi is four and Chloe is five. Michael and I had them back to back, hoping it would be easier on us to go through the toughest years all at once.

  Andi pulls a chair up to the counter because she’s not as tall as Chloe. They start digging through the sacks. I glance out the kitchen window and watch as Michael reaches his trunk. I rush to the bedroom and grab my phone.

  I open my texts to Saint. I shoot him off a quick text.

  Whatever you do, please do not come back here today.

  I toss my phone on my bed and slip out of my nightgown. I hear the buzz of his reply come through just as I’m pulling a shirt over my head. I grab my phone and read the text.

  Is everything okay?

  I don’t want to lie to him. He’s never asked me if I’m married, so there’s really nothing for him to be upset about. Besides, he’s married, too. He’ll understand. He’ll probably even be relieved.

  My husband and kids just showed up.

  I delete all my texts from him and finish getting dressed. I slide my phone in my back pocket so Michael won’t be tempted to look at it. I walk out of the bedroom, just as Michael is walking into the kitchen with the rest of the groceries.

  Chloe rushes over to me and holds her tiny hands beneath her chin. “Mommy, can we get in the hot tub?”

  “Please?” Andi begs.

  I nod and look over at Michael. “We’re getting in the hot tub. You want to join us?”

  I’ll do anything to pretend I’m a good wife and mother, and not the terrible human being I’ve been this past week.

  SEVEN

  MICHAEL IS STANDING at the stove cooking dinner. He sees the car before I do.

  I’m seated at the table, putting together a puzzle with the girls.

  I stiffen when I see it. A black, unmarked car. Very similar to what a detective’s car would look like, I imagine.

  The blood feels like it drains from my body when I see Saint step out of the vehicle.

  What is he doing here?

  I start to panic internally. I can feel blood rushing to my ears. Michael heads to the door and I want to scream at him to stop him from answering it, but my voice is stuck in my throat.

  I slide Andi off my lap as soon as Michael says, “There’s a police officer outside.”

  I walk to the door with Michael and glance out the window. Saint is walking slowly around Michael’s car. I keep my distance from Michael because I’m scared he’ll hear the thumping of my heart.

  Michael opens the door and it’s as if I can see my entire marriage crumbling around me.

  Why else would Saint be here?

  Michael steps out onto the porch. I remain frozen in the doorway.

  Saint glances at Michael, then me. He’s in full uniform right now. His jaw is hard, his expression zeroed in on me. “Sorry to bother you folks,” Saint says, slowly bringing his gaze to Michael. Saint stops at the bottom step. “I’m just doing a standard patrol of the area and noticed you don’t have a visitor tag.”

  Michael tilts his head. “Visitor tag?”

  Saint nods. “All vehicles traveling in and out of the area now require a visitor tag.”

  Michael laughs at the absurdity of needing a tag to be here, but I’m too scared to even fake a smile right now. I know Saint is lying. This area has never required a visitor tag. It’s a risky lie, because he has no idea how much Michael does or doesn’t know about the laws around here.

  “I didn’t realize,” Michael says. He turns around and looks at me. “Did you know this?”

  Saint is staring at me, hard.

  I nod. Clear my throat. “Yeah. It’s a new law. I forgot to tell you.”

  Michael tosses a hand toward me and looks back at Saint. “She forgot to tell me,” Michael says with a laugh, hoping to get a smile out of Saint. He gets nothing, because Saint is still staring at me.

  “I’m only here for the night,” Michael says. “My car will be gone by eight tomorrow morning. Can we let it slide this time?”

  Saint finally looks back at Michael. He gives him a tight nod. “I’ll be back in the morning to make sure the car’s gone,” Saint says, almost as if it’s a warning.

  Michael looks at me like this guy is crazy.

  He might be. I can’t tell.

  Is this Saint just playing the jealous, possessive role of Cam right now? I have no idea.

  Saint tips his hat toward me. “You two have a lovely night.” He grins ever so slightly when he says that. Then he walks back toward his car and gets inside.

  I immediately walk back inside the cabin. I go straight for the wine. Michael returns to the stove and says, “That was weird. Wonder why they’re getting so strict around here?”

  “I don’t know,” I mutter.

  Michael walks over to me and wraps his arms around me. “I guess it’s a good thing with you being out here all alone.”

  I force a tight smile. “Yeah. It’s…comforting.” I say that in my most convincing voice, but it isn’t comforting at all.

  It’s disturbing.

  • • •

  The rest of the night passes by without incident.

  The girls are out by nine. Michael and I are together on the couch while he catches up on work—his laptop in front of him. I have the television on, but I can’t pay attention to it. I’m drowning in too much guilt to pay attention to it.

  I’ve never cheated on Michael before. I’ve never even had the urge. We have a good marriage, and I never thought I’d be the type to have an affair, but I also don’t quite feel like I’m me when I’m here in this cabin alone. I sometimes get so immersed in my writing, I become the character I’m creating. Some call it method writing, and I suppose I can blame my actions on that, but it doesn’t excuse them.

  I cheated on my husband, and all I can do is hope to hell he never finds out.

  Michael closes his laptop. He slides it off his lap and onto the couch beside him. I can feel him looking at me, but I pretend I’m watching whatever is on the television.

  “I didn’t expect this,” he says.

  I immediately turn to him. “Didn’t expect what?”

  “You aren’t happy we’re here.”

  “What? Of course I am.”

  He smiles knowingly. “You were in the groove. I can tell. It’s like we sucked you out of a dream.”

  “Or a nightmare,” I mutter.

  He laughs. “You’ve always been way too hard on yourself, but it works out. Every time you come here, you leave with the bones of a brand new book.”

  He’s right. But I also feel like he thinks this is a vacation for me. He doesn’t truly realize the blood, sweat, and tears that go into every book I write. I don’t fault him for that. No one can really understand how emotionally draining it is unless they’ve written a book themselves.

  I’m seated on the couch with my legs tucked beneath me. Michael grabs one of my ankles and pulls my leg until I’m lying down. He crawls on top of me, and I feel an insatiable amount of guilt knowing I had sex with another man on this very couch last night.

  Michael kisses me, but I know the kiss won’t last long. He’ll take it to the bedroom before things get too he
ated. He’s a bedroom kind of lover. I don’t know that we’ve ever had spontaneous sex on a couch before.

  “Let’s go to bed,” he says, predictably.

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll be right there. I have some emails I need to send first.”

  “Take your time. I need a shower, anyway.” He pulls away from me and helps me up. I walk over to retrieve my laptop while he heads for the shower. I wait until I hear the water running, then I step outside and immediately dial Saint’s number.

  He answers on the third ring. “I figured I’d hear from you before you went to bed.” There’s a playfulness in his voice, and it pisses me off.

  “What the fuck was that?” I snap.

  “You’re married,” he snaps back, his voice devoid of humor now.

  “So are you.”

  “I never lied about it,” he says.

  I glance in the window to make sure Michael is still in the bathroom. “I technically didn’t lie about it either. You never asked.”

  There’s a long pause. His voice is lower when he says, “Are you going to fuck him tonight?”

  “He’s my goddamn husband. What do you think?”

  “So that’s a no?” The playfulness is back in his voice, and I realize what he’s doing. He’s being exactly what I asked him to be. Controlling. Possessive. Jealous.

  But I can also tell by his voice that he’s smiling right now.

  He isn’t mad at all. This is part of the game to him.

  Showing up at my house today was just him pushing the limits of my experience. He wanted me to know what it felt like to be scared my affair was about to be found out, but he had no desire for Michael to actually find out.

  “You’re making me insane,” I whisper. “I didn’t expect you to take things this far.”

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  I think about that for a minute. I think about Michael. I think about what it would do to him if he found out what I’ve done. What I’m doing.

  “Just say the word, Megan. You’ll never see me again if that’s what you need.”

  A knot forms in my throat. “No,” I whisper. “I don’t want you to stop.”

  “Good,” Saint says. “But if we’re going to continue this, then I need a favor from you.”

  I close my eyes and whisper, “What do you need?”

  “When your husband fucks you tonight, get on top and pretend you’re fucking me.”

  The call ends after he says that.

  I pull my phone from my ear and stare at it.

  I can’t ignore the heat pooling in my stomach. Hearing him talk like that—just like Cam would talk to Reya—makes me want to go straight to my laptop and write another scene.

  But it also makes me want to crawl in bed with Michael and do exactly what Saint said.

  When I go back inside, I lock the doors and turn out the lights.

  I’m crawling into bed at the same time Michael walks out of the bathroom. He tosses his phone on the nightstand and pulls back the covers. We don’t speak. Sex is something that’s quietly assumed between us. We always know when both of us are on the same page somehow.

  Michael starts out kissing me. Touching me. Then he moves on top of me and inside of me. It’s predictable with us. I’ve always feared it was, but being with Saint has proved it.

  I wait a couple of minutes before I roll Michael over and do what Saint told me to do. I straddle Michael, and he groans when I take him inside of me. He grips my thighs with his hands and I begin to move up and down. I lean my head back and close my eyes, imagining it isn’t Michael beneath me right now.

  When Michael’s hand finds its way between my legs and he begins to rub me, I pretend it’s Saint’s hand there.

  I move with him, and just before I’m about to come, I open my eyes.

  I immediately gasp and can feel all the color rush from my face.

  Saint is standing outside our bedroom window.

  The light from the full moon shines bright around him, and part of his shadow falls over Michael’s face.

  I’m so startled by his presence, I stop moving.

  Michael assumes it’s because he’s about to make me come, so I do my best to convince him that’s what has me reacting this way. The last thing I need is for Michael to lift his head and look behind him, out the window.

  I keep my eyes trained on Saint, nervous he’s about to do something. He’s staring at me with a fierce intensity, and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s turned on or angry or jealous.

  Saint raises an eyebrow when he notices I’ve frozen in place—on top of my husband—unmoving. He grins a little, then lifts an intimidating brow, indicating I should resume what I was doing before I noticed him standing there.

  My lips begin to quiver, but it’s not because of how Michael is touching me. It’s because I’m scared. And as fucked up as this is—I’m a little bit turned on by it all.

  I start moving on top of Michael again—slowly.

  Saint’s gaze scrolls longingly over my body, and seeing that need in his eyes makes me move on top of Michael even faster.

  I don’t want Michael touching me, so I remove his hand from between my legs and I press it against my hip. When I come, I want it to be because of Saint’s stare. Not because of Michael’s hand.

  I glance away from Saint and down at Michael. His eyes are closed, so I lock eyes with Saint again and slide my hand up my stomach, to my breast. Saint pulls his bottom lip in and bites it. That move sends a rush of heat through me, and it proves harder to keep my gaze locked on his. Michael is groaning beneath me, indicating he’s about to finish, so I put my own hand between my legs so I can finish with him.

  Almost immediately, I let out a scream because the feeling that slides over me is like nothing I’ve ever felt from Michael alone. I can’t keep my eyes open a second longer. I continue to move on top of Michael with my hand between my legs, even after I know he’s finished. My legs tremble as the sensation rolls through me. It lasts so long and it’s so intense, I can’t hold myself up any longer. I collapse on top of Michael in a whimper.

  He slides his hands up my back and kisses my shoulder.

  I roll onto my side and inconspicuously lift my head to look out the window.

  Saint is gone.

  I close my eyes and tuck my head against my husband’s. I can feel tears attempting to form, and I’m not even sure why. I feel guilty, but not sad.

  This is so fucked up.

  That was probably the most fucked up thing I’ve ever done.

  But what’s worse is I would probably do it all over again if given the chance. It felt that good.

  “You’ve been deprived,” Michael says. “That was…mind-blowing.”

  I want to laugh at the word deprived, but I don’t. I try to say something an innocent wife and mother would say in this moment. “I think I was too loud. I hope I didn’t wake the girls.”

  “They’re heavy sleepers.” Michael kisses me and then I roll off of him.

  He grabs a towel and wipes it between my legs.

  That’s something I’ve always appreciated about him—that he cleans me after sex. But last night when I was with Saint, he didn’t clean me at all. We were sticky and messy and he seemed to like that. Surprisingly, I liked it, too.

  Saint is everything Michael isn’t, and that’s both good and bad.

  Michael climbs back into bed and rolls over. “Love you.”

  I roll away from him and hug my pillow. “I love you, too.”

  EIGHT

  I STRAP THE girls into their car seats and kiss them both goodbye. “I’ll be home in one week,” I say.

  “How long is a week?” Andi asks.

  “It’s only thirty days,” Chloe says.

  “Seven, actually,” I correct.

  “No, it’s thirty,” Chloe says. “Sometimes thirty-one. My teacher said.”

  I don’t bother fighting this battle. I just smile and say, “Okay. Thirty days.” Either way, they don�
��t really have a concept of how long a day is, or a week or a month.

  I close their car door and Michael pulls me in for a goodbye hug. He kisses my cheek. “I’m glad we came,” he says. “Maybe last night was the inspiration you needed.”

  He has no idea.

  “I’m glad you came too,” I say. I give him a quick peck and watch as he gets in the car and backs it out of the driveway. I wave at the girls until I can no longer see their car.

  When I’m certain they’re gone, I head back into the house to grab my phone. I need to call Saint. He’s all I’ve been able to think about since last night.

  I don’t get far. As soon as I open the door front door to the cabin and walk inside, Saint is somehow standing right in front of me.

  A shiver of terror slides over me.

  How did he get inside?

  How long has he been here?

  Saint closes the front door and locks it, shoving me against it. He grips my jaw with a firm hand and then kisses me, hard.

  I don’t know what it is about this game we’re playing that I love so much, but rather than push him away like I should, I moan and pull him to me.

  I think it’s the careless danger surrounding Saint’s actions that draws me to him. He takes risks that Michael never would. He puts me in uncomfortable situations.

  And he enjoys every second of it.

  Saint pulls back and presses his forehead to mine. “Get in the shower and wash him off.”

  I find that command surprisingly insulting. “Fuck you.”

  He grabs my wrist and pulls me in the direction of my bedroom. “Not until you wash him off.”

  He gets me all the way to the bathroom door before I try to defend myself. Part of me wants to run from him, but most of me is curious where this will lead. I pull my wrist from his grasp. “You’re insane.”

  He pulls me into the bathroom and then grips the back of my head. “And you fucking love it,” he says, right before his mouth comes down on mine. He’s unbuttoning my jeans while he kisses me. When he gets them unzipped, he tears his mouth from mine and kneels in front of me, removing my jeans and my panties, urging me to step out of them. Then he’s pulling my shirt over my head.