by A. C. Bextor
“I’m still me,” I agree.
“If I were a better man, I’d send you back to your husband,” he tells me, his finger brushing the hair from my eyes.
“I didn’t come here for you to send me away,” I insist.
Mason’s head tilts to the side, his voice raspy and uneven as he demands, “Then tell me why you’re here.”
“I already told you.”
“Say the words again, Katie.”
Closing my eyes slowly, I ball my hands to fists.
Mason may have left town. Along the way, he may have also decided we couldn’t be friends. But other than a few years that have passed, the moment he opened the door we both knew nothing between us had changed.
Nothing.
Finding my voice, I give, “I came because—”
Cutting me off, he demands, “Look at me when you say it.”
I shake my head, denying what he’s asking. A tear falls through my closed lid. I expect it to drop down my cheek.
It doesn’t.
Instead, Mason’s finger brushes the sad away.
Opening my eyes, I find what I knew I would. My life’s happiness coming to full circle. All the memories of us together push forward. All the laughter, intimacy, and peace emerge. Everything we had, everything I never expected to end. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
I don’t think I ever truly did.
“Be with me,” I whisper.
“I’m not sure I can do that,” he returns with reverence.
“Be with me,” I say again.
Mason drops his head, staring to the ground at our feet.
“We do this, it’ll change you, Katie,” he tells me. “It’ll cut deep.”
Mason doesn’t know about Thomas and his life outside our marriage. He doesn’t understand how long my days have been or the grief each is filled with. He couldn’t fathom my reasons for staying in a marriage because I’ve promised my daughters the life they deserve. An oath not unlike the one Thomas gave me on our wedding day, but one stronger and more protective, as only a maternal promise could be.
Grabbing his hand that now cups my cheek, I lace my fingers with his.
A subtle sob breaks through my words but manage, “Mason, being with you again won’t cut me.”
“It will,” he assures.
“It doesn’t matter if it does,” I reply.
“Of course it fucking matters.”
“No,” I assert, shaking my head. “My heart is already bleeding.”
His eyes narrow and his hand moves from my cheek to my throat. Mason bends, resting his knees to the floor. He uses the palm of his hand to hold my chin steady.
Angry and bitter, he clips hoarsely, “Does he hurt you?”
“God, no,” I return. “Thomas isn’t like—”
“Don’t say his name,” he rounds out on a hiss.
“He doesn’t hurt me,” I finish on a whisper.
Eyes narrow and jaw tight, Mason rallies, “Why is your heart bleeding, Katie?”
Because even if I have the unconditional love of two beautiful, healthy daughters, I don’t have the love of you.
More tears fall. “Please,” I beg. “Just be here with me.”
“Why is your heart bleeding?” he pushes again, his voice distraught, his glare intense.
Because there’s no one else in the world who remembers the person I used to be.
Lifting my hand to his pressed white shirt, I unbutton one, then another. Mason scans my face as I continue without disruption.
He drops both arms, allowing the shirt to fall to the floor.
As it does, he leaves his gaze to mine and presses, “Why is your heart bleeding?”
Leaning up, I kiss the corner of his mouth. He stills, his body tense.
I could back out now, walk away, and be no worse for it. I could turn from a man I never stopped loving and follow the footsteps to a lie of happiness with one I never loved at all.
Or I could give myself what I’ve longed for. Truth, the dark veil of lies lifted. Passion, giving in to Mason as I once so easily had done before.
“Fuck,” he spits, grasping a handful of my hair with one hand and wrapping his other arm around my waist. Still on his knees, his hips secured between my thighs, Mason squares our gazes. “When I opened that door, I didn’t see you,” he whispers harshly, his breath fanning my face.
My brows furrow and I urge, “You didn’t see me?”
Mason brings his face to mine, the warmth of his breath covering my lips as he explains, “When I opened the door, I saw everything, Katie.”
His tongue sweeps over my bottom lip.
“Mason,” I gasp, clutching his arms for balance.
“I saw home,” he swears as oath.
His mouth crashes against my lips, his arms wrapping tightly around mine, caging me to him. His tongue pushes, coaxing its way inside, until I taste everything he is. Mason moves, positioning my back to the bed. He climbs over until he’s above.
Still cradling my head, Mason glares down. His eyes are alert, heated. Striking and deliberate.
“You saw home, too,” he tells me, and a whimper escapes my throat.
Nodding, the tears I’d been holding release, dropping down my temples in turn.
Mason works between us, lifting my skirt before the sounds of his buckle and zipper echo between us. Taking time, my fingers rove over his skin, the color of his tattoos, the contours of his chest, and the straining muscles beneath it all.
I strangle out a gasp when Mason stretches my panties to the side. I welcome the fit tight against my thigh.
As he slides in, my eyes slam shut. I breathe in deep as Mason gives all his weight. Again and again, his thrusts are fevered.
“Jesus, fuck,” he growls, tearing through the buttons of my shirt before ripping my bra to the side.
In and out again, offering no reprieve, he furiously sucks my nipple.
A whimper breaks from my mouth and I hold his head to my chest.
My heels dig deep into his back, caging him to me as close and for as long as I can.
“Mason, I’m close.”
“Wait,” he orders, using his elbows to hold my legs to his sides. Granted access to go deeper, he rams inside. As our bodies slam together, our gazes remained locked.
“I left you with him and he fucking broke you.”
“Please, don’t,” I plead. “Please just—”
“Be here with you,” he remembers my plea. “Fuck, I am. Swear to God, I am.”
The cords of his neck strain. He breaks our stare to look up before closing his eyes. His body starts to tremble, one powerful thrust melting into another. The hungry drives continue.
Until finally, we both succumb to what we’ve done.
Thirty minutes later, I’m still laying in the hotel bed. Mason is half-dressed. His chest is bare, his jeans zipped but not buttoned. He had gotten up a few minutes ago to dress and order dinner.
“In case you’re wondering, I’m covered,” I toss out, sated and satisfied to watch him move throughout the room. “I’m on the pill.”
Mason bends at the waist and plants his hands to the bed. He crawls up, settling himself at my side.
“I wasn’t wondering,” he says. “Figured you probably were.”
Wrapping my arm around his waist, I rest my chin against his chest, happy to gaze into his beautiful face. Mason drapes his hand around my waist, his hand settling beneath the sheet on my hip where his fingertips caress my bare skin.
“You good?” he questions, looking down and scanning my expression.
I know what he’s asking. He’s worried I regret what we’ve done. But honest to God, I can’t muster an ounce of remorse. Maybe later, when I’m home taking care of my girls, but not now. Here, there’s nothing I feel but peace.
“I think I’m okay.”
Taking my word, he nods and positions my head on his chest, using his fingers to comb through my hair.
“You were the last fuc
kin’ person I thought I’d see tonight,” he notes. “And this is the last place I expected we’d end up.”
I’m not surprised by either, but don’t explain why.
“You’re in town for work?” I question, small talk wanted but unnecessary. I could lay here in silence, taking him all in, for as long as he’d let me.
Using his other hand, he wipes the palm over his face and clears his throat answering, “Yeah.”
“When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
So soon.
“Wanna tell me why I opened the door and found you?”
Shaking my head, I tell the wall across the room, “No.”
“But you’re safe?” he questions, something so Mason.
“I’m safe,” I assure.
Physically, yes. I’m secure. Thomas would never touch me in a way I didn’t let him. And he’d never allow anyone else to do so, if at all possible.
Emotionally, no. I’m a fucking mess.
My marriage, my life, has taken a turn from the fences of stability, and I’ve been left to pick up whatever pieces we’re able to put back together. My decision to stay with my husband for the sake of our family hasn’t been an easy one to manage.
I’m sick that Thomas had an affair with another woman. I’m haunted by the images of the two of them together. I’m mortified that woman was someone I once called a friend. I’m angry he could do what he did to our family, then come home one afternoon, out of nowhere, to confess.
Slowly, Thomas and I are working together. But the damage is done. We both love our daughters, above and beyond ourselves. We’re dedicated to give them a life with two parents who love them very much. After that is anyone’s guess.
“Why’d you stop calling?” I ask, my curiosity too much to bear. “And why’d you stop returning my calls?”
Mason sighs. “I knew you were with him,” he says regarding Thomas.
Rolling my eyes at his reason, I state, “You always hated Thomas.”
“You’re right,” he agrees. “But I hated him for selfish reasons.”
“What were those?”
“He wanted you. And even if I thought he was a prick, he’d be the kind of guy I’d want for you.”
God, if he only knew.
“How’s that?”
“He’s educated. He’s established. He comes from a good family—a good home.”
None of what Mason says is what I ever wanted.
“I was so lonely,” I give. “After you left, I was—”
“Don’t justify why you have the life you have,” he insists. “I’m glad you have all you do, but it doesn’t mean I don’t wish we hadn’t turned out differently.”
“Do you have someone…” I start, but swallow hard, “you’re seeing?”
Shaking his head, he replies, “No. Work is busy.”
“Are you safe?” I question next.
Nodding, Mason talks to the ceiling. “I love what I do most of the time. But like today, I wish I would’ve taken up another career.”
Mason turns, stripping the covers off our bodies and resting his hips between my thighs.
“You stayin’ for while?”
Smiling, happy in knowing my girls are safe with my dad and not giving a care where Thomas is, I nod.
Mason grins as the knock comes to the door. “Let’s eat. Then we’ll have a drink while you tell me about your girls.”
I love that. Mason wants to hear about my family—sans Thomas.
“Okay,” I agree.
As Mason stands to his feet, his eyes don’t leave mine. He stops at the side of the bed and runs his finger down my face.
“I’ve missed you, Katie,” he tells me. “And I meant what I said earlier.”
Puzzled, I pause before saying, “I’ve missed you too.”
Murmuring to himself before turning away, he utters a simple, “Fuck, it’s good to be home.”
“HOW HARD IS IT TO train someone to bring people food?” Sabrina sneers, scowling at the timid young waitress as she walks away. “Really, where do they get these people?”
“Calm down,” I murmur back, looking across the room.
Thomas and Katie are seated at a small, black and white checkered tabletop in the same nice restaurant we’re in.
Calena’s is an Italian family bistro located about ten miles out of town. The place is known for their great service and unique decor. The establishment isn’t heavily marketed, meaning not a lot of out-of-towners know of its location. It’s rarely crowded, and there’s very little wait for food.
For the last twenty minutes, Thomas Dyer’s attention has been solely on his phone. He’s been flipping through screens or randomly typing. He hasn’t paid any attention to Katie, other than an occasional glance up. And as far as I’m able to tell, the two haven’t spoken a word.
Katie’s attention has been kept to the menu, as if it has the answers to every question she’s ever asked. And believe me, I know Katie Margret Morris, and the girl can ask a fuckload of them.
Tonight she’s wearing a one-piece black dress with black high-heeled shoes. Her blonde hair is up, her silver necklace and earrings on display. Her lips are painted red; she’s wearing too much makeup. From here it appears she’s trying too hard to get her husband’s attention.
Christ, but Thomas Dyer is a fucking idiot.
“Anyway,” Sabrina huffs, tossing a thick gathering of straight hair over her shoulder. “What do you think about all of this?”
Forcing focus, I sway my attention back to Sabrina. Ironically, my first thought is how easily it would be for a woman like her to bring any man to his knees. To have him worship the very ground her stilettos walked on. How, if given the opportunity, any decent man would jump at the chance to put his baby in her belly.
If only she wasn’t such a selfish bitch.
“What do I think about what?” I question.
Sabrina’s lips purse. “Cole, have you been listening to me?”
Not really.
The fact that I’d rather gaze across a dimly lit restaurant, staring at a married woman sitting with her husband, remembering how fucking good her body feels like under mine, tells me what I already knew. I’ve got to end whatever this is with Sabrina.
When she came to my house this evening, without invitation, I didn’t ask her in as she expected. I didn’t want her in my space. I offered to take her for a drink. She countered the offer for dinner. I agreed. Then she pushed for ‘dessert’ first, but I was in no mood.
I’d never made Sabrina wait for sex, and suffice it to say, she wasn’t big on delayed gratification.
“Sabrina, you’re not—”
Cutting me off, she reminds me of whatever the fuck I hadn’t heard before. “So, anyway. Tony is giving me the interview. I have to be in L.A. next Friday.”
Tony being her boss at the news station. Friday being too far away for her to have to leave.
“Congratulations,” I muster.
Smiling proudly, she explains, “I’ll be gone three weeks. I’m requesting a first-class flight and—”
Across the way, Thomas closes his phone and slides it into his suit front pocket. Another waitress passes his table and his focus doesn’t shift from her ass.
My jaw clenches. Fucking idiot.
“And I am not flying coach, as I’m going to—”
“Christ,” I clip, anger stirring.
Scowling, Sabrina snips, “What?”
Our waitress arrives, carrying a tray with our drinks. One beer for me, and a ridiculously complicated concoction that Sabrina insisted be made just for her.
“I’d love for you to come to L.A. with me,” Sabrina pushes forward, accepting the wide mouth glass from the waitress. “We could sightsee on the weekends.”
“I’ve seen L.A.,” I come back to the conversation. “And wasn’t impressed the first time.”
Sabrina glares, waving the waitress off. The young woman’s eyes come to mine and I force a
reassuring smile. She forces an uncomfortable one in return then turns to leave.
Katie’s picking at her napkin as it lays over her crossed legs. The dress she’s wearing is short, the hem riding up her thigh. I ball my hand to fist, aching to inch the dress up further.
The waitress has gotten Thomas’ attention now, and by the looks of him, he hasn’t so much as noticed who he’s supposed to be with. The fuck.
“Oh my God!” Sabrina cries. “You’re not even listening!”
Fuck.
All heads turn toward our table. Katie’s included.
Thomas’ brow furrows and his eyes narrow, likely trying to figure out the reason for our commotion. Katie places her elbows to the table, crossing her hands and resting her chin to them. She’s caught sight of this and she’s watching, appearing to enjoy the impending show.
Sabrina continues on a tear, “What is wrong with you? You’ve been moping around for weeks. You don’t answer my calls. You don’t return my texts—”
Leaning forward, I drop the napkin to the table and hiss, “Keep your fuckin’ voice down.”
Sabrina’s lips thin and her eyes glaze in fury. Surely she saw this coming. And if not, I take no guilt on because she wasn’t smart enough to figure it out.
“We’re finished,” I clip, sifting through my back pocket for my wallet.
“Finally!” Sabrina returns, pushing her drink to the table.
She’s got this wrong. Of course. Sabrina’s not used to rejection. At least the kind I’m about to serve her.
“We’ll have to go back to your place,” she says. “Renovations aren’t done at mine. Those fucking people must think I have all the time in the world.”
To get her out of here quietly, I stand, grab her coat, and offer to put it on.
Happy to have my attention the way she wants it, Sabrina slides her arms through. I toss down enough bills to cover the tab and chance a look up.
Katie’s expression is no longer curious. With Thomas talking up the waitress that had passed by earlier, Katie sits in her chair at her table alone. She looks as ever—lost.
Sabrina interrupts our exchange, sliding her hand up my stomach to my chest. Purring, she coos, “I’m so glad you called. I’ve missed you.”
I didn’t call, I never do. And I haven’t missed her at all.