“You are not poison.”
My breath hitched and I shook my head. “I lost our baby, Matthew. Everyone I love leaves me.” I crumbled, sobbing into my husband’s chest, tears dripped onto his shirt. Matthew’s arms banded around me, holding me tight, until all I could feel was hard muscle and heat.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
As I swallowed, my eyes flicked to his. “That New Year’s Eve when we played trivia and you helped me secure the venue at Hart Hotels, I realized how much you meant to me and all the fear melted away or maybe I pushed it down ignoring it. Things just fell into place for us, and then you proposed and then we got married and we were so happy. I was so happy.”
“We can be that happy again. I really want to try.”
“I had so much pain, that I was trying to not hurt, but, in reality, I hurt you. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner. I know that hurt you,” I breathed. “I’m so sorry, Matthew.”
I SWEPT TINLEY INTO my arms and carried her into the living room. Everything inside me broke and busted hearing my wife pouring her heart out. The weight of her pain and shame stabbed at my heart. We settled onto the couch, and I pulled her into me wrapping thick blankets around us.
Tinley snuggled into my side. Her breathing was low and even as her tears subsided. She needed me, more than I’d realized.
“I’m sorry, Matthew, I’m so sorry for everything.”
My heart cracked at her words. “Shhh, you don’t need to apologize.”
Eighteen months earlier
I held Tinley’s hand as Dr. Mallory squeezed the gel onto her belly. We arrived thirty minutes early for our appointment. At fifteen weeks, Tinley and I had begun nesting. We’d started decorating the nursery at our home in Malibu. We were waiting on paint swatches for the nursery at our East Harbour home. I wanted some shade of grey as a neutral color palette, but Tinley wanted to wait until we found out the sex so she could add some color to the house.
“Oh, that is cold,” Tinley said, with a laugh.
The doctor slid the wand over Tinley’s beautiful bump. “Okay, let’s see if baby will cooperate today.”
“The baby hasn’t been moving,” Tinley said. “And still no morning sickness.”
I squeezed Tinley’s hand. “You must be one of the lucky ones.”
The look on Dr. Mallory’s face changed and her mouth opened slightly. “Can you give me one moment?”
Lying still on her back, Tinley smiled. I didn’t know if my wife had noticed what I had. I watched Dr. Mallory’s hurried movements as I waited for the burst of an amplified heartbeat from the scanner, but there was only a tense silence. The quiet went on and on, it was deafening. When her eyes closed, my fears were confirmed and my heart dropped into the pit of my stomach.
Finally, she put down the equipment and said, “Well, I’m so very sorry. This is unexpected.”
Tinley’s eyes darted to mine and back to Dr. Mallory. “What . . . what are you saying?”
“I’m sorry, Tinley, Matthew,” she said, shaking her head.
“Is our baby . . . dead?” Tinley’s voice cracked.
My hand shook, when Tinley repeated the question. Her voice laced with an agonizing pain. The room took on a cold, sick lurch, quite opposite from the warm excitement our world had only minutes ago.
The words—miscarriage . . . late miscarriage . . . procedure . . . completed . . . unbelievably sorry. Each one stung like needles piercing my skin—etching them forever onto my body.
I stared blankly at Dr. Mallory. I tried to listen as her words swirled around me. Swallowing hard, I mustered every ounce of strength that I could pull.
“I’ll give you two some time,” Dr. Mallory said. “I’ll be back in a little to answer any questions.”
Coldness spread through my ribs, my wife’s sobs sliced through my soul. “Matthew, I’m so sorry.” Tinley’s voice shook as she wrapped her arms around her body. “I . . . I’m sorry.”
Why is she apologizing? Does she think this is her fault?
“Sweetheart, I’m here.”
When the doctor came back into the room, she explained that decreased fetal movement was more commonly a sign that there was a problem with the pregnancy. Commonly, most women less than twenty weeks of pregnancy don’t notice any signs of a fetal demise. Tinley wouldn’t have known anything was wrong. There was no cramping and no bleeding. In medical terms, this was an uncommon case.
Tinley attempted to pull on her clothes. “I’m so sorry.”
I enveloped my arms around Tinley, holding her tightly. “You don’t need to apologize.”
Mumbling she grabbed her phone and then started to type. “I need to pack away the baby clothes. Maybe I should return the clothes instead. Cancel the order for the crib.”
My wife was making a list.
“Tinley”—my hands smoothed up and down her arms—“let me take you home. We’ll figure all this out together.”
Her chin quivered, as her breath hitched. “I have so much to do.”
I took her phone. “Darlin’, there is nothing you need to do, except grieve our loss and take care of yourself.” The truth burned my throat like a shot of tequila.
She pulled me closer, clinging to me as if she was drowning and I was the life preserver. “Matthew, our baby,” she sobbed. “Why did this happen?”
“I don’t know why, but I promise you, we will face this together. I love you.”
I didn’t know what to say to my wife in that moment. Did I tell her everything was going to be okay? I didn’t know if everything was going to be okay. I wasn’t even sure that I was okay. Did I promise her that we would try again? Nothing made any sense to me as I tried to comprehend the loss. Tinley was breaking into a thousand pieces and I there was nothing I could do except tell her that I loved her.
“Tinley, I love you.”
Now, I fully understood why the subject of conceiving again was difficult for my wife. It was difficult on any level. I needed Tinley to see herself the way that I and others did.
“I love you too, which is why I’ve made a decision.” She pushed up to look at me, her eyes outlined in red from the tears. “I’m quitting the show. I’ve talked with Johanna and she’s advised me to buy out my remaining contract. Our lawyers are finalizing the details.”
“But it’s your dream.”
She shook her head. “No, you’re my dream—our life is my dream. I miss us and I lost sight of that. I want you. I want a marriage. Nothing else matters.”
I tilted my head. “But you’ve worked so hard.”
“None of that matters,” she argued. “No amount of successes or failures matter if I don’t have anyone to share them with. I neglected us. I ignored me. Now, I need some self-care. It will be good for both of us.”
“We both drifted away from us, but we’re finding our way back to each other now and that is what matters. If that is what you want—to quit the show—I will fully support your decision.”
There was nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
IN THE ARMS OF my husband, in our home, I found a flicker of hope. The regrets, and the pain washed over me, but I felt lighter somehow now that we’ve begun to communicate again.
“I’m sorry that I closed down, Matthew. I’m sorry that I shut you out and pushed you away.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t try harder, that I didn’t see what was really happening with you.”
“I know that we have a long road ahead of us, but we’ve circled back to the beginning identifying the root of our problems. Now we can move forward.”
These revelations were a starting point. I dropped my head to his chest, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too, beautiful.”
I pulled back to look into his hazel eyes, finding myself captivated and comforted at the same time. His hand stroked up and down my back. My entire body ached for him. Every day that passed it took me farther away from our marriage, from him
. So much time lost.
When words failed me, my lips found his. I kissed him with everything I possessed, weeks, months of guilt, anguish, heartache, and sorrow. His lips were my solace, his kisses my truth.
“Tell me you love me, Matthew.”
“You’re the love of my life. I love you, always,” he whispered.
“I need you, please.” My words were desperate, the emotion almost too much to bear.
“Not one inch of your body will be neglected,” he said. “I’m going to worship you, because it’s been too damn long since I’ve been inside you.”
Pushing my sweater coat over my shoulders, his lips met mine. I was too afraid to close my eyes, certain if I did, when I opened them I’d find him gone. My hands tangled in his hair, his hands pushed beneath my shirt, his touch was a searing reminder of what I’d been missing all this time.
Anticipation crackled between us, and I pressed my lips to his once more, devouring him, stealing every groan that rattled his throat. As I pried open the buttons of his shirt, his lips communicated more than any conversation and combination of words could.
We needed each other. We wanted this. My husband still wanted me.
Matthew shifted, pinning me beneath him on the couch. He slipped off his shirt, and then discarded it to the floor.
His fingers hooked into the waistband of my lounge pants. I made quick work of removing my shirt and Matthew had dropped my pants along with his own onto the floor.
Matthew’s hands slid up my thighs, squeezing as he moved higher. I couldn’t help but admire him. In my eyes, every beautiful inch of him was sculpted to male perfection. His lips trailed up my stomach, licking a line from my navel to the valley between my breasts.
“You are so beautiful,” he said, as his fingers teased under the thin strap of my black bralette. “Every part of you is beautiful.”
“Matthew.” My fingers scratched down his chest.
After removing the lacy fabric, he tossed it over his shoulder. Matthew wrapped his mouth around my nipple, tracing it with his tongue. My hips arched up off the couch and I rubbed myself against his erection, silently begging for him to take me.
“You are every dream I never knew I had come true.” His tongue dipped inside my mouth, licking me slowly. With every kiss, every stroke, my body hummed in desire. “We’re never waiting this long again.”
I shook my head. “Never,” I whispered against his lips.
With one thrust, he buried himself to the hilt. I moaned at the feel of him stretching me wide. My eyes screwed shut, with my hands sliding up his chest my palm settled over his heart feeling the steady rhythm of his heart.
“Matthew, you feel so good inside me.”
He fucked me slowly, lighting up every cell in my body. “You feel incredible,” he groaned.
“I’ve missed this,” I whispered. “You are everything to me.”
His lips feathered over my skin, kissing every spot from my shoulder to my cheek and my clavicle. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders as he rolled his hips against me. We rocked together, he pushed deeper, sending me over the edge. I was coming with a thready cry, and Matthew said my name in a long, quiet roar of pleasure. We stilled, holding each other for long moments afterward. Our eyes met, and Matthew dragged his fingers through my hair and kissed me.
“Hi,” I said, smiling against his lips.
“Hi, yourself.”
“We’re going to be okay.”
“Better than okay, we’re going to be great.”
Report: Trouble in Mattley Paradise
Not this shit again. My fingers flew over the screen of my iPad. I perused the story and . . . holy shit . . . not the same old shit, new shit. New shit that was going to get a magazine sued.
“A source tells Hollywood Vibes that the couple is at odds over their Malibu estate. Barber, who recently showed support for hotel magnate, Jackson Hart and his run for Governor of Montana, wants to keep the property because he is, ‘considering his efforts in the political world.’ Rumor has it that the actor is reportedly interested in a senate seat in California. Atkinson wants to unload the property because of the remodel and nursery that has sat empty for a year and a half. Will Mattley ever get their baby dreams?”
I slammed my fists to the desk. Goddammit. My wife and I were starting to put the pieces of our marriage back together, and now this bullshit. I took a deep breath. The only hint of truth in that article was that we did have a nursery and it was empty.
“What’s all the ruckus about?”
My head snapped up at my wife’s voice. Tinley stood in the doorway, leaning against the threshold, arms folded across her chest, wearing her favorite black, lace camisole and grey sweater. The pose did amazing things for her tits.
“I’m suing Hollywood Vibes.”
She shrugged. “What have they done now? Oh, wait this could be a fun game. Matthew Barber, his exes tell all. Oh, I know, I’m pregnant and alone with twins. Better yet, baby for Christmas, the miracle Mattley has always wanted.”
I laughed shaking my head. “Damn, you are funny, but this isn’t.” I picked up my iPad and showed Tinley the story.
A heavy sigh escaped her lips. “Okay, well, how about we go to Los Angeles?”
My brows furrowed. “What?” I asked, leaning against the desk.
Tinley settled in the chair across from the desk. “Yeah, let’s go to Los Angeles and be seen by the paparazzi. We should go back to the coffee shop where we first met. And I’ve missed Water Grill lunches. They have the best sushi.”
This was a surprise. I never asked Tinley why her trips to LA, more specifically to our home in Malibu, became less frequent. I assumed it was because her show filmed in Toronto, and she was not a huge fan of the traffic.
“Remember years ago,” Tinley chirped. “We had talked about taking that three-day trip up the coast?”
I smiled. “Yeah, we were going to take my bike up to Santa Barbara and stay at the Four Seasons. The next day, we planned to have Wade drop off my car and take that the rest of the way to San Francisco.”
She nodded. “Yep . . . Just you, me, and the open road. Ahhhh, we were going to stop at Solvang and San Simeon. Remember, we were going to stop off at the Hearst Castle? Let’s do it! We can make a weekend of it. We don’t even need to go all the way to San Fran.”
I studied her for a moment. “You’re serious?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, why not? Plus, it will be good for us.”
“Are you going to be okay going to the Malibu house? I mean the . . . the nursery is still there.” I had to ask the question.
She stood and then sauntered towards me. “I promise, I will be okay and maybe we can talk about having a baby.”
My eyes widened. “Really, are you sure?”
“I’m really sure,” she said, squeezing my hand. “I’ve been doing quite a bit of soul searching over the last few weeks. I think I’m ready to at least discuss the topic.”
“So, you’ve thought about it?”
“I’ve thought about a lot of things.”
“Care to share?” I asked, pulling her into my arms.
“What I have in mind doesn’t involve talking,” she said.
“This sounds promising.”
“Mmmhmm.” She fisted at the hem of my t-shirt. “Unless, you’d rather discuss the correct way to load the dishwasher?”
I brought my hands to her shoulders, and steered her out of the office. “Forks and knives down.”
“Wrong, spoons and knives up.”
I pinned her against doorframe of our bedroom. “Listen, darlin’, the only thing up right now is my cock, and he’d very much like to get down and dirty with you.”
She drew her arms up and around my neck. “I think your material is becoming . . . wittier. Still unoriginal.”
“We’ll discuss this later, because right now, I’m taking you to bed,” I said, pulling her into the bedroom. “Fucking you, now.”
“MATTH
EW, I’M A LITTLE confused. Would you care to explain this to me?”
I knew what I needed to do, my life with my wife—my marriage—was more important than my career. There was no way to leave without sending a ripple effect through all my projects.
“Donna, as you know, and don’t pretend that you don’t,” I said. “My wife and I have hit a rough patch, I need to focus on my marriage, and everything else is secondary.”
“Do I need to remind you that you have contracts to fulfill?” she asked, an edge of anger laced her words.
“No, I know that, which is why I am here. I need your help to figure this out so that I can tie up everything that I am working on. I cannot take on any new projects that require my attention in the foreseeable future.”
“Are you retiring? Is the rumor about you wanting a political career true?”
I laughed. “I’m not retiring and I have no desire for a career in politics . . . but directing is something I’ve thought about, however that is a discussion for another time.”
Grady and I had discussed starting a production company together, but I decided to keep that tidbit of information to myself.
“Well, it won’t be easy,” she began, tapping away on her keyboard. “You have two films in post-production, which we expect that each one could take up to a year to complete.”
Not a shocker there. My biggest concerns were the reshoots and having to go back to Australia for several weeks. “If the studio wanted reshoots for Kingdom of Beach would those be in Australia or on a sound stage?”
“I would assume since the budget for the film is on point, the studio wouldn’t want to add to it by taking an entire film crew halfway across the world.”
“Well, you know what happens when we assume.”
Her red lips quirked upward. “Yes, Matthew, I know that joke. As far as I can tell, your schedule is pretty light for the next year, but you will have pressers and interviews for The First Lights.”
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