“We were arguing,” she said as she remembered what transpired that night.
“In your goddamn bra! I need my wife to have goddamn boundaries when she’s around Todd! I don’t want her hugging him with only a bra on. I don’t want his lips on her or hers on him. I don’t want to hear her call him from the bathroom and tell him she needs him!”
Even in the limited moonlight, Mia could make out the angry red on his face and his hands curled into fists. All because of his jealousy over Todd. The jealousy that she helped build by the way she was with Todd. She hadn’t seen the way it affected her husband, but she did now …
“I’m sorry. I—”
“Why did you need Todd, Mia?”
With a deep breath, she spoke her embarrassing truth. “It’s so, so stupid, Ethan,” she said, shaking her head. “I was trying to remove all the bobby pins from my hair and one of my bracelets got really snagged in my hair. I couldn’t get to it. Todd had to cut it away.”
“What?” Ethan asked in disbelief. “Seriously?”
“That was it. Nothing is going on between Todd and I. Nothing. I’m so sorry you ever thought that. So very sorry.”
“Yeah … me too.”
They stayed silent for a little bit. She felt awful. If she would have made one different choice, this whole mess may not have happened. Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
But it had. Nothing had really changed … well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had some understanding and a whole lot of guilt. She needed more understanding because deep down she knew that it wasn’t just that moment. It may have tipped the scales but it wasn’t the entire reason.
So, she decided to just start asking questions—starting with the one that had her bolting from their house earlier that day.
“Where was the interview?” she asked.
“A conference room at one of the hotels downtown.”
The moment she heard “hotel,” she breathed a small sigh of relief. Thank God. But now another vision of what happened entered her mind. Closing her eyes against it, she let him continue.
“The interview went along fine. It was a good interview. After it wrapped, we went to the bar for some drinks. And that’s when things changed. Things were, uh, no longer professional.”
“Let me guess,” she said with barely contained anger. “She showered you with praise, told you that she missed you, along with a few well-placed touches and the ‘you want to fuck me’ look, right?” she asked, surprised at the venom in her voice. How could he have fallen for it?
“Mia …”
“Am I right?” she demanded.
“Pretty much,” he answered, his tone letting her know that he was disgusted with himself.
“Did she kiss you in the bar?” she asked, not knowing why she asked it. Self-inflicted torture was what it was.
“Yes.”
Tears of humiliation stung her eyes. How many people saw her husband cheat on her? Fuck, would this ever come back to haunt them? She wanted to slap him. How fucking stupid!
“And then you went to her room?” she asked, suddenly feeling very cold and her voice reflected that. It was ice.
“Yes,” he answered in a low, tormented voice, glancing away from her.
She felt the nauseating feeling of her life crumbling down around her. She’d known he’d cheated on her, but hearing the details hurt more than she ever thought they would. All her dreams, all her memories with him. The struggles, the happiness, the love all was tied up with him.
Closing her eyes, her entire body ached with pain, especially her heart she’d given him in trust and he broke it. How could he do this to her? She loved him. He loved her … didn’t he?
Stop! she told herself. She knew he loved her, but did he still? God. What had happened to their marriage? How had they gotten to this point?
Fighting the tears, Mia forced herself to ask more questions. She needed to know.
“Did you, uh, spend the night with her?” The stammer betrayed the icy exterior she wanted him to see. She was barely holding it together now. Her emotions bubbled inside of her like a dangerous chemical reaction about to go off.
“Yes,” he answered and the tears spilled silently from her eyes. She knew from that answer that he didn’t have sex with her just one time, but she needed to hear it from him.
“How many times did you fuck her?”
“I don’t know,” he answered.
She could hear it in his voice. He didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want to face it.
“What do you mean you don’t know? Is it that you don’t know or you don’t want to tell me?” she shouted. It was hard for her to see him through her rage. To calm herself down, she took a very unsteady breath and then purposely looked at her husband. She had to get the facts, get down to why.
“I don’t know.”
“How do you not know? Was it so many times you couldn’t keep track?”
“I was drunk. I don’t remember how many times I did it!” he shouted back, his closed fists hitting the steering wheel.
“How many times did you fuck her while sober?”
“None. I woke up, saw what I did and bolted out of the hotel.”
“What day was this?”
“May thirtieth.”
Which meant he came home on the thirty-first. A Sunday. She thought back trying to figure out where she was—in France, visiting her grandmother for the day. She’d Skyped with him early that morning. He and the boys were all smiles for Mémé, laughing at the funny words Mommy and Mémé were saying.
She closed her eyes, picturing that call. She thought nothing out of the ordinary then. She didn’t even notice anything different about him that day. Things seemed perfect, except that she wasn’t with him. His smile made her so happy. She saw the way he looked at the boys, how much he loved them. She remembered looking at him and feeling so happy because she had just figured out that she might be pregnant and she couldn’t wait to be home with him so they could find out for sure together. She never would have thought that he’d slept with that bitch hours earlier.
Damn it—she saw him post-sex with Kristen. He probably hadn’t even showered yet. He more than likely smelled of her. Of that goddamn fucking whore. That’s what she was. Twice she did that to me, Mia thought.
“Mia? Are you going to say something?”
“I’m trying to organize my thoughts,” she stalled. “So, I saw you that morning, didn’t I?” she asked. She was angry, more than she ever felt in her life and she didn’t know how to express that. “You played the happy husband and father knowing you just fucked that slut,” she continued, hitting at his arm over and over. He took her anger for a bit but then he secured her wrists in his hands.
“Stop, Mia,” he said as she continued to struggle against him.
“Don’t tell me to stop!”
“That’s not solving anything,” he said.
“But it’s making me feel better,” she countered, her eyes on fire. She tried to move but he held her tight. Finally after she calmed a bit, he let her arms go but like a reflex, her hand swung out and she slapped him. The vibrations went straight to her elbow and her hand stung badly. Tears rushed to her eyes as she held her sore hand on her lap, her face crumpling in agony. The pain in her hand was nothing compared to the pain in her heart. Though her throbbing hand did distract her slightly from that pain. She fucking hated pain—emotional or physical. She was such a baby when she hurt. And now she had both weighing down on her.
“I think I need ice,” she said miserably. “That fucking hurt!”
“I’m not surprised. You hit hard, Mia,” he commented, rubbing his cheekbone.
“Ethan, it really hurts,” she pouted. Yes, she was being a baby, but she didn’t care right now.
“Where?”
“Below my middle finger.”
He turned on the overhead light and then held out his hand. “Let me see.”
She placed her sore hand in her husband’s
much larger ones. She’d just walloped him hard and here he was taking care of her.
“Can you make a fist?”
She did, but winced with the pain.
“Where is the pain the worst? Point to it.”
She pointed to the pad below her middle finger and he followed suit, examining it. She grimaced.
“I’ve dislocated my fingers before and I don’t think you did that. I do think that this bone,” he said, his finger hovering over it, “hit my cheekbone. I think you more than likely bruised it. Let’s get you some ice and something for the pain.”
She regarded her hand in his for a moment. He hadn’t let her go. Then she glanced up to his face and saw a bit of red where she’d hit him. Shit! She couldn’t believe she’d hit him nor could she believe that she’d left a mark.
“I’m sorry for hitting you,” she said, upset with herself for hurting him like that. He stared at her hand, his finger tracing the lines on her palm.
“It’s my own fault really. Don’t be sorry. I deserve it.” After a few moments, he spoke again. “I can’t believe I’ve done what I’ve done. I never wanted to hurt you like this. I didn’t think I was that guy. I wanted only you and the five kids we talked about. I love being your husband, being a father to Pierce and Rory. I hate that I ruined all that. I hate thinking that I may never have you back, that I may have thrown away the best thing to ever happen to me.”
You were the best thing to happen to me too, she thought.
He gently released her hand and cleared his throat. She watched him try to compose himself, breathing deeply. “Let’s get you some ice,” he said abruptly and started the SUV.
No! There’s more, she wanted to scream. He was holding back. Tell me, Ethan!
But she didn’t because there was a battle going on inside of her. Mia didn’t know what to do or think. She was so angry at what he’d done to their family, but at the same time she was so sad at the pain it was obviously causing him. She hated seeing him like that. The reason why was obvious but with a forceful shake of her head, she pushed it aside. She needed to think but couldn’t do that clearly right now. Too much was warring within her, overwhelming her mind.
He navigated the vehicle back to their home in utter silence. Multiple times she tried to speak but no words would come. She didn’t know what to say.
After he pulled the car into the garage, Ethan shut it off, then got out. Instead of heading to the house like she thought he would, he hurried around and opened the door for her.
“Thanks,” she spoke quietly. Always the gentleman, she thought as he guided her inside, but internally shook her head. That wasn’t really the case. A gentleman wouldn’t cheat on his wife. It had been years since she had felt like a guest in this house. Nine to be exact. The very first time she’d ever visited. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She forgot about the time she stayed there before she’d broken off their engagement.
“Sit,” he ordered, heading to the fridge. He got a dish towel from the drawer and put some ice into it before folding it up. Placing it on her hand, he said, “Thirty minutes.”
“But it’s cold!” she complained, taking it off.
“I’ll hold it there for the entire thirty minutes if you don’t put it back on there right now,” he warned.
She scrunched up her face, knowing he’d do just that, and put it back on, feeling the frosty cold rag numbing her hand. A smile teased her lips at him taking care of her. She liked it.
“Uh, Mia?” he said, scratching his head.
“Yes?”
“Where do you keep the medicine?”
And now she would help him.
“There should be some in the cabinet next to the fridge—top shelf. Or the linen closet in our bathroom.”
While he set off searching for the pain meds, she rested her head on her uninjured arm and stared at her kitchen. “I miss you, ol’ girl,” she said quietly to the kitchen, smiling at her silly self. She missed being here, cooking here, being a family here.
Returning with a glass of water and a handful of pills, he placed the glass on the counter and held out his hand with the pills.
“Thank you,” she said, not moving.
“You going to take these?”
“Ugh, that requires me to lift my head and I’m quite comfy like this.”
“You are a difficult patient, you do realize this, right?” he said with a hint of a smile in his voice. She shrugged in agreement, letting her eyelids drift lower but opened them when she spotted movement to her right. Her eyes followed him around the island. She wondered what he was up to. His hands reached around and found a place underneath her arms and lifted her up to a seated position. “Take them,” he ordered, giving her two of the five pills in his hand. He tossed back the remaining pills and swallowed them down with her water.
“Wow! I packed quite a punch. Three?”
He playfully glared at her. “You got me right where Luke punched me. It hurt—a lot.”
Because of the guilt she felt about that, she decided to be good and take the medicine. Afterwards, Mia and Ethan stayed where they were—silent until he moved towards the family room.
“I don’t know about you but I’m craving the comfort of the sofa right now,” he announced and she smiled as he sat down in the middle of the couch, the same one she’d fallen asleep on earlier in the day. The one where she’d kissed him and he’d kissed her back like he used to. Right now, he appeared relaxed with his body slouched in the cushions, his legs spread. And all she could think of was how damn hot he looked.
Ugh.
Cannot go to the sofa, she ordered herself. Grabbing her ice pack, she did join him in the family room, but sat in one of the chairs.
“I don’t bite. You can sit next to me.”
“Yes, you do!” she exclaimed, thinking about how her husband liked to nibble his way all over her body—and she’d appreciated that quite often, but right now was not the time to think on it.
He beckoned her with his fingers. “Come here. I’d still like to talk.”
“If I’m closer, I can hit you.”
“Good point,” he said, lifting a finger in the air, pointing at her chair. “Stay over there.”
He got his way, of course, with his humor. She rose from the chair and plopped down beside him.
“Thank you,” he said before resting his head back against the cushion, exposing his long, lean neck to her gaze. It was as smooth as his cheeks and she found herself staring at his Adam’s apple, one of her favorite spots to kiss. Mia didn’t want to talk anymore. She wanted him.
“Ethan, maybe you should take me back to Luke’s.”
“Why?” he questioned, his head slowly rolling so he could see her.
“I can’t stop staring at your neck,” she answered all too honestly.
He lifted his head and almost looked predatory. “Definitely not taking you back now.”
“I need to think.”
Leaning into her, he pushed her into the sofa. “Think tomorrow,” he whispered against her cheek, completely overpowering her senses.
“Ethan …”
“Do you want me?” he asked, gazing into her eyes.
“Yes! But—”
“It’s not wrong. I’m still your husband.”
Yes, he was her husband … until she decided differently. “Do you want me?” she asked, basically telling him she had her own doubts. They both doubted that they were wanted. How had this happened? Sex had always been a large part of their relationship … until it wasn’t. And when it wasn’t, their relationship suffered.
“I do. So very much.”
She quickly wiped at the tears in her eyes. “I can’t believe you didn’t think I wanted you, that I was having an affair with Todd. Ethan, all I ever wanted was you.”
Ethan
Despite everything, Mia still wanted to have sex with him. He wasn’t stupid. He knew she was using it to hide—it wouldn’t be the first time, he’d come to realize.
He watched her eyes on his face and saw the instant the desire changed to a desperate need.
“Ethan, please make the pain go away,” his wife begged him, unbuttoning his pants. In all their years together, he’d never seen this side of her, the way she begged him, the desperation. When they were in bed together, there was always confidence with a bit of humor tossed in. He’d tarnished that. Because he thought Mia was cheating on him. If only he would have talked to her—outright asked her. What a fucking fool!
They should talk more now, but the look in her eyes … he didn’t know what to do. “Mia,” he said.
“It’s either with you or …” she stopped, her eyes falling away from his. “You decide. But I need the pain to stop.”
Or what? Another man? Drugs? Alcohol? He didn’t know what the “or” meant, but studying her face right now, he saw the pain he’d caused, the seriousness of her words. He remembered the time when she was stuck in New York over Christmas. She was upset and had told him that she was getting drunk. He didn’t believe her and did she ever get shit-faced. And when he’d told her he hadn’t believed that she’d get drunk, she’d said to him, “I always mean what I say, suga.”
Damn, she meant what she said. She would find a way to take away the pain.
They would not survive if she slept with someone else. And not because of his feelings but because of hers. The guilt would eat her alive. Hell, he was unsure if they were even going to survive this. He didn’t even want to think about if she chose alcohol or drugs. So he leaned closer to her and softly kissed her lips.
“I want it to be me.”
If he wasn’t mistaken, he thought he saw relief cross her face. Whatever she wanted him to do, he’d do. He needed to make this right. He had to take away her pain, prove how much he loved her. It would take time, knowing her. It had already been a month. He was encouraged that she hadn’t presented him with divorce papers. It could still happen, but he was determined for it not to come to pass.
Never Over You Page 30