A Love So Tragic

by Stevie J. Cole

  All I can do is nod. I can’t even form words. I always expected some big show from Nicolas when he asked me to marry him, but this is more perfect than any other way he could have done it.

  “Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo o de dónde,” he quotes my favorite Pablo Neruda poem as he slips the ring over my finger. “Te amo simplemente, sin problemas ni orgullo: te amo así porque no sé otra forma de amar pero esto, en el que no hay yo o tú, tan íntimo que su mano sobre mi pecho es mi mano, tan íntimo que cuando me quedo dormido cerca de los ojos.”

  I stare down at the ring, the round stone glittering underneath the moon as I repeat the same phrase back to him. “I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.”

  And now I’m quickly pulling on clothes to go met him in that very spot when everything should be ending, he’s taking me to the place of our beginnings, and as badly as I know I shouldn’t go. I can’t not.

  I love him.

  Overgrown bushes dot the curb. My damp palms slip over the steering wheel as I round the curve of the drive. My headlights land on a black SUV parked in Nic’s old spot. My pulse goes crazy, amped with a combination of apprehension, fear, and want. The interior light flickers on as he opens the door, and I have to swallow, forcing myself to breath. What the hell am I doing? I shouldn’t be doing this…You should be doing this. I shouldn’t.

  I put the car into park, cut the engine, and wipe my sweaty hands over the legs of my jeans. Before I have a chance to open the door, Nicolas is standing outside of it, opening it for me.

  I don’t climb out because he’s not smiling and his eyes are aimed at the ground. There’s a tormented expression twisting across his face, and he takes a slight step back, dragging his hands through his hair. I swallow around the lump in my throat. And then, he looks up at me, and I know that whenever I leave tonight, things will be different. I will be one of those people.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he says as I climb out of the car. “I thought I was over you and…”

  He grabs my shoulders and slams me against the side of his SUV, pinning me beneath his body. His soft, warm lips crush over mine, his hands slide up my neck and cup the sides of my face. Tearing his mouth away, he rests his forehead against mine. My heart bangs, my chest heaves. Everything is about to change. We stare at each other, the only audible sounds are our heavy breaths and the traffic from the highway below.

  His thumb brushes my cheek as his intense gaze narrows. “I thought I was over you, Peyton, but I’m not,” he whispers before kissing me again, and, this time, his hands find their way into my hair. “Fuck, I’m not over you,” he says, groaning against my parted lips.

  I’ve wanted this right here every day since I knew Nic was no longer mine. I’ve cried, hurt, bled over him for years, only finding peace within the dreams where I still belonged to him. Nic pulls away, trailing kisses down my throat to my collarbone, his hands roaming over my chest. My hands shake as I place them around his wide shoulders. He feels so right. This is as close to bringing someone back from death as you can ever get, and I don’t want to let this go. Ever.

  “I never got over you either,” I confess, and he draws in a deep breath.

  “It’s because I never would let you go. You felt that, didn’t you?” He presses a soft kiss to my lips. “Pienso en ti siempre.” I think of you always. And then he reaches behind me and opens his car door.

  I climb in, my pulse hammering in my throat. I know I shouldn’t be in his car, but I am.

  Nic walks around to the driver’s side, climbs in, and starts the engine. He glances over at me and subtly shakes his head. “Oh, fuck it,” he groans, grabbing me and dragging me across the console to his lap, his hands positioning my legs so I’m straddling him.

  His lips crush over mine as his tongue dips into my mouth. His warm hands skim beneath the hem of my shirt. The heat of his fingers set fire to my skin. He slowly pulls my shirt over my head, tossing it to the side as he reaches to my back and unfastens my bra. It falls into his lap and his eyes rake over me. I’ve never had a man look like he wants me so much, and that’s always how Nic has looked at me: like there is not possibly a way he could ever get enough of me—like I’m something he’s worshipping.

  I should stop this right here, but I won’t.

  I grab his shirt and tear it over his head. The beads of my nipples brush against his skin as I feel down the hard ridges of his stomach. This is such a familiar feeling to feel so foreign. His mouth is on my neck, his teeth scraping over my skin as his hands palm my breasts. I feel beautiful. I feel safe. I feel loved. And he can't possibly touch me enough.

  His large hands cup my face as he pulls me to him and kisses me hard. When his lips leave mine, my throat tightens. Everything I thought I lost is suddenly right here.

  “I missed you,” he says before kissing me again. “So much.”

  His mouth travels down my neck, over my collarbone to my breast. I lie back on the console, dragging his body down with me. Within moments, he has me completely undressed. I have him completely undressed, and now he’s between my legs, pinning my hips down to the console.

  “Nic...” I say in a breath, and he glances up at me, trailing his tongue over me.

  “What?”

  There are so many things I want to say, but I can't form words. His eyes remain locked on mine as he sweeps a fingertip over me, the sensation causing my back to bow. I catch him smirk as he slips one finger inside of me and groans.

  “Fuck, Peyton,” he says before he pulls his finger away, slowly slipping it inside his mouth to suck me off of him. “I never did forget how good you taste…”

  I can’t take it. I grab his arms and yank him down on top of me, locking my legs around his waist. His chest is pressed against mine, and I can feel him right there, right there.

  “Please,” I plead. “Please.” I’ve never wanted someone as badly as I want him right now. It’s not just sex, it’s my chance to right everything that went wrong between us, to prove that I still belong to him, and he still belongs to me, that a love like the one we had is stronger than I thought.

  “I don’t have anything with me…”

  “I don’t care.” I inhale. “I trust you.” I know better. I should know better, but I also shouldn’t be in this position. Right and wrong can’t even register on my moral compass right now because all of it seems right. I feel the tip of his hard dick rub across me.

  “Meirda, I couldn't not fuck you right now,” he says in a groan.

  His free hand caresses over my waist, across my hip, down my thigh. I inhale, and as soon as I do, he slams into me, causing my entire back to arch.

  His teeth nip at my earlobe. “You feel so damn right,” he groans into my ear.

  And he’s right. This does feel right, even though I know it’s wrong.

  My heels dig into his hips, his hands grab under my ass lifting me up so he can go deeper, harder.

  He’s taking me brutally, but so gently, in a way only he can manage. Before I know it, I’m dripping with sweat and pressed against the fogged over passenger side window, riding him while his mouth works its way down my neck. I feel him all over me, inside me, bleeding into my soul. My body tenses, my nails claw at his back, and my head bangs back against the window as that addictive wave of bliss crashes over me, draining me of everything except him. Nic grabs my waist, dragging me away from the window. His hands guide my hips over him, slow and deep.

  “Fuck,” he says in a desperate hiss. Slamming his head against the headrest, he buries himself in me one last time.

  His warm lips press over mine before his head falls forward, resting on my chest. His fingers dig into my thighs as we both fight to catch our breath. When he sits up, he holds me against h
im and I can feel the hard thud of his heart. “Tardé una hora en conocerte y sólo un día en enamorarme,” he whispers against my ear. “Pero me llevará toda una vida poder olvidarte.” It took me an hour to know you, and only a day to fall in love, but it will take me a lifetime to forget you.

  Peyton works her jeans over her hips, and I wonder what the actual fuck we are doing.

  “So, now what the hell do we do?” I ask, buttoning my jeans. “What are we going to do now, Peyton? There’s no going back from this. No matter what happens after tonight, you can’t take this away.”

  “I know.” She nods. “And I would never want to.”

  I stare at her, and damn, she is beautiful. Her dark hair is a royal-fucking-mess, her skin flushed with post sex bliss. I sit back in the seat and fasten the seatbelt before I start the engine. I just fucked a married woman, the woman I should be married to...

  “I should feel bad…” I say, and she turns to look at me, her eyes nervous.

  “Nicolas, you—”

  “But I don’t.” I grab her face and pull her toward me to kiss. “You’ve always been my exception to everything.”

  She smiles, and fuck if that doesn't do something to me. Having her in that passenger seat, in this parking lot, smiling at me like that brings back so many memories. And there is no way in hell I'm letting her go home.

  “Is he at home?” I ask.

  Her teeth sink into her bottom lip and she shakes her head. “No.”

  “Out of town?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How long?”

  Her gaze shifts down to her lap. “Two days.”

  “Then,” I put the car in reverse, “you’re staying with me for two days.”

  “Nic, I don’t have any clothes.” She laughs as I back out of the parking spot.

  “You don’t need any fucking clothes, Peyton.”

  And twenty minutes later, we’re pulling up in front of the Hyatt.

  “Wait,” I say as I grab my bag from the backseat and toss the keys to the valet. I walk to the passenger side and open the door, taking her hand and leading her into the lobby.

  I go through the motions of checking in, all the while convincing myself I’m not a horrible person.

  “Enjoy your stay at the Hyatt, sir,” the concierge says, smiling as she hands me the card key. “The elevators are just around the corner to your right.”

  When I glance down at Peyton, I notice her nervously chewing her lip, her gaze drifting off into open space. She’s doubting herself too, and that causes a twinge of guilt to work its way through my chest, but I shove that away. What's done is fucking done. She's with me, I'm with her, we've done this, and nothing will change that. Ever.

  We silently walk through the lobby, step onto the elevator, and go up twenty floors. The doors open and she follows me down the hallway to the room. As soon as the door closes, I drop the bag on the floor and grab her face, dragging her to me.

  I kiss her.

  Hard.

  Violent.

  Unforgiving.

  Years of hurt and anger and regret work their way out of me the longer I kiss her. What happened thirty minutes ago seemed surreal, this—this is real. This is very fucking real. My hands are in her hair, on her body. I am everywhere on her, and within five minutes we are both naked, on the bed and fucking like it’s the last time we'll ever have each other.

  Her nails claw at my back, her legs wrap around me, drawing me further into her. Her heavy, moan-filled breaths blow over my ear, making me drive into her that much harder.

  “I missed you,” I whisper into her ear. I shouldn’t admit that, but I can’t help it. I can't tell her that enough. With each passing second I realize I never admitted to myself how much I missed her.

  Her hands trail down my back. Her fingers dig into my ass as her back arches. That movement forces me so deep inside her my teeth clench.

  “I'm so sorry I did this to us...” she says and she sounds desperate for me to believe her. “I’m sorry.”

  Room service knocks on the door and I hop up to answer it. I push the cart inside the room, smiling at the sight of Peyton propped up on the pillows, still completely naked. I hand her one of the plates.

  “Belgian waffles.” She grins. “My favorite.”

  “I know...” I sit next to her, placing my plate in my lap.

  “You remember?”

  “Of course. I remember almost everything about you.”

  She cuts into the waffle, dips it in the mountain of whipped cream, then shoves it inside her mouth. “I thought you'd forgotten me.”

  “Did you forget me?”

  She narrows her gaze and swallows. “Of course not.”

  “Then why would you think I'd forgotten you?”

  Her eyes drift down to her plate, a small smile playing over her lips. “We always did say we'd do this.”

  “Do what?”

  I know what she's talking about, but that sick part of me wants to hear it. That part of me I didn’t know existed wants to prove no matter what, she has always been mine, not his.

  “An affair,” she says quietly. “If we didn’t end up together. Do you remember us making that promise?”

  I tap my fork on the edge of my plate and nod. I think back over our past: Her telling me she was pregnant, getting married...

  “It shouldn't have ended up like this,” I say.

  Her eyes lock with mine and there’s uncertainty swirling behind them. I know Peyton, and I know right now she's taking that comment and twisting it a thousand-fucking-ways from how I meant it.

  “Peyton,” I say. “I don't mean this right here.” I wipe the whipped cream from the corner of her mouth before I kiss her. “I mean we shouldn't have ended the way we did. That never should have happened.”

  “You’ve always felt that way?”

  “Yeah, as much as I tried not to. You were always in the back of my mind.”

  “You’ve always felt that way,” she asks again.

  “Always.”

  Her face crumples. “Then why…” she swallows, tears building in her eyes. “Why, Nicolas, why didn’t you tell me to leave him when I emailed you that I was going to?” She pauses. “Why did you tell me you wouldn’t take me back?”

  I exhale, remembering how I struggled to respond to that email. “Peyton, I’d heard that you lost the baby and shit did I feel bad for you. I thought that baby was the only reason you married Isaac and that you’d just leave him. If that had of happened—had you just left him, as much as I hated to think I would, I would have taken you back, but…” I trail off. “You sent that email months after you lost the baby. Months. And all I could think was that maybe you wanted to stay with him.” Her eyes narrow and I shake my head. “I waited days to respond to that. I thought about it over and over. And it came down to the fact that regardless of why you married him, despite how much I loved you, I wasn’t going to be the reason your marriage failed.”

  Peyton’s brow wrinkles. “I…I just didn’t want anyone to know what a fucking mistake I’d made. I mean, you were gone, Nic. Nothing mattered to me anymore.”

  I brush my finger over her cheek. It’s so easy to make the simplest thing complicated. “I pretended I was gone. I pretended I didn’t love you anymore because had to. Trust me, that first year was not easy. So many times I almost called you, almost sent you those letters. The only reason I didn’t is because you were another man’s wife.” Tears roll down her cheek, and I pull her to my chest. “We fucked things up. We were young. Too young for all of that,” I breathe into her hair.

  Too young then, and too old now for this shit we are jumping into. I'm not jaded. I'm not stupid. She's married. She has a life that holds no room for me except with secret phone calls, and spur of the moment one-night stands. And if all I wanted were a hot married woman to fuck, well, then this would suit me just fine. That's not what I want. I want her. I want the life we should've had. I want everything that was taken from me, and that's a ba
d thing.

  Situations show you the parts of your character you'd like to ignore. Deep down inside, I'm a selfish bastard, but I'm a selfish bastard that will love her in ways no other man ever will. She has been mine since that first day in English class, since the first time I kissed her and told her I loved her. And really, it's not my fault another man fell in love with the woman whose heart belongs to me.

  It's been thirty-six hours since I showed up in that parking lot. Thirty-six hours since I cheated on my husband.

  I’m sprawled out on a king-sized bed, gasping for air as my nails cut into Nic's hard back. He stares down at me, sweat beading down his temples before he covers my mouth with his. He rolls onto his side and props his head up with his hand.

  I smile as I trail my finger over his stubbled jawline. I trace down his neck, over the taught muscles of his shoulders, watching my pale fingers skirt over his olive skin.

  “Please don't make this the only…” I breathe, and he catches my words with a deep kiss.

  His fingers rake up into my hair before he pulls away. “I’ll be right back.”

  When he stands to make his way to the bathroom, my eyes drag over his ass, his back, his shoulders. I breathe in a sigh, still in shock that I’m here with him.

  When he walks out of the bathroom, he’s still completely naked. He stops at the foot of the bed. Leaning over, he places his palms on either side of my legs. His arms stretch out in front of him, slowly sliding up the bed as he lowers his body on top of mine.

  “You never should have left me,” he says before kissing me. “And I never should have let you.” He pulls away and stares at me. “When you said had I told you not to marry him you wouldn’t have, you fucked my entire world up again....Fucked. It. Up.” He drags in a breath, stroking his finger over my cheek. “Actually, no. You fucked my entire world up when you called me and told me you were sorry. I never, in a million years, expected to get that phone call four years later.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He smiles, moving beside me in the bed, his hand skirting over my stomach and down my sides… “Don’t be.”