by Lacey Black
She turns and heads to the kitchen, leaving me and my erection with the pile of dirty clothes to go into the washer. “Me too,” I mumble as I scoop up the clothes and follow her, the entire time, picturing what she would look like splayed out on top of my bed, naked.
I walk past her in the kitchen and make my way to the laundry room. I set the clothes on the floor, noticing instantly the weird mix of clothing. There’s a little of hers and a bit of mine, and the combination has a somewhat calming effect on me. It’s been almost two decades since my clothes were washed with someone else’s, and I find myself smiling as I look down at the dirty items.
After adding the clothes, closing the lid, and turning on the machine, Freedom hollers from the other room. “Will you restart the dryer for me?”
Curious, I open the dryer and find it full of brightly colored, wrinkled garments. They’re cool to the touch, but dry, which tells me they’ve been in here for a while after dried. “What is this?” I ask, closing the door and finding the right heat setting for the material.
“Yesterday’s load,” she bellows in reply.
“Yesterday? These have been here since then?” I ask, as I enter the kitchen and close the laundry room door.
Freedom shrugs. “Yeah.”
I sigh, rubbing my forehead. “Freedom, you can’t just leave clean clothes in the dryer.”
“Why not?” she asks, and I can’t tell if she’s genuinely curious or on the brink of laughing at me.
“Well, because…they…if you don’t…” I stop. And can’t really think of a reason besides ‘it wastes electricity by running the dryer a second time,’ and for some reason, that sounds really dumb. Trivial, in the grand scheme of things.
Freedom doesn’t roll her eyes, as I expect. Instead, she smiles, heads my way, and wraps her arms around my waist. She leans her cheek against my chest and sighs. My arms automatically go to her shoulders, holding her close. I could definitely get used to this.
“What do you say we make dinner?” she asks without moving.
“Sounds good.” I don’t move either.
After a few minutes, she whispers my name.
“Yeah?”
Brilliant blue eyes gaze up at me. I don’t know what I’m expecting her to say, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t it. “Do you want to skip dinner and go make out naked in bed?”
My cock jumps in my pants as all of the blood I possess starts to rush its way. I open my mouth to explain why we should eat now, when I answer, “Yes.”
She smiles that wide grin I can’t seem to get enough of and reaches around and slaps my butt. “Good answer, Sammy. Give me five minutes,” she tells me before turning and practically sprinting from the room.
I sigh and run my hand down my face. What am I doing? Well, besides about to make love to my wife. My wife. I spy my bag over by the entryway, and with leaded legs, head over to retrieve it. The envelope is still inside, the one I’ve been ignoring for weeks now. I head back to the kitchen and pull the contents out.
Divorce papers.
My heart starts to ache in my chest as I scan the documents. There’s not a lot of information there, but considering we’ve only been married for a month I imagine that’s sufficient. I scan them over, hating them and needing them all at the same time. I’m still battling with myself. I need to right this wrong before it’s too late. Divorce is the best way to go about that. Then, we can start over, with a clean slate.
When I get to the last page, to the lines with our names below them, I have to look away. I hate seeing her name beside mine, knowing we’re both going to sign them, effectively ending our short-lived marriage.
But then we can start new. I can ask her out, the right way. We can date and enjoy each other’s company.
Kind of like we do now.
I hear my bedroom door creak open, and I quickly shove the documents back into the envelope. I turn and stuff it in the top kitchen drawer that I use for mail and bills. The moment the drawer is shut, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. When I turn, I find Freedom there, standing against the doorway, wearing a light green bra and panty set with little white eyelets.
My jaw practically hits the ground.
Her hair is down, hanging loosely around her shoulders, and all I can think about is running my fingers through it. I take a step forward, my eyes riveted to the beauty before me. “You look absolutely stunning,” I whisper as I reach her.
“Yeah?” she asks, reaching up and grabbing my necktie. “And you look like you’re wearing entirely too many clothes.”
She tugs my tie and walks backward, leading me down the hall and to my bedroom. Our bedroom. No, it’s not anything official, but she’s slept here every night since we returned to Rockland Falls. It’s where she belongs.
As she drags me to bed and throws her arms around my neck, pressing her lips to my own, I forget everything.
Including those papers in the drawer.
Everything but Freedom.
Chapter Twenty
Freedom
I think I’m coming down with something. Even though the sun is shining high in the late morning sky, I’ve felt…off. Tired. Like I’ve been staying up way too late at night participating in a variety of games in the Bedroom Olympics.
It’s true.
I have.
My sleep pattern hasn’t been what it usually is while I’ve been in Samuel’s bed. Not only do we fall asleep a little later, but several times, we’re woken up in the night with a need that only the other can quench. For someone who’s had decent sex in the past, I’ve never experienced anything like it. This all-consuming desire that takes over, day or night.
I think he feels the same. I find him touching me more, even when we’re at the office. Two weeks ago, that wouldn’t have happened at all. I did my job and he did his. But now, when I’m there, he pops by the office often just to see how I’m doing or if I need anything. And his hands always seem to graze against my skin, especially my neck. It’s soothing and exciting, all at the same time.
We’ve even stayed up way past Samuel’s self-imposed unofficial bedtime, and he has barely grumbled.
I’m smiling as I collect my things. I have a massage appointment and Reiki healing treatment over the lunch hour, and then I’m helping Harper at the boutique again. Her part-timer had to have a tooth extracted this morning, so I agreed to help a few hours a day for the next handful of days. I don’t mind, though. Spending a little extra time with my bestie is a bonus on this Friday.
As I head out the front door, our mail lady is approaching. “Hey,” she says pleasantly, pulling our mail out of her bag. Well, Samuel’s mail. I never did a change of address for my apartment, mostly because the plan has always been to go back once it’s finished. However, now, I’m not so sure I want to go back. I kinda like living here, with Samuel.
I like it a lot.
“Good morning,” I greet as I take the stack of envelopes. There are a few regular-sized envelopes, mostly bills, and a larger one. The mail lady waves as she heads back down the sidewalk and toward the neighbors to deliver their mail.
Since the door is still open—don’t tell Samuel—I head back inside to throw the mail in his mail drawer. The return address on the large envelope catches my eye. Las Vegas. When I look at the addressee, my heart stutters in my chest. Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Grayson.
Ripping that envelope open like it’s Christmas morning, I smile down at the papers. It’s our marriage certificate. It seems so official, seeing our names printed on the fancy document. My fingers slide over the paper, the simple double rings on my left ring finger shining beneath the sunlight.
I realize I’m smiling so wide it hurts my face, and even though we’ve been living this life for the last month, seeing our names on the certificate, makes it real, and a bubble of hope erupts in my chest. Hope for our future. Hope for our relationship.
Maybe before I come home tonight, I’ll stop by the store and grab a frame. I could have the
certificate framed and on the counter when he comes home tonight. I pull open the drawer to add today’s mail, and find a large envelope already shoved inside. It was roughly thrown in there, the papers crumpled a bit and sticking out of the top. I remove it from the drawer to properly store the documents inside, shocked that Samuel would have put it away like that.
The heading catches my attention immediately.
Petition for Divorce.
I scan through the documents, which basically says we both keep our pre-marital assets and neither contests the divorce.
Irreconcilable differences.
My stomach drops to my sandals, a wave of nausea sweeps in. The papers blur as tears fill my eyes. Samuel still wants the divorce. Even though he hasn’t mentioned it in weeks, he still plans to go through with the legal separation. I thought we’d been connecting, getting along. The way he holds me and kisses me doesn’t scream divorce, but apparently, I’ve been blind. Blinded by my own happiness and the love I feel for him.
He doesn’t feel the same way.
And he never will.
My hands shake, but I read the entire document. When I get to the last page, I see the line where I’m supposed to sign. Sign my name to grant Samuel the divorce he’s seeking. You can’t make someone love you. I know that now. That’s why I grab one of the many ink pens from the mail drawer and sign my name. I scribble it across the paper, the tears slightly blurring the line. But it’s there.
Done.
My heart aches. It hurts more than ever before. More than being left in the hospital to fight an illness alone until my grandmother came to get me. More than learning how to thrive in an actual home, surrounded by things and people, when I’ve never known it. More than when my grandma passed a few years ago, and my own parents didn’t even attend.
I move to my bedroom. Not the one I’ve been sleeping in for weeks, but the guest room. The one I was supposed to sleep in. My things are still there, and with shaking hands, I gather it all up. I toss it all into my old suitcase. There’s a box sitting in the closet with a few other things I brought from my apartment. I toss the rest of my personal effects in there and secure the lid.
I glance around at the place I’ve called home for the past four weeks. At the memories I’ve made. The good times, and the bad. The painted walls and vibrant décor in the kitchen. The familiar bodywash that sits in the shower right next to where my razor once sat. With tears in my eyes, I head for the front door. Before I close it completely, I spy the papers left on the counter. The marriage certificate we just received and the divorce papers, signed and ready to go. My heart breaks all over again for what could have been.
Stupid girl.
I knew he was struggling with our quickie marriage, but I was stupid enough to think he maybe wanted me like I wanted him.
Stupid girl.
I head to my car and throw my bag and box in the trunk. My stomach growls angrily, but I ignore it. I pull out of the driveway and take one last look at the door. The vibrant blue door that made him so mad, yet he hasn’t changed it back.
A single tear slides down my cheek as I look away and face the road. Swiping angrily at those pesky tears, I sit up straight and put the car in drive. I still have a job to do, and now isn’t the time to break down. Now is the time to pull myself together and do what needs to be done. First, the massage appointment, followed by the Reiki treatment. Then, I’ll grab a sandwich or something from the café before I meet Harper at Kiss Me Goodnight.
Just the thought of her business name makes those stupid tears well up in my eyes.
So, like the goddess I am, I force them back down and get to work.
There’s time for drowning my hurt in Rocky Road later.
Now, I have a job to do.
***
My phone rings as I’m getting out of my car. My heart starts to beat at the idea of it being Samuel, but then reality sets in. When I glance at the screen, it’s not Samuel’s name I see. It’s Mr. Monet. “Hello?”
“Hey, Free. Just wanted to tell ya your place is ready. We got the appliances back in earlier so you’re set. You can get your stuff back in anytime.”
“Oh. Uhh, thanks.”
“No, problem,” he says before we sign off.
I stare down at the phone. I guess it’s all happening just the way it’s supposed to, right? At least I have a place to sleep now. Of course, I don’t have my bed and stuff, but I’m sure I could ask Latham, Jensen, and Rhenn to help move me out of Mary Ann’s garage this weekend. Until then, I’ve got enough in my car to get me by. All I need is a blanket and a pillow, and I’ll be fine.
Looking up, I head for the back door. “Hello!” I sing as I enter my bestie’s boutique.
She turns around after finishing up with a customer, and the smile on her face instantly drops. “What’s wrong?” she presses after I set my bag down in her office.
“Nothing,” I insist, painting on my brightest smile and tough girl attitude.
“Bullshit. Your eyes…they’re swollen.” She squints her own eyes and glares at me, as if reading me like the pages in a book.
I blow out a big exaggerated puff of air. “You’re crazy. My allergies are acting up,” I insist.
Harper continues to stare at me, and eventually, turns back around to face the register. I’m grateful she doesn’t call me on the lie. She knows I don’t have allergies. There are two more customers in the boutique, so I make myself useful and offer to assist the one wandering in the far corner.
I’m able to successful avoid my best friend for nearly an hour. Even though we work almost side by side at her store, we’re busy with customers and filling internet orders, something new she’s trying after being encouraged to do so by her cousins in Virginia. She spends a modest advertising budget on ads and promotions online, and the result has been an increase in sales through her website. I gather up a few sample packets from under the counter—a variety of lotions, creams, and body products—and stick two in each online package. That technique is proven to successfully help bring in additional revenue. Several customers have placed an additional order, just by the wonderful smelling lotion sample or eye cream sample they received.
“I’m going to walk these down to the post office,” she says when both boxes are sealed and ready to go. “Do you need anything?”
My stomach is still not right, and I’m sure a big part of it is there’s nothing in it. I still haven’t eaten today, my appetite completely gone since I left Samuel’s house. “Yeah, let me grab my wallet,” I tell her, turning to head for the office.
“Oh, stop it. I’ll buy. Just tell me what you want,” my bestie insists, like the amazing, selfless, big-hearted person she is.
I can’t help it, but tears prickle my eyes. I blink rapidly and avert my gaze, thankful that she doesn’t seem to notice. “I’d like some soothing tea. Maybe a chamomile or peppermint. My stomach’s a little squeamish today. Also, maybe a little soup? Whatever they have is fine,” I insist.
Harper just stares at me, but I refuse to give her anything but a quick smile to reassure her I’m okay. With the boxes in hand, she gives me one last look before she slips out the front door. I feel a sense of relief when she’s finally gone and not watching me, waiting for me to crack and tell her what’s going on. I’m not ready yet.
I get to work straightening up a display when I hear someone enter from the side, whistling a Patsy Cline tune. Latham gives me a wide grin and doesn’t even miss a beat of the song.
“Hey, Latham,” I say as he glances around, no doubt, looking for his wife. “Harper ran to the post office and café.”
He smiles the moment I say his wife’s name, and by some stroke of really bad luck, wetness seems to gather in my eyes once more. He’s so excited just by hearing her name and doesn’t even care he’s wearing the biggest, dopiest grin ever. “Damn, I was hoping to steal my afternoon kiss.”
“Well, you’re going to have to wait for her return. I don’t kiss married men,�
�� I reply with a smile.
“And I don’t kiss a married woman besides my wife,” he adds, laughing.
My smile falters, and he notices instantly, standing up straight and tall. The casual man before me is replaced with something else, something edgier and more serious.
I try to brush off the concern I know is coming. “Anyway, I’ll send her over as soon as she gets back for that kiss.” I busy my hands again by straightening the stack of bras I’ve already tidied.
“Hey, Free? Is everything okay?” he asks, taking a step closer.
“Yeah, sure, fine. Why?” I ask, wishing I hadn’t asked that question.
He studies me for a few seconds before answering. “You just don’t look yourself, sweetie. You look…”
“Tired?” I ask with a snort. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” I add with a dismissive wave of my hand.
He takes another step closer, almost into my personal space. “Is everything okay with…you know?”
I blink several times. Is he referring to me and Samuel? I mean, I’m certain Harper told him about finding us in my hotel room, married, back in Vegas, but no one has ever really said anything about it.
When I don’t reply, he goes on. “Did you guys have a fight or something?”
I can’t stop my snort. “You could say that,” I mumble.
He shrugs and relaxes a little against one of the cabinets. “I’m sure you guys will figure it out.”
I glance down at my hand—at the rings on my finger. “I’m not so sure about that,” I whisper, grabbing the wedding band and spinning it around. “I’m sure Harper told you? About Vegas?”
He laughs. “No she didn’t.”
That gives me pause. When I look up I can tell he’s serious.
“Actually, Samuel told me.”
I gasp. “He did? When?”
“That night we had dinner at his mom’s place. I don’t think he really meant to tell us guys, but he just sort of blurted it out.”
“Wow,” I mumble, taking in this new revelation.
“Yeah, and when we got home that night, I might have mentioned it to Harper after swearing her to secrecy. Turns out, she already knew. At first, I was pissed she didn’t tell me, but when she explained it was because it was you and Samuel and you had a lot of stuff to figure out, I guess I understood. I mean, she wasn’t lying to me or intentionally keeping it from me. She was just protecting you.”