Rough & Real

by Hayley Faiman

  Ending the call, I shove my phone back in my bag and grip my keys tightly in my hand. Walking toward my SUV, the stranger doesn’t leave, in fact, he tips his head to the side and just watches me. The closer I get, I notice that he’s young, probably in his earlier twenties, and he’s leaning against the passenger side of my car.

  Stopping before I get too close, I tilt head back slightly and just stare at him. “May I help you?” I ask, sounding mildly curious. Inside I’m a little freaked out, wondering what in the hell this kid is doing leaning against my car.

  “Nope. Just curious,” he murmurs, pushing off of the car and taking a step closer toward me. I take a step back and clutch my keys, wondering if I can outrun him and get inside of the gym to ask for help if I need to. “Aren’t you all a little too old to be living the lifestyle? Maybe you should just go away before you get pushed out. Shit could get really fucking ugly,” he states.

  The stranger walks away without saying anything else and I’m too freaking stunned to attempt to speak. Stupidly, I stay exactly where I am, in shock. The sound of motorcycle pipes causes me to jerk, and I’m suddenly ripped from my stupor.

  I swiftly walk to the driver’s side of my car and climb inside. Shakily, I shove my key in the ignition. I debate calling West. I decide to drive back to the clubhouse instead, this is something I need to talk to him in person about. Thankfully I’m not too shaky to drive, but I have to force myself to focus, taking care of every curve in the road and staying alert and aware because inside I’m a jumbled mess.

  When the clubhouse gates come into view, I feel like I can actually breathe. I stop at the entrance and the same prospect is there. He gives me a funny look but lets me inside without question. I pull up next to West’s bike, again, and throw my car in park. Leaving my purse and everything inside of the car, I step out on shaky legs.

  Walking through the front door, I see that there are men all over the bar area. They’re drinking and talking, a few notice me and lift their chins but my eyes frantically search for West. He’s nowhere to be seen. I continue walking through the bar area in confusion. His bike is here, and yet, he’s not.

  “Hey, Ivy,” Soar calls out. I watch as he jogs toward me.

  He looks a little panicked and I don’t understand it. “Where’s West?” I demand. His eyes dart over to the free-for-all room and then back to me.

  “Why don’t I get you a drink at the bar. You look like you could use one,” he offers with a kind smile.

  Ignoring him, I walk around his body, only to have his hand reach for my wrist. I shake him off and start to walk a little faster to where I know my husband must be. Images flash through my mind. Images of West fucking other women and my heart starts to race. I know we’ve been having problems but this past week was so great. I don’t want to believe that he could be here.

  When I reach the doorway, I freeze. I feel Soar’s hand wrap around my shoulder, but I plant my feet, not allowing him to pull me away. My eyes search the middle of the floor where I see men and women alike completely naked and in various stages of screwing.

  Then I scan over to the sides of the room where there are sofas lining the walls. That is where I find West. He’s sitting on a sofa, a beer in his hand and his eyes focused on something in the middle of the room.

  My own gaze follows the path, and I suck in a breath. He’s watching one of the whores. She’s resting against one guy’s chest while his cock is buried in her ass, and another guy is fucking her pussy, his mouth on her tits.

  I try to take a step back, but I run into Soar. Turning around, I look up at him. His head tips down and something akin to pity flashes across his face. This isn’t something new. This is something he’s been doing a while and now, Soar feels sorry for me. The ex-drug addict who cheated on his wife for over a decade feels pity—for me.

  Trying to scoot past him, Soar wraps his hand gently around my bicep. “I don’t think it’s exactly what it seems,” he murmurs.

  Glancing back up at him I bite the inside of my cheek. “I think it’s exactly what it looks like. I think it’s been happening for a while and it’s why he doesn’t come home. I think that I’ve known something was happening, I just didn’t know what it was and I’ve been living in denial,” I whisper. I feel like a fucking fool.

  “Talk to him, Ivy. Communicate, trust me, you need to communicate,” he urges.

  Shaking my head almost violently I jerk away from his hold and I rush out of the room, heading straight for the back of the building. Only when the fresh mountain air hits my face, do I suck in a breath.

  That fucking asshole.

  All of this time, I’ve been at home alone, while he’s been here, watching and most likely participating in the free-for-all room. Fuck. Him.

  Hurrying toward my car, I climb into the driver’s seat and start the engine. My mind starts to race as I drive home. Long gone are the thoughts of the guy from earlier, replaced are thoughts of my husband—of his desires.

  Is that what he wants? Does he want me to screw other men while he watches? Does he want to screw me with another man joining? I am so confused, I don’t know what any of this means, or how I feel about it all.

  Glancing at the clock, I notice that it’s almost time to start doing the daily pickup routine and I try to clear my head of what I’ve just witnessed, only I can’t. I pick up Reid and Remi, both start to talk about their day as I drive toward the junior high to pick up Rosalie. She gives me the silent treatment which is fine with me since all I can do is think about West and that room.

  Does he want to be like my brother and Serina? Does he want to screw in the common room, have other men join in and share me? Would I do that? I don’t know.

  I feel like I don’t know him right now, either, and I think that is what scares me more than anything. I don’t know who my own husband is anymore.

  When I’m finished watching the show that Pixie puts on, I stand and make my way toward the bar area. I need to replace my empty beer with a full one and text Ivy to see what’s on the kids’ schedules tonight. Honestly, I hope nothing. I’m in the mood to stay here instead of going home.

  “You got a second?” Soar asks as soon as I walk up to the bar.

  Looking over at the blond man I give him a chin lift as I slam my beer down on the bar. Within thirty seconds a full, cold one replaces it and I wrap my hand around the bottle as I follow Soar over to an empty table. He sits down and stays silent until I join him. “What’s up?” I ask.

  Soar has kind of kept to himself over the past few years. He’s changed his life, sobered up, and been on the straight and narrow, at least, as much as one of us can be. We’re outlaws no matter how good of men we are.

  “Ivy was here earlier,” he begins. I frown at his words. She was here? I open my mouth to ask him why he didn’t come get me to talk to her, it must have been important if she was here. She hardly comes to the clubhouse on her own. My mind is a rambly mess until he speaks again. “She saw you, man.”

  I blink at his words, she saw you, man. Lifting my gaze to his, I see that he looks at me and there’s no judgment in his eyes, only compassion. I’m glad for it, but I have a feeling what she saw and what she believes, are two different things. “I tried to keep her from running off but she took off like lightning.”

  Nodding, I bring my beer up to my lips and take a pull. Fuck. “Thanks for telling me.”

  “You aren’t going to go to her?” Soar asks sounding confused.

  I shrug. Maybe it’s best this way. Maybe her thinking, whatever it is she’s thinking, is for the best. We’ve been teetering, and I’ve been lying to myself if I think that I can hide my desires. Straight downright lying to myself if I think that I can deny what I crave, much longer. Ivy won’t do it, so maybe her seeing me in there, watching everybody fuck, maybe that will be enough to end us. It’s going to hurt, but sometimes there’s no way to avoid pain.

  “Talk to her, West. I know you love her. Avoiding shit like this, or making life
-altering decisions without communication isn’t the key here. You have three fucking kids, young kids, you need to think about them.”

  Soar doesn’t allow me to respond, not that I know what I would say anyway. He stands and leaves me alone with my beer, and my thoughts.

  I love Ivy, that’s an undisputed fact.

  Sometimes love isn’t enough.

  Fucking hell—this shouldn’t be this goddamn hard.

  I slam my beer down, and instead of going home, I go back into the free-for-all room. I do what I’ve been doing for years… I fucking avoid everything. I watch and I fantasize.

  The boys scream over which cartoon they want to watch, not that it matters because they both have baseball practice in about thirty minutes. Rosalie is up in her room, angry with me, and I’m trying to find the will to care at the moment. I really don’t. I could give a shit about any of it right now.

  I almost just told her to go to the mall with the girls. I almost canceled baseball practice, and I almost hid in the closet with my lemon vodka and a box of chocolate chip cookies.

  I don’t do any of those things.

  I do what I always do.

  I pull up my big girl panties and I deal.

  Closing my eyes, I exhale and collect myself. There are things to do right now, and later tonight I can let myself fall apart. When the kids are all in bed, then I can cry. I can mourn, and I can let my mind wander to all of the places I’m not allowing it to go.

  “C’mon boys, grab your cleats and some water, we need to get going,” I call out, as I reach for the television remote control and power it down. They whine but stand up and start to shuffle toward the bin that holds their shoes by the front door.

  I swiftly walk toward Rosalie’s room and knock on her door, announcing that it’s time to go. She grumbles from the other side. I ignore her and head to the car. I’m honestly just trying to get through my evening so that I can finally break down.

  Today has been extreme. I’ve gone from giddy and excited, to scared, to angry and now, a mixture of anger and sadness rolled into one.

  The kids load up in the car and I put it in reverse and start to drive toward the baseball fields. It doesn’t take me long to get there, they’re only down the street and I decide that maybe next time, we’ll just walk instead. Letting out an exhale, the boys practically sprint out of the car but I don’t move.

  I look out in front of me, and stare at nothing, taking in nothing, and just breathe.

  “Mom?”

  Turning my head, I look to my daughter who is sitting in the passenger seat. “You and Dad, things aren’t good, are they?” she asks.

  “Honey,” I whisper, trying to keep my tears at bay. Rosalie has always been my sensitive child, and she sees so much more than the boys do.

  “He doesn’t ever come home. Tori says that’s because he’s sleeping around on you. She’s not right, is she? I mean I told her it was a lie, but he’s really never around anymore, Mom.”

  I could kill my bitchy little brat of a niece. If there was ever a child I wanted to hurt, it would be her. Fuck that little bitch. Not that West’s sister is much better, let’s just say that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. She’s constantly shoving her nose in our business, and it doesn’t help that she lives right across the street from us.

  “Rosalie, what happens between a husband and wife is just that, between a husband and wife. All you need to know is that me and Daddy love you very much, you and your brothers,” I murmur.

  She snorts and swings the car door open. “Guess I better start deciding who I want to live with now,” she states before she slams the car door closed.

  Closing my eyes, I try to keep the tears at bay, but one falls anyway. I exit the car as well, making my way over to the bleachers to watch the boys play.

  Rosalie keeps her distance from me, but her gaze comes over to where I’m sitting throughout the boys’ practice. I can tell she’s thinking, and as much as I want to placate her fears, I can’t. I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen between me and West. I know that without a doubt I love him with all of my heart, but I have a feeling that what he’s interested in, sexually, may not be things that I can fulfill.

  The rest of the evening I’m on autopilot. Rosalie keeps to herself, the boys do as well. Once dinner is consumed, and Rosalie’s done the dishes, she goes to bed. The boys, that I know of, don’t notice anything different and it’s the same nighttime routine as always with them, of which I’m thankful for.

  I tell all of the kids goodnight, and kiss them on the forehead before I take myself to bed—alone. West hasn’t attempted to call or text. I don’t know when, or if, he’ll come home tonight and I’m trying to decide if I really want him to. In an attempt to make myself feel better, I decide to take a long hot shower. When I’m finished I pull on a soft cotton nightgown and crawl into bed.

  The phone on my nightstand dances with an incoming call, just as I’m lying down. I glance at the name and let out a sigh. “Hello,” I answer.

  “Staying at the club tonight,” West slurs.

  Closing my eyes, I nod as though he can see me. “Anything else?” I ask.

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  I don’t want to get into an argument over the phone. In fact, I don’t want to get into an argument at all. What I want is for us to go back to the way we were. I want my sweet husband back. I want all of this shit to just disappear. “Nothing, West,” I whisper.

  He ends the call without saying anything else and that is when my resolve breaks. That is the moment my tears begin to fall. I never imagined that my life would be this way, that I would ever feel this way. Not only do I feel alone, I also feel inadequate—so fucking inadequate.

  My new job starts in just a few days and I have so much to do in preparation. I can’t dwell on my marriage right now. I need to focus on the kids, on my job, and on my household. If West wishes to be part of that, then that’s fine, if he doesn’t, then we need to talk about what the future looks like.

  Pixie crawls over to me and wraps her hands around my thighs, sitting between my legs. “I notice you always watching, Camo. Come join,” she smiles.

  I take her in, she’s cute and young, but she’s not Ivy. No matter what funk we’re in, how mad we are at each other, Ivy’s always been the woman for me. I hate this feeling of push and pull that’s become the norm between us. “Not tonight,” I grunt as I move to stand on a sway.

  She shrugs before turning around and crawling back over to the man who just fucked her. Stumbling, I walk out of the room and into the bar. I’m fucking drunk, completely gone. The room is blurry and hazy as I walk toward the bar.

  “That’s about enough,” a voice booms. I jerk my head over to the side and see Ivy’s brother, Grease standing next to me.

  “Not done,” I slur.

  Grease wraps his meaty hand around my shoulder and gives me a squeeze. It’s rough and almost causes my knees to buckle, but by some miracle, I stay standing upright.

  “I’m taking you home to your wife,” he grunts.

  I shake my head, but he doesn’t acknowledge my refusal. “I don’t give a fuck what’s happening between you two. But what I do know is my niece called me in tears because you’re never home and she’s convinced you and Ivy are divorcing. Now, I’m not asking about your relationship with my sister, but your kids notice something’s off, and that shit ain’t cool with me. I’m taking your ass home, now.”

  Clamping my lips shut, I don’t respond. I also don’t fight with him. I follow behind him to his pickup truck. Climbing into the passenger seat, closing my eyes as I lean back against the headrest. “How do you and Serina make it work?” I ask.

  Grease clears his throat but doesn’t answer right away. “You mean, our sex life?” he guesses. I grunt as my response. “No secrets, Camo. We don’t do secrets. I know what she likes, and she knows what I like. We set boundaries a long time ago, and we’ve stuck with them.”

 
“Boundaries?” I chuckle.

  “Yeah, smartass, boundaries,” he growls. He drives for a few more minutes in silence, then he speaks again. “Serina knows that if she wants to fuck someone else, I’m there, and vice versa. We also don’t bring other people into our actual home. That is our place, our space, it’s not meant for anybody else.

  “Listen, what you and Ivy are into, that’s your business. I won’t be pissed, or whatever if you’re worried about me. I will however, urge you to talk to her and stop avoiding your house, and your goddamn family,” he growls as he slams the brakes on.

  My head jerks up and I realize we’re sitting in front of my house. I let out a grunt and open the door, ambling out of the pickup truck. I slowly make my way to my front door, then I hear Grease’s tires squeal behind me. Digging around for my keys in my pocket takes me three tries to finally get them out. Then it takes me another three tries to actually open my front door.

  I stumble toward my bedroom and slip inside, locking it up behind me when I do. Ivy is asleep in the bed, her blonde hair wild around her head, lying on her side and facing away from my side of the bed. Removing my clothes, I leave them in a pile on the floor before I join her, crawling up to lie down next to her.

  Wrapping my hand around her stomach, I press my lips against the back of her neck and inhale her familiar scent. She lets out a moan and just the simple sound gives me a semi. Slipping my hand down her center, I let out a moan of my own to find her wearing one of my favorite nightgowns.

  Bunching the fabric in my hand I pull it up to her waist, then I drift my hand down her panties and graze her pussy with my finger. She doesn’t move, still deep in sleep. I alternate between playing with her clit and her slit, dipping my finger inside of her every so often.

  Her hips jerk beneath my touch and I can’t help but smirk. “West,” she moans as she lifts her arm behind me and twists her fingers in my hair.