by Q. B. Tyler
“Did you tell Dr. Tucker where I was?” The last thing I need is him on my ass about my weekend in Destin with Charlotte, my brother, and far too much alcohol. I can already see that vein pulsing in his forehead.
“No, sir.”
“Great, if he calls again, just go ahead and put him through. If my mother calls, tell her I’m in a session. Even if I’m not.” My mother started calling me yesterday, presumably after she’d spoken with my father. I’d already dealt with one Montgomery parent yesterday, I certainly wasn’t about to take on the other. So, I proceeded to send her to voicemail…six times.
I move towards my office door, closing it behind me immediately. I run a hand through my hair as I sit down at my desk preparing to go through the stack of mail sitting on top, in a neat pile. Vanessa is orderly and meticulous. Keeping my secrets aside, she is truly the best assistant I’ve ever had. I bring the piping hot cup of coffee to my lips, coffee that I know is from Starbucks, but Vanessa always insists on putting in a mug because “it tastes better this way.” I scan through the mail, tossing some aside without opening it, when I find a plain white envelope with the words Urgent and Confidential marked across the front. There is no return address, and my information is printed as if done with a typewriter. If I hadn’t spent the last three days in Charley’s arms, and knew she wasn’t home in my bed sleeping soundly, I’d half expect this to be some sort of ransom note.
I rip open the contents to find a USB flash drive and nothing else. No note. Nothing. I lean back in my chair, fiddling with it in my hands wondering what in the world this could be. A part of me wonders if this is the tape that my father had forced Matt to hand over that had been evidence of Charlotte’s and my affair, but what would be the point of that?
What if it’s someone who has footage of who threw the brick?
Or perhaps it has nothing to do with Charley at all?
Good one, Will. You know your life lacked any real excitement until Charlotte Pierce came strutting into it.
I shake my head, not prepared to deal with whatever is on this drive when I hear commotion in my office and then in the flesh, is my mother, walking through the door, yanking her signature white gloves from her hands angrily.
“WILLIAM PATRICK MONTGOMERY!”
Shit.
Diana Montgomery is known for her composure. She is calm, cool, and collected even in the most tense or hostile situations. She’d suffered through at least four of my father’s affairs and yet a smile is planted firmly on her face whenever she’s in public. In true WASP fashion, she’d hidden her pain and resentment under fake smiles and luncheons that are infamous amongst Atlanta’s elite. Once when I was fifteen, I’d watched her find a pair of underwear in my father’s coat pocket—underwear that had not belonged to her—launder them, put them back into his pocket, and then prepare a dinner for twelve of her closest friends.
My mother is stoic, almost cold, with a poker face that could bring down Vegas. The only emotion that my mother really can emit is judgment which is currently radiating off her as she slams the door behind her. Chanel Number 5 and judgment: the true essence of Diana Hamilton Montgomery.
“You can’t call your mother back? Honestly, William, I raised you better than that. It’s quite rude.” She slams her gloves into her bag before setting it down on the table. She walks towards me, wearing a tailored, long sleeved pants suit despite the warm temperatures, and her auburn hair is pulled into her signature chignon. “Your father has told me everything that has been going on, and frankly I am shocked that you kept this from me for so long! A married woman, really, William? You’re a marriage counselor!” The condescension drips from her voice as her hazel eyes bore into mine.
“Now is really not the time, mother. I have a session in twenty.” Try an hour. But I certainly wasn’t about to entertain her for the next sixty minutes.
“Darling, I’m on your side, but you have dug yourself into quite a hole, son. What are you going to do if that woman’s husband goes to your board, or heaven forbid the press?! Your name will be dragged through the mud.” She shudders, and I truly believe she’s spooked. My mother believes that perception is reality and appearances are everything.
“He’s not going to be talking to anyone. J.R. and I handled Charlotte’s ex-husband.”
“For now. Things like this don’t go away. Not at least without…a hefty compensation.”
“He does not want to risk going to jail.”
My mother presses a hand to her chest, a gasp falling from her lips. “Jail, my goodness, Will, what have you gotten yourself mixed up with?”
I ignore her question, opting to speak the language she knows well. “And he’s certainly not interested in causing a scandal and ruining his reputation. He does well at his job.”
My mother nods in complete understanding, as if everyone treated life as if it were a chess match. As if she believed that people weren’t slaves to their emotions and didn’t respond accordingly. As if everyone had it together all the time. “Well…that makes sense. If only my son thought the same way. Do you have any water, dear?” I make my way over to the refrigerator when she stops me. “Sparkling, please.”
I roll my eyes as I pull the Perrier from the fridge and begin to pour its contents into a glass, knowing that my mother would never drink from a bottle. I hand her the glass and she smiles just before she takes a tentative sip. “As I was saying, it seems you don’t seem to care about your reputation as a marriage counselor or causing a scandal.”
I shoot her a look, knowing that the truth probably won’t move her as much as I hope, but I go for it. “I fell in love with her.”
I expected a scoff, an eye roll, for her to fiddle with my grandmother’s string of pearls that were always perched proudly on her neck. What I hadn’t expected was for tears to flood her eyes.
My mother is showing—emotion?
“I was afraid you’d say that.” She clears her throat, probably remembering herself and effectively removing the emotion from her voice. “Will, you are my son and I love you. So, I feel it’s my duty to tell you, all love will do is ruin your life.”
The words hit me hard, hearing the pain so evident in her voice making me believe that perhaps my mother stayed with my father out of love…and not just appearances. My eyes dart to the opened envelope on my desk, and the USB sitting on top of it, as if the knee jerk reaction to hearing her words is to suspect that what’s on that drive would test the love I have for Charlotte.
Is that why you don’t want to open it?
“Mom…” She pulls her handkerchief from her jacket pocket and dabs at her eyes. “I love her. She’s the one.”
“She was married, son. Haven’t you heard the phrase ‘once a cheater, always a cheater?’” She raises an eyebrow, straightening her suit and running her hand down her arms as if to brush off any imaginary dust. “Will, I understand that you feel a bit responsible for breaking up her marriage, but this is not your issue to take on. She cheated on her husband. It’s not your job to fix the mess she created of her life.”
“It’s not like that,” I tell her. “She’s the love of my life. You’ll understand when you meet her.” I’m not prepared to tell anyone that Charlotte and I are technically engaged. Even if her ring finger is still bare, she is still my future wife. When we tell our children and our grandchildren we’ll say that she was naked at a hotel in Florida, covered only by a sheet, she asked me, and I said yes. Well, something like that.
“I can’t say I’m thrilled at the idea of meeting your adulteress.”
I knew this situation would be a hard sell to my mother, who’d spent the better part of her marriage turning a blind eye to my father’s indiscretions. “Don’t call her that.” I try to keep the snarl out of my voice, but what I’ve quickly come to learn is that I’d defend Charlotte to anyone. My family included.
“Well, it’s what she is, no?”
“I’m not discussing this further with you—or anyone for that matt
er. Charlotte is a part of my life. That’s not up for debate. I am sure your tune will change when she starts popping out your grandchildren.”
Her eyes widen, her mouth drops open, her poker face slipping for just a moment before she corrects herself. “Is she—I mean—you’re having—?”
“She is not pregnant—yet.” There’s a spark in my groin thinking about shooting my seed deep inside of her, fathering a child. Fathering her child. A small Montgomery running around, followed by several more Montgomery’s.
She stares at me for a moment, before she looks down at the vintage Rolex that sits proudly on her wrist every day. “Well, I know you have a session soon, and I’m late for lunch at the club with Tish Reynolds, but this is not over young man.”
* * *
FOR THE ENTIRETY OF MY session I’m distracted, my eyes moving on their own accord to the envelope sitting on my desk. Even my patients can see I’m not entirely focused. The second that I close the door behind them, I’m in my seat pouring a glass of scotch, welcoming the burn of the liquid, but it doesn’t come.
Normally, I would make note of that, but the thought escapes me as I hold the drive between my fingers. Before I can stop myself, I’ve pressed it firmly into the side of my computer. A sound I would know anywhere, one that has a direct line to my dick comes out of my speakers first. Before I can see anything, I hear the moan of a woman—my woman. I watch as a dick, that does not belong to me penetrates the pussy I pray doesn’t belong to Charlotte.
No. It’s not her. It’s definitely not.
“Oh fuck! Matt, right there. That’s it!” she whimpers and immediately I feel the bile rising in my throat. I swallow it down, with a swig of my drink. The camera slowly moves upwards from where they’re conjoined between her legs and I take in her toned flat stomach and tits that I would know anywhere. Tits I’ve had in my hands, my mouth, tits I’ve pushed together and slid my dick between. My cock throbs at the idea of gliding between the valley of her breasts. Her nipples pucker and one hand reaches up and touches her, strokes her, rolls her nipple between fingers that don’t belong to me.
Will stop watching this. Turn this shit off now.
Turn it off before—
Her face comes into view. Except, it’s not my Charlotte. No, this woman is much younger, her eyes wild and innocent, yet shy and unsure. That bottom lip moves between her teeth, telling me that she’s had that sexy as fuck habit for years. Her hands move up her body to rub her breasts, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I don’t see any rings on her left finger alerting me that this was before they were married. Still makes me want to throw my computer out the window. My heart feels like it could beat out of my chest at any moment as I watch an old sex tape between my fiancée and her ex-husband.
You know they fucked, Will. They were married.
But seeing it fucking sucks.
I feel as if someone has taken a knife to my inside and is slowly carving me out. My body, which was full of love and passion and devotion to the woman on the screen suddenly feels hollow, empty and broken the second the words I love you fall from her plump lips.
“You are so beautiful, Charlotte. God, you make me so fucking hard. Come for me, baby.”
Don’t make her come. Don’t make her come. My mind is almost screaming at me at this point. Stop fucking watching!
“Fuck, Matt. I’m so close.” She cries out, her eyes scrunched together, her lips parted, as her tongue darts out to lick her lips. She begins to bounce on top of his dick faster, her breasts swaying more aggressively with every bounce. “Oh my God, I’m coming!” Her eyes pop open and she looks down at that moment, into the camera, and the look in her eyes shatters me.
I would know that look anywhere.
Charlotte Pierce was in love.
And she came.
The video stops sometime after that, just as Charlotte was gearing up to put his cock in her mouth, the screen fades to black. The words that proceed after make my blood run cold.
I had to listen to you fuck my wife, how does it feel to watch me fuck your girlfriend?
The rational part, the stronger part of me knows that it was years ago. That Charlotte isn’t the same woman as the one on that video, but the weaker part, the part that is currently fueled by one too many glasses of Macallan 18 and a blind, jealous rage, felt ready to attack.
Matt.
Charlotte.
Anyone.
I have been staring at my screen for what feels like hours trying to make sense of the five-year gap in my resume and how I was going to somehow bridge that gap with no actual experience. I’m sitting in Will’s office, when the sound of slamming cabinets breaks me out of my concentration. I’m out of my seat before my brain can communicate to the rest of my body that I needed to approach the kitchen with caution.
My feet propel me towards the kitchen as Will rips his tie from his neck and throws it aggressively towards the floor just as he slams a bottle of alcohol onto the counter so hard I’m shocked it didn’t shatter under the force. I jump, a tiny squeak coming out of me, and his attention turns slowly to me. His eyes soften slightly but I can still see the hurt and anger lurking there. His hands are balled into fists and I notice a tremor move through him, making me believe that he’s so tense that he’s actually shaking. I bite my lip, mostly out of nervousness, but also in the attempt to try and appeal to another side of him. “Will,” I whisper. I take a tentative step towards him and his arm immediately shoots up towards me.
“No, Charley.”
“No?” I ask, my eyes widen in shock. I don’t remember Will ever not wanting me near him. If we are in a room alone together, we are touching.
That’s part of what got us into trouble in the first place.
“I’m too angry with you.”
“With…me? What did I do?” My heart begins to race, never having witnessed this level of anger and wondering what I possibly could have done to provoke him. This morning, Will and I couldn’t even get out of bed, our bodies clinging to each other like magnets as we went through waves of passion we’d never experienced together. I don’t think I’d ever come that many times in a short period. What happened between then and now?
He doesn’t answer; he simply drains the contents of the glass in front of him and I move towards him, not letting his half-hearted no stop me.
He needs me.
“Hey,” I move so that I’m in front of him and I can stare at him straight on. “What’s wrong?”
“Just a long day,” he says, his eyes finding mine but his gaze doesn’t penetrate me like it usually does with blazing fire and passion.
No, his eyes are vacant.
Expressionless.
He tries to move out of my grasp and I stop him. “Stop that,” I tell him as I wrap my arms around him tightly. “Don’t walk away from me. Tell me what’s wrong.”
He’s tense in my arms, and my heart begins to accelerate even faster as I notice that he’s not putting his arms around me. Instead, I feel him pulling himself out of my grasp. “Charley, just…give me some space.” Against my better judgment, I let him go, allowing him to move out of the room without so much as a glance back at me.
Dr. Montgomery’s words ring in my head. “A lack of communication is poisonous to your marriage. It seeps into those tiny cracks that you think aren’t problems and rips them open creating monumental rifts in your marriage. It breaks down all of your strength until you’re left with nothing.”
No. No fucking way.
My feet are moving quick as lighting as I dart into his office, to find him seated at his desk with his head in his hands. I push myself through the room and move into his lap. I don’t think he even realizes I’m there until I put my hands on his cheeks to make him look at me. He gives me a small smile and I can see the glaze washing over his eyes.
Is he…he’s drunk?
“You’re so beautiful, Charlotte,” he says softly as he reaches out to touch my cheek. His hands move into my hair and begin
to play with the strands. “I’ve never met anyone like you. And I just…had to have you. But you weren’t mine to have. I took you from someone else. You weren’t mine to look at—to touch—to fuck.”
Where is this coming from? I silence him, putting a hand over his mouth. “Stop it. Will, I am yours. I’ve always been yours to have.”
He shrugs and leans back in his chair. “He’s never going to give you up, Charley.”
“Who?” He gives me a look as he reaches for a glass sitting behind me. I stop his hand and bring it to my mouth letting his fingertips graze my bottom lip. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Your husband—”
“Ex-husband,” I interrupt.
“Whatever he is. He’s not going to quit until he has you back. Or I leave you,” he says sadly. The thought makes my blood run cold. He’s thought about leaving me? “He did make that promise, remember,” he continues. “When he was ‘finished with us’ all you’d have left would be the money from the settlement. He may not turn me in, he may not tell anyone about our affair, but he’s going to do everything in his power to break us up. He wants us to be as miserable as he is, which means we don’t get to be together. Which means…I can’t have you.”
“You have me. I’m yours! You promised we were on the same side. We agreed we wouldn’t let anything turn us against each other.” The tears are already pouring from my eyes, hearing the love of my life express what sounds like defeat.
He’s giving up on us.
“The whole time you were still married, it used to drive me crazy wondering if you were sleeping with him. If you were letting him touch you, kiss you, see you the way that you said you only let me see you.” Is that what this is about? He thinks I was sleeping with Matt once we were together?
“I didn’t!” My eyes are wide as I shake my head vigorously back and forth. “What makes you think that?”