Does She Love You?

by Rachel Spangler

  “You’re sorry?” Davis lashed out. “For last night?”

  Nic rubbed her hands over her eyes as she shook her head.

  Davis turned to Annabelle. “Just last night?”

  She doesn’t know who I am.

  She doesn’t know anything.

  Annabelle didn’t know if that made things better or worse. It certainly made Davis look better in her eyes, but Nic so much more guilty. The woman she’d loved and trusted unconditionally had not only betrayed her, but she’d also clearly done the same to another woman. This…this affair, this deception, wasn’t a one-time mistake, but a way of life.

  Unable to speak in the face of her own grief, or Davis’s, Annabelle stood mute and watched Davis turn on Nic. “How long have you known her?”

  “Always.”

  How many times had Annabelle heard Nic say always in the regard to them? Always love her? Always be with her? Always and forever? The word had never sounded so horrible.

  “Always what? Always known her, always slept with her? ”

  “Thirteen years,” Nic choked out. “She’s my wife.”

  Davis was on her in an instant. She had Nic by the scruff of her shirt. “You son of a bitch. How could you? All your talk about tearing down walls and chasing dreams, and you had a whole other life?”

  “I didn’t want to hurt you,” Nic whimpered.

  “Hurt me? Oh, I’ll show you hurt.”

  Davis raised her hand and Nic’s eyes widened in fear. Something protective rose in Annabelle. The love they’d built over the years might not have meant anything to Nic, but it still made up a huge part of herself. Even in her despair, Nic was hers. She’d been hers to love, hers to lose, hers to grieve, and she couldn’t stand by and watch another woman strike her.

  “Stop it,” she said in a voice so low and commanding she barely recognized it as her own.

  Both Nic and Davis froze and stared as though they’d forgotten she was there. She felt raw and exposed. What could she do or say to her partner and her partner’s mistress?

  Nic’s mistress.

  Another wave of dizziness assaulted her as she zeroed in on the way Nic’s hands steadied Davis’s hips, then moved her gaze up to see Nic’s shirt clutched in Davis’s grasp. Even in anger they had a familiarity with each other’s bodies that made Annabelle’s stomach roil. They would be explosive together, and obviously had been.

  “I’m so sorry,” Nic said, taking a step toward her but failing to break contact with Davis.

  “Sorry for what? For cheating on her with me? For lying to me about her? Or are you just sorry you got caught?”

  Davis relentlessly asked the questions that spun through Annabelle’s mind but died, strangled in her pain before they reached her lips. The anguish and fury in the other woman’s voice mirrored the emotions burning through Belle’s chest. She stood, rooted in her anguish, hands fisted at her side.

  “I…I tried.” Nic practically sobbed back. “God, I tried to tell you.”

  “You tried to tell me you had a wife? Really? Was that before or after you fucked me? Or maybe after you fucked me, but before you told me you loved me?”

  Too much.

  Too far.

  Belle would never be able to scrape that memory from her mind or silence the echo of those words from her ears. She swayed, her legs suddenly unable to support the weight crushing her now. The tunnel of her vision shrank to a pinpoint of light, then disappeared as her knees buckled. Everything became mercifully still, quiet and black as night. She welcomed the darkness and the accompanying nothingness, but it didn’t last long enough. In an instant she was in Nic’s arms.

  God, she was so strong, so comforting, so familiar. Annabelle started to snuggle in against Nic’s chest, the power of their past recognizing her arms as a place of safety, but as her mind and vision cleared, she remembered what had caused the trauma she sought to escape.

  Nic.

  Nic had done this. The same arms that supported her now had held another woman. The lips that whispered softly had kissed someone else. The hands steadying her had made love to—

  “No!” Annabelle jumped away on two wobbly legs. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Belle,” Nic said in her most pacifying voice.

  Belle shook her head almost frantically, trying to avoid the image of Nic’s beautiful features contorted in desperation. Even in the face of her pain, even with Annabelle within reach, Nic kept glancing over her shoulder, and every time she did, Annabelle saw her own emotions reflected in the anger-laced agony of Davis’s expression. Nic clearly saw it, too, and stood paralyzed between them.

  She can’t choose between us even when we’re both here.

  The realization shot another dizzying wave of hurt through her, and she blinked away her tears. She couldn’t look at them a second more. She felt like she was choking, or suffocating, as every pore of her body seemed to close off. If she couldn’t trust Nic, she couldn’t trust the air, or the ground, or the sun. Every part of her life shook and threatened to crumble around her. Nic took a step toward her, but was too late. She was already running. Wildly, blindly, fueled by adrenaline and pain, she fled.

  *

  Nic stood in shock as her wife ran from her. The look on Belle’s beautiful face had been a heartbreaking mix of pain and disgust. She should go after her. She needed to chase her down, beg her for forgiveness, make whatever grand gesture she needed to or take whatever punishment Belle doled out. Instead she stood rooted in place, paralyzed by the understanding that she’d caused the agony she’d seen in Belle’s eyes. If anyone else had hurt her like that, Nic would’ve killed them. What made her think she deserved anything less?

  “Go after her.” Davis’s voice crashed through her indecision, reminding her Belle wasn’t the only woman she’d shattered.

  “Davis, I—”

  “No. Davis nothing. She’s your wife. Your wife! I don’t ever want to hear you say my name again.”

  Nic shook from the ice in her voice. All the fire had gone from her eyes. The passionate woman who’d clung to her minutes ago had vanished, replaced by the jaded woman she’d met in the bar four months ago. No, even then she’d carried a spark in her eyes that was absent now. Davis had shut down emotionally, leaving nothing but a bland expression of disdain. Nic would’ve given anything to see a flash of the dangerous temper she’d caught the brunt of in the aftermath of Belle’s arrival. “Please, Davis, listen to me.”

  “Go after her, or go fuck yourself. I don’t care, but either way, get away from me.” The line was delivered without any emotion. The walls Nic had carefully dismantled brick by brick over the last four months were rebuilt in one disastrous instant, and she wouldn’t get the chance to knock them down again. The prospect of never again seeing past those defenses to the beautifully vibrant woman behind them caused an ache to throb deep in her chest.

  She had only herself to blame. In one moment she’d destroyed the two people she loved most and ended every relationship that ever mattered to her. She’d lost. She’d never lost at anything in her life, and the gravity of her first failure being tied to Davis nearly strangled her. Between the weight of grief settling on her chest and the mass of emotions choking her throat, she fought to breathe. No wonder Belle had fainted. The reminder that she’d not only brought this kind of pain on herself, but she’d also inflicted it on the two women she loved, only amplified her misery.

  She couldn’t take it. Defeat had never been an option for her, and she wouldn’t accept hopelessness now either. She’d created this mess. She had to create a solution, if for no other reason than to stop the hemorrhaging of her own emotions. If she stayed still, she’d free-fall into the void of nothingness emanating from Davis until it consumed her.

  She scanned Davis’s face, frantically searching for any crack in her seemingly impenetrable façade, but found none. The woman who’d reminded her of what it felt like to experience passion again was clearly devoid of the emotions she’d inspired in
Nic. There was no visible chink in her armor, and despite Nic’s desire to keep searching, she had to cut her losses if she hoped to salvage the other half of her disaster.

  “Davis, I’m so sorry. I don’t expect you to understand, and I won’t even begin to hope for your forgiveness, but someday when you’re able look back on the last four months without just seeing this day, I hope you’ll believe I really did love you.”

  Davis’s fists clenched at her sides, and she ground her teeth so hard Nic could hear them scrape against each other. “Get out of my sight.”

  She raised her palms in surrender. “Okay. I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”

  Nic turned and took one step, then another. She couldn’t turn around. She wouldn’t look back. What they’d shared was gone, probably forever. If this really was good-bye, she didn’t want any more haunting images of Davis to her memory. She wanted to remember her as she’d seen her last night. She pulled a little solace from the hope that someday that’s how Davis would remember them, too. Then she turned her focus to the part of this battle she needed to win.

  Belle. The image of her dropping earlier sent another shot of pain strong enough to make Nic wince. If hell existed, it must feel like she had in that moment. Her steps faltered. She had caused Belle’s pain. All the justifications she’d used while creating this mess came up pitifully hollow when examined against the life she shared with Belle. Did someone who willingly took that risk deserve another chance? Could she be worthy of a second chance if she got one?

  No, damn it. She was getting ahead of herself. She’d failed in her horrendously stupid attempt to have everything. Then she’d failed Davis. She wouldn’t fail again. She couldn’t lose Belle. She had to shut down the panic and doubt, the disappointment and pain. She had to think logically.

  Where would Belle go? Back to the hotel? She had to get her car, but she wouldn’t stick around there. And even if she did, Nic couldn’t make a stand there. That room held nothing but lies and betrayal. She might go to her sister’s house or, even worse, to her father’s. She cringed at the thought of Buddy Taylor’s legendary temper. She wouldn’t be able to win Belle back in the shadow of his protectiveness.

  Home was her only option. Would Belle return to the last place they’d been happy, or would she now question everything they’d built together? Nic couldn’t let that happen. She had to use their past to paint the picture of a future they could both believe in. Belle would have to return to their house eventually, and when she did, Nic planned to offer her a reminder of everything they had been, and could be again.

  *

  Davis stood painfully still as she watched Nic walk away. She didn’t trust herself not to chase her, and she wasn’t sure what she’d do if she did. Half of her wanted to beg Nic to love her, to tell her she chose her, or to just give her back to the oblivion that came from all her lies. The other half of her thought she might kill Nic, or at least beat her senseless in the attempt to make her feel something resembling her own pain. She hated herself for both impulses, almost as much as she hated Nic for making her feel them.

  How had Nic done this? How had Davis fallen for it? Last night she’d feared some other woman was coming between them, and it had nearly driven her crazy. Then she’d found out she was the other woman. How could she live with the fact that she’d offered the best parts of herself to a woman who wasn’t even free to accept them? Everything she’d ever known about her, everything they’d shared, and every dream for a future had been an elaborate lie. Davis was nothing more than Nic’s dirty little secret.

  Davis felt something inside her had died, something crucial, something like her heart. But even that idea was too romantic for her now. Her heart was nothing more than an emotionless organ. Any figurative value it had once held as the seat for emotion, passions, or intuition was lost to her. If her heart had ever been any of those things, it was now either worthless or a traitor. Clearly, it wasn’t safe to trust anyone, especially herself.

  Lies, all lies.

  None of what they’d shared had been real.

  Nic had seen all her insecurities and she’d played them. She’d played her, and Davis had let her. How long would she have gone on if she’d hadn’t gotten caught? Obviously far enough to profess her love, enough to suggest Davis had been acting crazy even when she’d seen her with the woman she’d spent thirteen years with. Was there no end to her deception?

  Actually there was an end. It had ended today, their relationship, the memories of their past, and any hope for a shared future. So what now? She glanced around, becoming slowly aware that life went on. Cars buzzed by the intersection before her, pedestrians strolled leisurely toward Piedmont Park, bookstore patrons sipped coffee, unaware of the life-shattering encounter just outside. Amazingly, the world didn’t stop for her broken heart. Life continued, and she’d have to figure out how to be a part of it again, but how?

  Davis fought the void threatening to consume her. She struggled to summon her ability for logic or reason. She had a job. Could she just go back to work? No, of course she couldn’t focus on designing a pamphlet on the benefits of Lasik eye surgery, but she couldn’t just stand here all day trying not to cry. She could go home.

  And do what? Fall apart? Wallow in a bed of tears and Kleenex?

  That sounded like a more pathetically soothing option.

  Trembling slightly, she moved off the bookstore patio and toward her apartment. The half of a city block felt like a mile, but she made it without stumbling, crying, or yelling at random strangers. Of course her keys had to be all the way at the bottom of her bag under her laptop and cell phone and God only knew what else.

  “Damn it,” she muttered, refusing to lose it over a set of fucking house keys. Fighting the urge to dump the whole bag onto the sidewalk, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then tried again until the sound of a sob drew her attention. Had it come from her? She felt like sobbing but hadn’t actually done so yet. This sound came from the alley along the other side of her apartment.

  She stood, arms up to her elbows in the backpack, head and heart pounding, and considered her options. She needed to go inside. She was in no shape to help anyone, certainly not someone on the kind of crying jag she’d overheard. If anything, she needed to join in. Unless the person wasn’t sad. What if he or she was hurt? God, what if someone had been mugged? Not likely at ten in the morning, but right then, she didn’t have much faith in human nature.

  She slung her backpack over her shoulder and walked cautiously toward the alley. Why did her chance to play Good Samaritan come on the day she felt most like committing murder?

  She edged around the corner and peered into the shadows, wondering how this morning could possibly get worse, but she didn’t have to wonder long. Halfway down the alley stood her second least-favorite person in the world. Nic’s perfect little Southern belle slouched over, shoulders slumped and shaking, head resting against a dirty concrete wall.

  Even amid the filth she was striking, a living Barbie, all dolled up like something out of Southern Living with her light-turquoise blouse and calf-length black skirt. She had a classic hourglass frame, long hair so beautifully blond it had to be natural, and if that wasn’t enough, she turned to level her big sky-blue eyes on Davis. Seriously, who looked like that? She didn’t even seem real.

  Belle didn’t appear nearly as taken with the sight of Davis, because she let out another body-wracking sob, then threw up.

  Davis cringed as Belle continued to lose the breakfast she’d watched her consume an hour earlier. “Now, that made you seem more real.”

  “I’m sorry?” Belle asked as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “I was just thinking you couldn’t be real, but the vomit added a down-to-earth touch.”

  Belle stared at her like she’d lost her mind. “I don’t really know what to say. Did you follow me?”

  “No, that’s my apartment.” Davis pointed to a window above them. “I heard the crying and w
anted to make sure no one got mugged.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “For what? Not having been mugged?”

  “For disturbing you.”

  “Well, yes.” Davis rolled her eyes. “Your crying was kind of the least disturbing thing that’s happened to me today.”

  “Are you always this sarcastic?”

  “Pretty much.” David shrugged. “Are you always so polite?”

  “Generally, yes.”

  They stared at each other for a long minute. Davis couldn’t stop studying her. This woman lived the life she’d dreamed of. She’d shared Nic’s life, not just her bed. She’d made a home with her, watched her age, and celebrated milestones. And why wouldn’t she? She was flawless, stylish, demure, well mannered, everything Davis wasn’t. It struck home the old adage about the type of girls you dated and the type you married. Davis was clearly the former, while this woman had been the latter for Nic. The reminder that Nic had been married nauseated her, and she felt a little less superior about having seen Southern Living Barbie throw up.

  God, why couldn’t she have been ugly or bitchy? Why wasn’t she telling Davis off? Or ripping her hair out? She had every right to go all cat-fight on her, and then maybe Davis could have understood why Nic had cheated on her, but instead of flipping out, she stood there with her baby blues scanning Davis up and down. Was she making the same comparisons about their appearance and temperaments? Had she come to the same conclusions?

  “Are you wondering what she saw in me?” Davis asked, angry at the sadness her voice revealed.

  “Excuse me?”

  “When you look at me, do you wonder why Nic did what she did?”

  “No, when I look at you, I know exactly what she saw. But I still can’t believe she cheated on me.”

  “Well, that makes two of us.”