Davis was skilled with both her hands and her mouth, and God knows she exuded passion, but how had Nic been able to find any peace? Even with her body on fire, Annabelle’s mind refused to let her forget this wasn’t the woman she’d sworn to share herself with forever. Even with her nerve endings set alight with need, her heart ached beyond what any physical touch could soothe. Davis backed her toward the bed, and she went along, frantically trying to recapture the oblivion she’d experienced in the first moments of the kiss. She went through the motions, even going so far as to cover Davis’s hand with her own and guide it to her breast.
Under any other conditions this would be fantasy material. Without the emotional trauma, the physical sensations and the touch would have been perfect. Davis was sexy and talented, and threw herself into worshiping Annabelle’s body with the ferocity of someone whose sanity depended on blocking out every other aspect of their circumstances. She was a dream in every aspect, except for the one that made what they were doing a nightmare.
She wasn’t Nic.
Her tears flowed again, but this time she didn’t have the strength or the inclination to stop them. She sagged against Davis’s shoulder, sobs racking her body. Davis wrapped one arm around her waist and cradled her neck in the other before gently lowering her to the bed. Too lost in her suffering to complain, she continued to cry while Davis curled around her, holding her close and whispering soft shushing sounds in her ear. At one point she thought the tears on her cheek weren’t all her own and suspected Davis was crying now, too. No longer capable of feeling anything but grief and exhaustion, she surrendered to darkness once again, this time falling into the emptiness of sleep.
Chapter Nine
Someone knocked on the door, or was the pounding in her head? Davis didn’t want to get up. She wanted to snuggle in closer to Annabelle and wallow in their shared pain, but the knocking wouldn’t stop, and her arms were no longer around a warm body but a cold pillow.
She sat up and glanced around. Afternoon sun slanted low through her windows, shadows stretched long across her hardwood floor, and the hot Southern air hung heavy and still around her. Most disorienting, though, was the realization that she was completely alone. Annabelle had somehow slipped out of her arms, out of the bed, and out of the apartment without making a sound. It was as if she’d never been there at all, and if not for the two empty glasses and bottle of scotch on the bar, Davis might’ve convinced herself the whole morning had just been one horrible nightmare.
Hurt welled up at the memory of that sickening moment when she’d realized Nic had slept with someone else, then multiplied as she remembered the horrible feeling of being told Annabelle wasn’t the mistress, she was. Anger, embarrassment, anguish, dejection, and so many more emotions she couldn’t begin to sort out, much less name, scratched raw against her nerves. She needed to shut the pain off, or shut it out. Trying to decide which method of escape offered more, she looked from the bed back to the scotch. Ultimately the pounding at her door shook her out of her indecision. At least she could unleash her rage on whoever kept knocking and then get back to nursing a purer version of her sadness.
“What the fuck is the matter with you?” she shouted as she opened the door.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Cass said, a look of concern cracking her usually cool exterior.
“What’s wrong with me? How about my character judgment is shit? How about I fell in love with a compulsive liar? How about I unwittingly helped destroy a thirteen-year relationship? How about I hurt so damn bad I can barely stand up? How about,” her voice cracked as she neared hysterics, “Nic doesn’t love me?”
“How about we step inside and you tell me everything?”
Davis didn’t want to tell her anything, not when she remained so calm. Cass’s sanity served as a distressing mirror to how far she’d slipped from emotional stability. She didn’t want to have to replay what had happened, and she certainly didn’t want to relive the torture with someone who couldn’t begin to understand her pain. Hell, even if Cass didn’t mock her, at least she’d apply her detached judgment to the situation, and Davis wasn’t ready to think logically about anything. She wished Annabelle were still here. As fucked up as they were together, at least Annabelle’s misery served as good company to her own.
Where had she gone? Would she return to the home she shared with Nic? Would she be okay to face her alone? Would she take Nic back? If only she’d left her number or some assurance she was all right.
“No, damn it, she’s not my responsibility,” Davis said aloud.
“Who’s not your responsibility?” Cass asked, still standing in the doorway.
Davis stepped back and let Cass into the apartment. Maybe she did need the objective eye of her best friend. Her grief had fed off Annabelle’s in scary proportions, and now she felt some sort of unnatural protective attachment to the woman whose very existence shattered her hopes of a future with the love of her life. “Annabelle isn’t my responsibility.”
Cass looked at her as though she’d spoken gibberish, then glanced at the half empty bottle of scotch. “Is Annabelle one of the voices in your head?”
“She’s Nic’s wife of thirteen years,” Davis said, wincing at the words. How long would it be before she could say them without feeling like she’d been stabbed?
“Well, now that’s a plot twist I wish I found more surprising.”
“Really, Cass? I know you didn’t fall for Nic or anything, but you really thought she led a double life, and I wasn’t her girlfriend but her mistress?”
“No, I admit I didn’t give her enough credit for something like that. She always seemed too impulsive to pull off deception on that big a scale. I’m sorry I underestimated the extent of her fuck-upery.”
“But you really thought she had someone else?”
“Of course. Or I at least entertained the possibility.”
Davis could only blink. “How? Why?”
“Please, honey, I’m not saying this in grand ‘I told you so’ fashion, but something didn’t add up from the beginning. I said it several times, and honestly you suspected it, too, or you would have if you’d let yourself examine it for more than a few seconds.”
She couldn’t believe this. “Are you saying I had it coming?”
“Don’t put words into my mouth,” Cass said levelly. “I wanted you to have a little fun, but you wanted more, and you wanted it so badly you valued the rewards over the risks. You’re a grown-up. You knew you were taking a chance. It didn’t pan out, and I’m sorry.” Cass paused. “But I’m not surprised.”
“I think you need to leave.”
“Don’t do that, darling. I know you’re hurt. I want to help.”
“You’re not helping,” Davis said, reaching for the doorknob to throw her out.
“Of course I am.” Cass waved her off. “I’m pointing out the realities of the situation. You want to lie in bed and sob while you remember the good times and mourn a dead dream, and I get that. But it won’t move you forward. Taking a hard line and saying none of it was ever real might hurt, but it will help. You can’t grieve her like the lost love of your life. She wasn’t that person.”
“I thought she was,” Davis cried.
“I know you did, but she’s really a calculating bastard. She’s not worth wallowing over. She’s worth a good bout of woman-scorned type anger, and if you want to go slash her tires, I’ll eagerly help. I’d even be happy to bash in her windshield for you, but I won’t have a pity party over a woman who didn’t respect you enough to give you more than half of her love and affection and a pack of lies.”
Cass always had a fresh take on the subject, and once she allowed a peek behind her detached exterior, it was impossible not to listen to her unique mix of caring and cool reasoning. “Thank you. I think I needed to hear that.”
Cass rolled her eyes but smiled as she pulled her into a hug. “I only ever disliked her because I didn’t think she was good enough for you.”
/>
“That might have actually been the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“I speak the truth, even the mushy ones, and you really do deserve so much better than her, than this.”
“It hurts so bad I can’t process anything else right now.” Davis sniffled. “But you might be right.”
“I know I’m right. You’re smart and feisty and sexy. You’re way out of her league, and if she’s too dumb to appreciate that, screw her. Do you really want to let some two-timing emotional clusterfuck destroy you?”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
“There’s no other way to put it. She’s hot, but not God’s gift. I certainly don’t see what drove you to double-fist scotch in the middle of the day.”
“What?” Davis stood back and wiped her eyes.
“There are two glasses.” She pointed to the bar. “You couldn’t chug from just one?”
“Only one of them was mine. The other belonged to Annabelle.”
Cass arched one of her perfectly curved eyebrows. “Now, there’s a part of the story I didn’t expect. Do tell.”
“Don’t make it more than it is.”
“Sit and spill, sister.”
Davis flopped onto the couch. “She was devastated, Cass. They’d been planning to have a baby. She fainted and then she threw up.”
“Oh, gag me. What is this, eighteen-sixty? Did you tell her to loosen her corset?”
“No, she’s not like that. She’s like this perfect little Southern belle, I mean, long skirts, long hair. I think she’s a housewife.”
“There’s no such thing as a lesbian housewife.”
“I’m not kidding. They live in the suburbs.” Davis shuddered. “She came to check on Nic because she overheard a rumor at her country club.”
Cleary not impressed, Cass made a motion for her to continue. “How did she end up in your apartment?”
“I found her crying in the alley.”
“And?”
“And what? I couldn’t leave her there.”
“Yes, you could. After what you’d just gone through, most women would have, or they would’ve jumped her, scratched her eyes, and pulled off her Dolly Parton wig.”
“Stop it.” Davis felt a disturbing surge of protectiveness for Annabelle that she didn’t care to analyze. “She’s painfully sweet and fragile, and none of this is her fault. If anything, she should’ve jumped me for sleeping with the woman she’d built her whole life around. I had to make sure she wasn’t going to hurt herself.”
“Really, you thought she might kill herself?”
“I don’t know, maybe not, but she wasn’t really functioning. She couldn’t drive. I felt responsible, and maybe morbidly curious, too.” She sighed. “I wanted to see the woman who shared Nic’s life, and maybe see if there was anything to suggest why Nic felt the need to break away from her with me.”
“And? Fake boobs? Fake personality? Passive-aggressive? Bitchy?”
“None of the above. She’s polite to a fault. She kept apologizing to me. She put all the blame on herself. Instead of sizing me up against some silly Southern ideal of domesticity she’s obviously mastered, she went on and on about all the ways Nic might have found her lacking.”
“Oh Lord, I can’t imagine the two of you together.” Cass pointed to the scotch. “No wonder you had to get drunk. How did you get rid of her?”
“We fell asleep, and when I woke up, she’d left. I didn’t even feel her get out of bed or hear her shut the door on her way out. I hope she’s okay.” Davis’s concern rose again. “If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself for the role I played in this.”
“Yeah. How about backing up to before you misplaced your sense of responsibility and explain how you ended up in bed with her.”
“It’s not like that. She had a breakdown. We both did. She cried herself to sleep in my arms.”
“Fully clothed?”
“Yes.”
Cass looked skeptical, and Davis worried she could read her mind. So maybe the events that led to ending up in bed with Annabelle weren’t as innocent as she’d indicated, but how could she explain their kiss, while intense and powerful, was born not out of passion, but pain? She’d known what they were doing was wrong even as she clutched Annabelle close to her. Part of her understood that while their lips pressed perfectly against each other’s, it was distance they sought.
“Neither one of us was ready to be alone yet, but I guess when she woke up she felt strong enough to face whatever she needed to do next. In any case, she left.”
“And you?” Cass still didn’t seem convinced that was the end of the story, but it had to be, at least for Davis. If she intended to move forward, break free from Nic and begin to rebuild her own sense of self, she couldn’t obsess about the one person she had no claim to or control over. Annabelle’s journey would be her own from here out.
“I guess I have to move on to whatever’s next for me.”
“Are you going to get back on the horse? Resume the search for Ms. Right?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I’m coming around to your thinking. Ms. Right is a figment of my imagination, and trying to put that dream on a real person led to nothing but pain, anger, and embarrassment.”
“Okay, then why don’t you put on something sexy and we’ll go hunt up a little Ms. Right Now.”
Davis shook her head. “Sorry, I know you want me to just be over it all, and I wish I could be more like you, but I don’t even know how to be me at the moment.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re about to go on some major self-sufficiency kick?”
“Maybe I am.” Davis shrugged. “I’ve always done best for myself when I focus on me. It worked with my parents and my career. I think it’s time to give it a try with women, too. From now on, I’m just going to take care of number one.”
*
Nic sat up in her chair when she heard a key in the door. She hopped to her feet and straightened her rumpled dress clothes. The sun had set completely outside the large picture window. It had to be nearly ten o’clock. She’d paced for hours, tried to pick up the already immaculate house, and done any other menial task she could to keep her mind off the fear threatening to consume her with every minute that Belle didn’t return. She must have dozed off about an hour ago, as the desperation took hold and she worried Belle didn’t intend to ever come home. Where had she been for the last twelve hours?
It didn’t matter. She was here now. She was safe and close by, meaning she still felt some pull to the home they’d made together. Nic’s relief was enough to buckle her knees, but the look on Belle’s face when she opened the door and saw Nic broke her heart. Pure instinct made Nic rush toward her, but the pain in Belle’s eyes stopped her cold. Her makeup was gone, her hair disheveled, and her clothes wrinkled. Her skin had lost most of its natural color, replaced by dark circles under her eyes. She looked like a ghost of herself, and Nic fought the urge to turn away from the stark picture of the damage she’d caused.
“Belle, I’m so sorry.” Words were incapable of expressing how she truly felt and to what extent, but she had to try. “You can’t know how sorry, but please give me a chance, and I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you.”
Belle stared at her, emotionless, as if examining a stranger or a piece of furniture. Nic shifted nervously under her unsettlingly dispassionate gaze. “Honey, please, I know what I did was wrong. I understand if you hate me, but don’t give up on me. On us.”
“Us,” Belle said coolly as she stepped past her and into the living room. Nic watched, frozen in fear, while she ran her fingertips across the back of the leather couch. She turned and studied the dining-room table, then the kitchen with its granite and stainless-steel surfaces before finally turning back to Nic. She scanned her up and down again, then met her eyes. “I’m trying to find something to hold onto. Something about ‘us’ I trust or even feel connected to, but I keep coming up empty.”
&n
bsp; A ragged breath escaped Nic as she reached to steady herself against the wall. “Oh, God, please don’t say that. Don’t give up on everything we’ve worked for. We can be so good together. Look at all we’ve built, our life together. We can have everything again.”
“All this?” She looked around. “If you think the house, the status, the money mean anything to me, you don’t know me any better than I know you.”
“Please don’t say that. You do know me. No one knows me like you. I’ll do anything. If you don’t like this house, we’ll move. We can start over. I’ll go to counseling. I can’t lose you.”
“Can’t lose me, or just can’t stand to lose? That’s part of it, isn’t it?”
Nic winced. Belle did know her. She’d always seen to the heart of her, but never before had she been so ashamed of what Belle saw. Sinking, she grasped frantically for the only truth she had left. “I love you.”
“But you love Davis, too.” The matter-of-fact statement turned her blood to ice. The way she’d said Davis’s name, the familiarity, the ease, it wasn’t right. Something was wrong, and not just the things she expected.
“She thinks it was all a lie.” Belle continued calmly. “She thinks you were playing a game and we were the trophies. I think she’s partly right, but she doesn’t know you the way I do, and she’s only seen part of the picture.”
Nic shook, and she clenched her fists to steady her hands. Annabelle and Davis had talked? Had she been with Davis the whole time? Was Davis okay? Did she really believe what they’d shared had been nothing more than a game? No, she couldn’t lose focus now or she’d lose Belle, but what had Davis told her? “I don’t know what happened, or what she told you—”
Does She Love You? Page 13