by S. M. West
She may not have said it, but the love is in her eyes. I feel the love in the way her body responds to me, in the way she gives herself to me, welcomes me into not only her body but also her heart and soul. She’s stolen my heart and every time she leaves, she takes it with her. I need her to stop leaving.
I need her to stay.
Olivia
Looking around the yard of my old home, things have slipped since my departure. Some small part of me laments that. The place isn’t as bright or cheery as it used to be. I love this home and even with the end of my marriage, this house holds a lot of wonderful memories. It’s hard to completely detach from all that.
I pick up my pace toward the front door. I’m really looking forward to seeing Sam. It’s been over two months since Bas’s funeral and each day is getting easier for him. Since telling me he loved me, I feared things would be different, harder since I didn’t say it back, but it’s been good. We see each other almost every week.
I love him and I’m certain Sam knows it too; I’m just not ready to say it, to put it out there and share it with him. It’s silly, but it’s me being hung up on all the ways it’s wrong—or more importantly, should be wrong but isn’t. It feels so right. So good. So perfect.
Sam’s flying in this morning and spending the weekend. He says he has good news. We’re meeting for breakfast and I’m anxious to hear what it is. Maybe today will be the day I grow some balls and say it. Perhaps, but I won’t dwell on it or force it; it will come.
Stopping here at Pete’s house for Paige’s uniform is completely out of my way and could make me late for our breakfast, another con of living with a teenager. Things have been so much better between the two of us. Paige has loosened up on her digs about the divorce, my cruelty toward her father, and destroying her life—although, when it suits her, she still plays on my guilt, using it to her advantage, like this morning.
She knows I’m eager to repair our relationship, and getting me to be her bitch is a test of how much I truly love her—or at least, I’m sure that’s how she sees it. Also, I’m sure she also did it for the pure joy of it, because she can. I guess I’m the fool because here I am, at my old home, picking up her uniform for her rather than making her get up earlier this morning and come get it herself.
When I’m mere feet from the front door, Erin, steps out, donning her suit jacket. You know, the one who, although bitchy to most people is still my friend. I gasp, stopping dead in my tracks. Erin’s also caught off guard, her eyes wide and shocked like she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. I know what this looks like, and so does she.
Despite the obvious, she’s my friend, and in the moment, I dismiss what’s right in front of me. “Erin, what are you doing here?” I foolishly lean in for a quick hug.
My mind runs a million miles a minute. As we separate, I regret hugging her. In my bones, I know why she’s here, and yet, like someone facing a firing squad, spending their last few seconds conjuring an escape route, I dismiss the absurdity of my question.
“Um, I…” she stutters, unable to look me in the eye.
“Did you spend the night here?” As I stare at her, time slows, and she grows paler by the second. Her eyes dart all over the place, refusing to look at me. “Erin,” I say firmly. If she didn’t before, she must know now that I’m serious.
“Shit. Yes, I did. Let me explain,” she says quickly in a flustered manner, so unlike the calm, cool, and collected lawyer she is. It’s in that moment that I allow myself to take in exactly what it looks like.
“How long has this been going on?”
“Liv, let me explain.”
“How long?”
“Almost six months,” she whispers, shame staining her cheeks.
“How did this happen and why didn’t you tell me?” I demand.
“It happened by accident. Remember you asked me to speak with Drew about law school? Well I came over because you’d asked me to, and…” She pauses, sighing, then keeps repeating the fact that it was my request, like this is somehow my doing. If she says it one more time, I fear what I might do.
Fiddling with the strap of her Michael Kors purse, she finally says, “Pete asked me to stay for dinner and then one thing led to another…”
Erin raises her head to look at me, her transformation takes place before my eyes, from the guilty, so-called friend to the confident, high-priced litigator. It’s subtle, but it’s definitely there in the straightening of her spine and the squaring of her shoulders. On goes her game face. I know what her stern, no-nonsense expression means—she’s ready for battle.
“I remember the night. Drew had dinner with me before heading back to school. Paige was at Marci’s.”
It wasn’t like she was invited to a family dinner. She’s a smart woman and likely knew what the dinner invitation could lead to. I want her to know that I know that too, as well as my suspicion that she likely wanted it, maybe even went to my ex-husband’s home with that purpose. I remember that night; I suggested she speak with Drew at my house or come to dinner with us.
Erin’s shrewd. I know what she’s capable of. We’ve been friends since high school, and I’ve been party to many of her schemes to get things her way, especially where a man is concerned. It’s why she’s an excellent lawyer—she can be ruthless and single-mindedly focused on her goal.
“You’ve been sleeping with Pete since then,” I state rather than ask. She folds her arms over her chest and curtly nods in affirmation. “Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice is hard and tight; I barely recognize it’s me. I’ve never felt as betrayed as I do right now. She is my friend—at least I thought she was.
“Seriously? How was I supposed to tell you?” she snaps, rolling her eyes like I’m clueless, which clearly, I have been.
“We’re friends. Let’s park the girl code because surely you can’t be so oblivious as to not know you broke it. Pete wasn’t some boyfriend—he was my husband for twenty years, and your friend for that long, too. Did you always want to sleep with him?” I accuse, not liking my tone or the fact that I’m shaking. Showing her any emotion or weakness is not wise.
“He was supposed to be mine!” Her outcry is like a plea in one of her closing arguments.
“What?” I’m completely lost, shocked even.
“The night you met Pete, I was supposed to meet him but I was sick.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“It was Rob’s party and he invited Pete for me. He said he thought we’d hit it off. You met him instead and when I did finally meet him, you two were dating.” She states all this like her explanation is completely sane.
“Have you been harboring that doozy for twenty years?” I ask rhetorically and continue. “You never said anything, and seriously, I married the man for crying out loud! You mean to tell me you potentially wrecked our thirty-plus-year friendship over a hypothetical relationship?”
“I don’t know what your problem is. You left him. You don’t want him. You’ve moved on. Everything comes easy to you. You had it all with Pete—a great husband, amazing kids, you could stay at home and do whatever you wanted, but no, you had to cry because you weren’t getting the attention you thought you deserved. Then when you told me you were leaving him and your reasons.” Her laugh is harsh. “I figured it was my turn,” she spits out, her disdain no longer hidden.
Each word is a blow to my chest, sucking the air out of me, crushing my love for her and shattering our friendship as all her ugliness spews out over our lifelong friendship.
“But fuck no. Now you’ve got some thirty-something hottie drooling all over you. Seriously, Liv, what is your problem? Do you think you’re the only one who can be loved or admired?”
“Erin, that’s enough,” Pete roars from behind her. She startles, shuddering at the boom of his voice as she blanches, her eyes feral and lips tight. It’s written all over her face, the sick fear of knowing he heard her vindictive words.
“Pete.” Her vo
ice is husky as she pivots to face him.
Before she has a chance to spew more garbage, I barrel ahead. “I’m here to pick up Paige’s uniform.” My voice is neutral, in stark opposition to the maelstrom of emotions tearing up my insides.
“Liv,” Pete murmurs, his hand strong and steady on my elbow. “Sorry, I wanted to tell you. Are you okay?”
I’m not letting him off the hook. He’s been pursuing me for months now while fucking my friend. As much as I think he owes me an explanation and the truth, he’s free to sleep with whomever he wants. We’re divorced and I don’t care who he sleeps with. It’s Erin I’m furious with—I thought our friendship meant more than this. Instead, she’s resented me all these years.
“I’m fine. Can we talk about this later? I just want the uniform.”
He visibly relaxes on a sigh, thinking he’s dodged a bullet. He steps into the house and returns a few seconds later with Paige’s uniform, and in that fleeting moment, it hits me like a Mack truck.
Glaring, I choke out, “Drew.”
I need not say any more. An immediate frown fixes on his face as he casts his eyes downward on a long and harsh exhale. Looking up, he averts his eyes, looking anywhere but at me. Clearing my throat, I prepare to tear into him as this is what has come between father and son. Drew must know.
God, what if he walked in on them? I’m beyond pissed at that thought. My heart squeezes at how torn and burdened Drew must feel to be carrying this secret, to be caught in the middle and want to tell me, but also protect me.
“Liv, please come in and let’s talk.” He is conciliatory.
“Pete, I think we should talk, but I’m already late for court,” Erin chimes in, oblivious to the added tension between us.
He looks over my shoulder at Erin. I refuse to acknowledge her. If they think I’m talking to them, together, they are sorely mistaken.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” he snaps.
Erin inhales a sharp breath and gasps. “Fine,” she spits back, the retreating clip of her heels sounding out.
I’m shocked at his tone. He’s mad. I didn’t see him this way often while we were married, but it’s unmistakable. His anger only shows when he’s been pushed to his limit. One thing about Pete is that it takes a lot to get him riled. Drew is much like him in that way, and thinking about our son brings me back to my anger and the burning desire to protect him.
“You better fix this with him, now. I don’t care what you have to do, but you fess up to your douchebag move. Own it and let him off the hook. This has been eating him up. I’ve seen it but didn’t know what it was about. Fix. It.”
“Liv, I will. I promise.” On another sharp sigh, he runs his fingers through his hair. “God dammit, I’m so sorry. I was lonely and she came on to me. I’m not putting it all on Erin, but…”
I cut him off before he can further add to the sick tightening in the pit of my stomach. Erin’s betrayal hurts, and it’s not even about Pete. Not once while confronting Erin were my thoughts on him, on the fact that he slept with my friend. It’s the loss and disappointment of what she did, most likely deliberately, to destroy our relationship.
“Pete, stop. I don’t want to hear this right now. Make things right with Drew. I’ve got to go.”
Taking Paige’s bag, I turn my back on him. He calls my name, adding a few more lame excuses about Erin being the seductress, which I’m sure she was. I can’t get to my car fast enough.
I can certainly appreciate that Erin likely did make him her target, but his dick didn’t just fall into her. No matter what he says, he was willing at some point, and most of all, I hate that I even care.
In a fog, I drop Paige’s uniform at the school. Then I drive aimlessly for over two hours, no thought as to where I’m supposed to be or what obligations or appointments I’m shirking. My mind reels with what happened. It takes me a while to finally realize that Erin’s got me in a tailspin. I’m not wild about her sleeping with my ex, but I have no intentions of ever getting back together with him. I’m not jealous or bothered by the thought of him having sex with another woman.
It’s Erin’s actions and disregard for me that have shredded my heart. It’s the envy and disdain in her words. It’s tainted everything we’ve ever done. Every secret, every memory, every conversation is now ruined.
As I pull into my driveway, my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach at the sight of Sam sitting on my front steps. Shit. I forgot I was meeting him. His head is hung low, resting on his hands, his fingers gripping his short strands so tightly his knuckles are white.
At the sound of my car, he springs into action, and before I can cut the engine, he’s opening my car door and unbuckling my seat belt.
“Jesus Christ,” he rasps, pulling me into a warm embrace. “Thank fuck you’re okay.”
Regret and self-loathing jerk at my heart; I was supposed to meet him for breakfast hours ago. Wrapping my arms around his solid, inviting frame, I hug him tightly. For the first time in hours, I’m calm, strong, and good.
“I’m okay. I’m so sorry,” I whisper into his neck.
I tenderly kiss his neck, welcoming his clean, salty taste. Warmth blooms in my chest and my shoulders relax as I finally breathe easy. Pulling back a step, he gently grips my chin and his eyes flick across my face, holding steady on my gaze for a few beats before flitting over my features again. His hair is disheveled with strands sticking up in different directions, and concern etches his handsome face.
“Where the hell were you? I called you a dozen times and also texted.” His tone is a mixture of relief and frustration.
“I…” I stall, realizing how bad my reason will sound.
Starting from the beginning, I tell him about Paige’s obnoxious last-minute request this morning and how she deliberately played on my guilt. I tell him about running into Erin and our exchange, although I omit some of her nasty words—it’s too soon to relive it all. I explain Pete’s reaction, then mine.
His arms drop from my shoulders as I continue. Taking a step back, then another away from me, his expression shutters as I end with telling him that I was driving around to clear my head.
Arms crossed and lips squashed into a thin, tight line, his voice is expressionless as he says, “You were driving around for the past few hours.”
Before I can offer further explanation—and I definitely get the sense that I need to do more to make him understand—his phone rings.
“Beaulieu.” His voice is low and heavy. He listens, watching me intently as he responds, “Oui…” Ending the call, he turns to me once more. “I have to go. I blew up my morning worried sick about you.” His words are edged with irritation and something else—disappointment, perhaps.
Brow furrowed and jaw tense, he walks to his car without waiting for my response. “Sam,” I call out, desperation lacing his name.
He doesn’t stop until he’s at his door. Raising a brow, he peers at me over the hood of his car but offers no response, his look cold and expectant. I’ve never seen this side of him, and even though I understand his frustration, I’m taken aback. Completely baffled, I’m not sure how to fix this.
“I’m sorry. Can we talk about this over dinner?”
“What are you sorry for?” he asks in a tone that suggests he doesn’t want to hear my answer. My thoughts are confirmed when he continues with, “You know what? Don’t bother answering. I’ve gotta go, and no, I can’t do dinner.”
I flinch at his words, his quick dismissal without explanation. I guess I deserve it since I never thought to even call him. I wonder if he’ll come to my place tonight…if not, where is he going to go? He’s leaving tomorrow, going back to Montreal—where does this leave us?
“Are you coming home tonight?” I ask, biting my lip and tightening my jaw to stop my chin from wobbling.
I don’t want him to see that I’m going to cry. It’s in this moment my stupidity at thinking this was ever a fling hits me. It never was. It’s always been more than that. S
eeing him hurt, seeing him leave because of my insensitive actions hurts. Real badly. I deserve this. I’m hurt because I hurt him, albeit unintentionally. My actions make it seem like he wasn’t a concern to me, which is the furthest thing from the truth. I was angry, lost, and wasn’t thinking of anyone.
He doesn’t answer, instead saying, “You know what the funniest and most fucked up thing about all this is? I thought you were hung up on my age. I thought it was our age difference and the distance that kept you holding off, never entirely giving yourself to me, but that wasn’t it. Stupid me. I was never worried or concerned. I told myself I’d wait no matter how long it took because I knew you’d come around. I knew it’d all work out, but no, I was wrong. It was Pete. You’re still hung up on your ex.”
With trembling lips, I begin to deny it, but Sam doesn’t wait. He gets in the car, not wanting to hear what I have to say. A tight knot forms in my chest where my heart is and I blink rapidly, trying to keep the tears from spilling onto my cheeks.
There’s a wide chasm between us that I caused, and I have no clue how to close it, how to get to him. Standing silently, my arms wrap tightly around my middle as he drives away.
Olivia
At the sound of knocking, I bound down the stairs to open the door. Shit. It’s the last person that I want to see, and she’s decked out in her full suit of armor—a high-priced designer suit. Erin stands tall, almost regal. I haven’t had time to process this, her, what happened between her and Pete. Sam left two days ago and I’ve only heard from him once.
He texted the night he left me on the driveway to say he was going back to Montreal and needed time and space. He said he’d contact me when he’s ready. Wanting to respect his wishes, I told him I understood and would wait, but I don’t want to wait.
When we met I didn’t want to start anything, I didn’t want a relationship, and now I’m right back where I was with Pete—tied up in knots over some man. Yes, Sam is nothing like Pete and the situation is completely different, but I’ve found myself here again.