The Life You Stole

by Ann, Jewel E.

  “Do you think treatment will cure your cancer?” Graham asked as we entered the foyer after arriving home from the airport.

  Without a pause in my stride, I climbed up the right side of the dual grand stairway. “I hope so,” I murmured.

  He followed me. The warm bubble from our time away popped, and I felt the cold shiver of reality again.

  “You researched this? Leukemia and bruising?”

  “Yes.” I continued to my bedroom.

  “Who else have you told?”

  I grunted a laugh. “No one. Don’t worry, you won’t have to deal with my illness in the news.”

  “Lila.” Graham grabbed my arm.

  I flinched.

  He loosened his grip. “I’m sorry this happened to us. But I’m going to do everything in my power to fix it.”

  I tugged my arm from his hold and turned toward him, tears in my eyes. “This didn’t happen to us like a kitchen fire. You get that, right? You get how scared I am. Right? You get that every time you look at Evelyn the way you do, it hurts as much as my cancer diagnosis.”

  Maybe. Just maybe if he saw just how much he hurt me on so many levels, he would stop. Something would click in his brain.

  He blew a breath out of his nose, taking a step back and crossing his arms over his chest while taunting me with his ridiculous smirk. “And how exactly do I look at Evelyn? Because from my vantage point, I’ve chased you for years. I’ve voiced all the things about you that I find far superior to Evelyn.”

  “She’s your friend. You shouldn’t degrade her in any way. You shouldn’t compare her to anyone else. You should respect her. Her life choices. Her husband. Her children.” I swatted at a tear that escaped. “And I am your wife. You shouldn’t degrade me emotionally or physically. You shouldn’t compliment me by putting down someone you feel has inferior qualities to me. Over the past few days, I got a glimpse of who you used to be—kind, fun, and loving. I fell in love with the man who took care of my best friend while I traveled the world. I fell in love with the way you cared for Evelyn—not me … Evelyn. Kindness is attractive. I miss the kind man I married. But I had the opportunity to see him again, and it gave me hope. Don’t rip it away. Fix. You. Graham. And I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

  The muscles in his jaw pulsed as he drew in a slow breath, hands fisted. Regret knocked at my conscience, scolding me for saying those things to him, but I didn’t let it in. I stood brave and strong, willing to accept his reaction. The days of regretting my feelings were over.

  “You’re right.” His forehead wrinkled as he nodded slowly, gaze dropping to his feet. “I can do better. When my term is over, I will make more time for family, especially the kids.”

  Hope.

  There it was. I craved that hope.

  “I want that.” I salvaged a smile from that tiny spark of hope. “I’d started to give up hope that we would have children.”

  “Oh …” Graham lifted his gaze to me. “I mean Franz and Anya.” He reached for my face and my whole body hardened like a statue. “People with leukemia don’t have babies.” On a shrug, he brushed his thumb over my lips. “You can’t wait forever to start treatment because you told Ronin. The clock has started. Even if he doesn’t tell Evie, he’s going to expect you to fight this. So if you weren’t prepared to be sick and unable to participate in future plans with the rest of us, if you weren’t prepared to spend your days in bed resting, if you weren’t prepared to lose your hair, then you shouldn’t have told him.”

  Pulling his hand from my face, I grimaced. “Ronin saw the bruises. What was I supposed to tell him? His mind immediately went to the idea that you’re abusing me, Graham.” Anger escalated my voice. “How does that make you feel? Because he sure as hell wasn’t going to keep that a secret from Evelyn. So do you have a better idea to explain what he saw? Had you been in my shoes, what would have been your explanation?”

  “I’m not upset with you for telling him. I’m simply stating the facts.”

  “I hate the facts,” I seethed, but my anger didn’t stop the tears. “Don’t you hate them too? Don’t you ask yourself how we got here? How our big dreams turned into this? When you see this…” I twisted my back to him, lifting my shirt to show him my colorful skin “…does it make you cringe? Does it break your heart? Do you seriously not ask yourself, how did we get here?” I dropped my shirt and faced him again. “Because this isn’t fair.” All my emotions rushed out into a wet, blubbering mess. “I didn’t ask for this life! I don’t want this life! So stop acting like this is my fault. Like I made my bed and now I have to lie in it.”

  With quick steps, he backed me into the wall just outside of my bedroom. His arms stretched over my head, pressed to the wall to cage me in with his body. I held my breath as I’d come to do quite often in his presence.

  “Look at me.”

  I stared at his chest for a few more seconds before lifting my gaze to his cold eyes.

  “I was in a good mood. I’d like to stay in a good mood. Can we forget about your issues for the night?” He sucked in a long breath and blew it out slowly. “Now, I’m going to get caught up on some work downstairs. Why don’t you take a bath and I’ll be up later and make everything better.”

  I wouldn’t have sex with him. He couldn’t make everything okay by sticking his dick inside of me after using the term issues. He liked to ride the line. Blame me for things that weren’t my fault.

  Twist reality.

  Cast doubt.

  Flaunt hope.

  And slay dreams.

  After he let me out of his body cage, I took a bath behind a locked bathroom door and settled into bed. I retrieved my journal from under my mattress and transcribed the events from the previous days. Graham liked to make me think everything that wasn’t perfect in his life was somehow my fault. So I put the words we said to each other in writing to reread them again and again, thinking that if I somehow had done something wrong, I might see it more clearly after my mind had a chance to settle. By the time I finished writing page after page of my miserable life, my eyes hurt and so did my hand. After securing the journal in its hiding place and double-checking the lock on the bedroom door, I shut off the light and prayed for dreams of a better life.

  But the thing about dreams that really sucked was they were often interrupted by real life—a king who kept keys to all the rooms in his castle.

  In spite of my intentions to hold strong, I didn’t say no—not aloud. In my head, I screamed it. In my head, I packed my bags and left. In my head, I never came back from Germany during my wanderer days after college. Evelyn never had the opportunity to convince me to give Graham a chance. In my head, I held on to a piece of dignity.

  The next morning, I woke just after five in desperate need to pee. I eased out of bed, praying I didn’t wake the monster beside me. He rarely stayed the night in my room. He called the rare gift of his presence all-night love. I called it control. I wasn’t even sure when we split into two rooms. It started with him being up late and not wanting to wake me. We still shared the massive closet and bathroom—for a while. Then he took clothes and toiletries to his new room, again so he didn’t wake me early in the mornings.

  I was always to blame, and Graham was the martyr.

  Everything ached, right down to my bones. Leukemia had that effect. When I tiptoed back into the room to grab my robe and cover my naked body before escaping to another room, Graham switched on the sconce by his side of the bed.

  The light burned my eyes. He twisted from side to side, stretching his back. When he noticed me, he paused. Weeks earlier, I would have called that same look apologetic and regretful. Not anymore.

  He wasn’t my husband anymore. I didn’t care what vows we exchanged. I shared my bed with a stranger.

  “Have you ever considered boxing? It’s a wonderful form of exercise.” He yawned.

  Boxing.

  I hadn’t turned on the light in the bathroom, but I suspected his reasoning for suggesting b
oxing had little to do with my need to get a good workout and a lot to do with the colorful shapes along my skin. Tying the sash to my robe, I padded to the door, turning at the last second.

  “Do you like this? The way I look? Because I’ll let go if you will. I won’t have to unintentionally ruin your day anymore. You won’t have to call me Evelyn when you’re fucking me in the most impersonal way imaginable.”

  “I’m sorry.” He ran both hands through his hair. “I was tired.”

  Tired.

  Tired people didn’t want sex. Tired people didn’t get erections. Tired people didn’t call their wives the wrong name.

  “Did you ever really love me?” I whispered.

  He glanced up, blinking slowly. Had he shown any sort of grimace, any sign at all that my question was absurd, I might have felt a flicker of regret, maybe even a spark of hope. “I loved you then. I love you now.”

  Lies.

  He couldn’t have said what he said and did what he did and still claim to love me. If that was love, then I hated love.

  “I’m not giving up or letting go. ’Til death do us part. And no one’s dying today.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Ronin

  Lila was depressed.

  I was depressed.

  Depression didn’t care about the awesomeness of your life. Two spunky kids. And a wife who took up singing in the shower.

  “That was my song.” I sipped my coffee while scrolling through the newsfeed on my phone—that was depressing too.

  Embarrassing politics.

  School shootings.

  Reality TV updates.

  “Well, if you’re not going to sing it, then someone should.” Evie kissed Franz on the head as he thumbed through a book.

  My boy.

  “Anya must be growing. She slept through my amazing concert.” Evie smirked, pouring a cup of coffee before dishing up a bowl of oatmeal.

  “Why not sleep in? She doesn’t have preschool like big stuff over there.” I jerked my head toward Franz.

  “Ugh … I can’t believe he’s starting preschool.” Evie leaned down to kiss me before sitting in the chair next to me. “Franz, did you brush your teeth?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Breakfast. Teeth. Lunch packed.” I shot her a smile.

  It felt forced.

  Everything felt forced.

  Fucking depression.

  Since July, I’d talked to Lila twice. I didn’t understand how she was going to go through cancer treatment and keeping it a secret from Evie. I didn’t understand how her mere touch in the Hamptons temporarily took away my pain.

  Our two conversations did nothing to reassure me that the secret I kept from Evie wouldn’t destroy my marriage or their friendship. Lila said, “I’m taking care of it.” That was it. No elaboration. No time to talk. Each call ended in under two minutes with a quick, “I have to go. Give Evie and the kids a kiss from me.”

  “What’s your angle?” Evie narrowed her eyes at me. “Did you do something wrong? Will I be mad? Did you break something?”

  I lied to you.

  You’ll be pissed off.

  I broke your trust.

  “Can’t I be a good dad and get my son ready for school just because? Do my intentions have to be driven by guilt?”

  “No.” Her lips pursed to the side. “But I’m worried. All joking aside, you haven’t been yourself. You seem down, but like you’re trying to hide it. Maybe I’m the one who did something wrong.”

  “Evelyn, you’ve done nothing wrong. I’m fine. Really. There’s been a lot going on at work. Noah’s considering retirement, and I know they’re going to offer me his job. I haven’t decided if I want it.”

  “Why wouldn’t you want it?”

  That was just it … I did want the job but discussing it with Evelyn distracted her from my other issues.

  Your friend has cancer.

  I feel her depression.

  If she suffers … I will suffer too.

  If you find out I lied to you, it will be worse than any amount of physical pain.

  “It’s a lot more responsibility.”

  That was true.

  “So you might have to work more hours?” she asked, sipping her coffee.

  No. Same number of hours, just more things to do in those hours. And less time on the slopes. That sucked … unless I had to deal with symptoms of leukemia.

  “I’m not sure yet, but that’s a possibility.” I finished my coffee and took my cup to the sink.

  “Well, I’m good with whatever you decide. Since rent isn’t an issue, I can see about Sophie working more hours or hiring another employee so I can be here for the kids more often.”

  I grabbed my water bottle and my keys. “I appreciate that, babe.” Before slipping on my shoes, I leaned over the back of the sofa and nuzzled Franz’s neck. “I love you, big stuff. Have a great first day of school. I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

  He giggled and wiggled away from my overly aggressive affection. “Okay … I will.”

  While slipping on my shoes, I crooked a finger at my wife. She pushed back in her chair and granted my request.

  “I’m sorry.” I wrapped my arms around her waist, bringing her flush to my body, stealing her heat, and inhaling her flowery soap scent. “Tomorrow I’ll put on the concert. And I won’t worry about this job. They haven’t even offered it to me yet.” Ignoring the ringing in my ears and the headache pulsing my left eye, I presented a happy face to my wife because she deserved it. On my worst day, she deserved my best smile.

  “Don’t ever apologize for feeling stressed.” Evie kissed along my jaw and up my chin to rest her lips against mine. “Have a wonderful day.” When she kissed me, I tried to focus only on the kiss, not the clawing discontent and unavoidable feeling of hopelessness.

  “You too.”

  After work, I attended a meeting, choosing to sit a few rows behind Adrianne Craig. I didn’t know all the details of her sordid past, just that many women, including my wife, thought she was the Devil. People changed. I hated judging the Adrianne I knew based on her past. After all, everyone in that room had a less-than-perfect past or else we wouldn’t have been there supporting each other through recovery and sobriety.

  “Wait up, Ronin!” Adrianne jogged behind me as I fished the keys from my pocket on the way to my Subaru.

  “Hey.” I turned just as she caught up to me. “What’s up?”

  “I have a friend who’s looking for a ski patrol position. You wouldn’t happen to know if there will be any spots available where you work, would you?” She curled her black hair behind her ears and wrinkled her nose.

  “Maybe. I’ll look into it and let you know.”

  “I’d really appreciate that. Give me your phone, and I’ll add my number to your contacts.”

  I slid my phone out of my pocket, unlocked the screen, and handed it to her. She stared at the home screen for a few seconds. It was a picture of Evie and the kids at the kitchen table making cookies. “How did you meet your wife?” She opened my contacts and typed in her information.

  “We met at a cafe in Vancouver the day before I moved here. She was traveling with her friends.”

  “Fate, huh?”

  I shrugged. “I’d like to think so.”

  She handed my phone back to me. “Lucky lady.” She wet her lips before giving me a flirty grin. At least it looked flirty. I wasn’t sure. Evelyn sharing Adrianne’s past had tainted my mind. Maybe it wasn’t anything more than a friendly smile.

  “I’m the lucky one.”

  “Funny …” She crossed her arms over her chest, lifting and exposing more of her cleavage in the deep V-neck of her tight white tee. “I never would have taken you for the guy who settled down and started a family. When you’ve spoken of your past—your love of adventure, a true wanderer—I would have taken you for the eternal playboy. A repeat offender in the heartbreak department.”

  “Yeah, well, that was the case before Ev
ie.”

  She took a step closer, twisting her lips while plucking an invisible hair from the shoulder of my shirt. “My theory is: once a heartbreaker, always a heartbreaker. She may have tamed you for a while, but your instinct to break free and seek a new adventure will surface, and you won’t be able to suppress it. You’ll resent the one thing you never thought possible to resent.”

  “What’s that?” I furrowed my brow, taking a step backward.

  “Love. In all its good intentions and time-tested appeal, love is nothing more than deadweight on our hearts. It’s the strongest drug of all, yet no one shows up to these meetings to discuss the damage love did to their life. But the truth is, most addicts became addicts because they stopped feeling loved, or loved too much, or lost their focus—probably because they chose to love the wrong person or they felt they weren’t good enough or strong enough because no one had ever loved them enough to make them feel worthy … love. Stupid. Fucking. Love.”

  Adrianne lost her flirtatious expression. Some sort of embarrassment or pain replaced it. Someone broke her heart. That was why she wanted to prove that no man was above the moral standard line. And what could I say? I hadn’t cheated on my wife, but to say I wasn’t secretly looking for an excuse to visit Lila would have been a lie.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Her gaze shot up to mine. “For what?”

  “For your pain.”

  After a brief pause, she nodded slowly. “Are you apologizing on behalf of all men?”

  “Well,” I chuckled. “I’m not sure I’ve been granted that sort of authority, to speak on behalf of all men. But on behalf of good men—at least those who try to be good—I can say we’re sorry you’ve been treated badly, unfairly, or whatever that person or people did to cause you pain that might have contributed to why you have to attend these meetings.”