My heart wrenched, and I couldn’t keep the ache from my voice as I asked, “What happened to us?”
His arms spasmed around me, and then he kissed me hard on the top of my head, letting it linger for so long that I wasn’t sure he was going to reply.
But, when he finally did, I still wasn’t ready for the answer.
“Do you remember the lamb gyro?”
I stopped breathing, and he must have taken that as confirmation.
“Well, this time, I really fucked up. I actually lost you, and now, I’m lying here, praying that you’ll let me fix it. Otherwise, I’m gonna look like a real ass when I propose tomorrow night and you say no.”
A sound registering between a laugh and a sob came out, and I hugged him tight. “Please don’t.”
“I won’t,” he promised. “But you have to understand I will eventually.”
“Roman,” I pleaded.
“I can fix this,” he declared.
“Stop.”
“I can fix us,” he swore.
“Please, stop.”
“I can fix us.”
“Hush.” I kissed his chest.
“I will fix us, Elisabeth,” he vowed. “Mark my words. I will not spend my life without you.”
How do you argue with that?
“Okay,” I agreed, completely unconvinced.
The sun had barely set when his body slacked under my cheek. “Okay,” he repeated.
Minutes later, Roman fell asleep.
I listened to his breathing even out until I eventually followed him into dreamland.
And, in my dreamland, he was always there.
Even when he wasn’t.
I woke up alone, just as I had every morning since she’d left. The hollow ache in my chest was my only company. I rolled to the side to check my alarm clock, and then my mind finally woke, too.
I was at home.
And not the piece-of-shit garage apartment I’d rented from an elderly couple when we’d first split.
I was home.
The room was dark, but the clock on her nightstand read only nine p.m. I couldn’t have been asleep for more than an hour or two.
The day came back in a rush.
Heath Light
Walter Noir.
Clare.
Dread soured my gut.
And then…
Elisabeth.
Elisabeth.
Elisabeth.
My cock stirred to life as a smile split my mouth.
I scrubbed my hands over my face and pushed myself from the bed. The light in the bathroom was off, so I knew she had to be downstairs.
I dragged my jeans on, leaving my shirt discarded on the bedroom floor, then set about finding her.
The stairs of the old house creaked as I quietly made my way down. I froze in the middle when I heard her whispering in the kitchen.
“Because I’m freaking the fuck out!” she said quietly.
I could see her lower body pacing around the kitchen, the hem of a blue, silk nightgown brushing the tops of her thighs. It didn’t appear that anyone else was in the house, so she had to have been on the phone.
I sank down to my ass and stayed out of sight. It was a familiar position for me. I’d done it numerous times in the six months after we’d lost Tripp. But, back then, it wasn’t out of curiosity; it was out of desperation. I spent hours sitting on that step, listening to her laugh on the phone with one of her friends. She didn’t laugh anymore back then—at least, not with me. I knew that, as soon as I hit the bottom step, she’d hang up and fall back into the pits of despair.
She needed the laughs. And my soul needed to hear her have them.
So, every Saturday morning before I darted off to work in an effort to create a way that I hoped would buy her smile back, I fed like a leech on the soft giggles that were no longer mine. And, when she’d finally hang up, I’d draw in a breath, walk the rest of the way down, and watch her smile slide away.
And then, like the coward I’d been, I’d leave.
Today would be different.
Tomorrow would be different.
Forever would be different.
She could fight me all she wanted. She could vent and freak the fuck out to whoever she was on the phone with. But, when I hit the bottom stair, I would not be leaving.
Ever.
I’d lived that life for two years, and I was done with it.
“He said he’s checking back in. What does that even mean?” she whispered. “He doesn’t just get to waltz back into my life and decide he’s ready to start over. I’m pretty sure I get a say in this, too.” She paused. “Oh, shut up! Sex is sex. It’s totally different.”
I bit my knuckle to stifle my laugh.
“He’s an attractive man. I’m a woman with needs. And let’s be honest—his cock is huge.” I heard her giggle. “Then, if you don’t want to hear about it, Kristen, don’t bring up sex in the first place.”
Dear Lord, it was Kristen. The good news was I knew she’d have my back. The bad news was I was starving, the smell of meat cooking was wafting up the stairs, and a conversation between those two could easily last all night.
Standing, I made my decision and then jogged down the last few stairs.
She was facing me with terrified eyes as I rounded the banister.