“I thought you’d left,” she whispered, wringing her hands in front of her favorite terry cloth robe riddled with the wear of many years. Her gaze landed on the ice bag on his crotch, and she flinched.
“I almost did,” he said softly, “but I swore I wouldn’t leave you again. That I’d be here. In good times and in bad.” He realized how close those words were to the vows he’d made to her, the vows that were now null and void thanks to a stupid piece of paper.
And he remembered the way she’d smiled as he spoke those vows—a smile so bright it was as if she’d gathered all the light in the universe into herself. This time her face, flushed red from the shower, bunched up in a frown.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered in a thready voice.
“You’re forgiven,” he forced himself to say. If marriage had taught him one thing, it was that carrying a grudge only eroded love.
“Why didn’t you…ah…take care of that?” she asked, and she didn’t need to point at the object of her speculation.
They both knew he was still rock hard from unfulfilled desire. And perhaps that was where they could start. With the truth.
“The first time I took care of myself after you left me, I thought of you the whole time. When it was over, I didn’t feel relief. I felt sick and hurt and…pretty much like shit.”
Her eyes narrowed to the point of a squint, but she didn’t walk out.
He coughed to clear his voice so he could continue. “The first time I had sex with someone after you left, I felt even sicker. I was in my get-over-you phase, and I hooked up with a groupie for what I thought would be mindless sex. I hadn’t done that since my first year in the league, and I wasn’t proud of it, but I…I was afraid I’d never get over you. The dreams hadn’t stopped, and well…you wouldn’t return any of my calls. I was angry, and since I didn’t want to drink my way to oblivion—trust me, I tried a few times, and it didn’t work—I thought I could find it in sex. I wanted to erase you…even though the very thought of it broke my heart.”
Her hands clutched the top of the loveseat, her knuckles white.
“It wasn’t fair to her. I thought of you once we got started. But she wasn’t you. She didn’t smell like you or taste like you or even sound like you when I touched her.”
“Don’t,” she entreated in that same harsh whisper.
The tone of her voice gave him the courage to continue. “I waited a while before I tried it again, hoping it would be better. This time, I chose one of my old friends-with-benefits from before I met you. We used to have a good time, and things weren’t complicated. She knew the score.”
“Blake—”
“She was familiar in her own way,” he interrupted, “but she wasn’t you either. I had to force myself to hold her and stay over so I wouldn’t treat her like a jerk. She didn’t deserve that. After that, I stopped trying to move on. So, I took care of myself, telling myself it was only temporary and someday we’d be together again, that I’d make love to you for real, and everything would be okay.”
She sunk into the chair perpendicular to the couch, sitting on the edge like she wanted to bolt. But she wasn’t leaving, and he took that as a good sign.
“So, now you know the ugly truth,” he continued, setting the bag of ice aside. His ardor had disappeared with the revelation of his shame. “Who did you try to move on with? I always thought it would be your friend, Jeremy. You two always had fun together, and he was good looking enough. You would have gone for someone you cared for, someone who’d be safe.”
Her eyes flicked down to study the hands clenched in her lap. “Please don’t talk about this.”
But she didn’t try to walk away, so he kept going. “Part of me hoped it would be okay for you when you did.” How many times had he imagined her with someone else, every image another slash to the gut? “The rest of me wanted to pull him apart for touching my wife. But the worst part was wondering how you could choose anyone else after saying you loved me.”
This time she did dart off the chair. He was sure she was going to run into her room and lock the door, shutting him out yet again. But she shocked him. She sank down beside him and grabbed his hand with all her strength.
“How can you talk about something so painful?” she asked.
He rubbed his brow. “Because it’s there, and we’ve been shoving it into Pandora’s box for weeks hoping we could drift along and survive on long runs in the canyon, TV nights, playing with Touchdown, and kissing. It isn’t working, and tonight brought that into painful focus. I can’t pretend anymore.”
She hung her head, the picture of abject misery, but he made no move to comfort her. He didn’t dare.