12. Hollow Swallow
Chapter twelve
Hollow Swallow
Haze
C hapter 12
Haze
The richly layered, permanent aroma of cocoa envelops me like a warm blanket when I open the front door of Sweet Alchemy. The scent billows out of the doorway, caressing my face like the strong, warm hands of the man who owns the place. The man whose name is scrawled across the top of the letter I decided to deliver in person. A note he won’t be able to delete or toss out unread if he sees my handwriting.
Cold fingers of dread replace the warmth when I step inside. The words I painstakingly wrote flutter to the ground as the sounds of a female in the throes of passion filter through the kitchen from behind the swinging doors in the back. Sounds I can’t believe I’m hearing. My feet continue to carry me past the workstations in Sal’s classroom, convinced someone must have broken in. My brain churns out excuse after excuse for the noises I’m hearing until one coherent thought slips through the fog of shock. Sweet Alchemy has an alarm system that’s wired to the police department and our phones. Whoever is getting fucked within an inch of their life was let in. By the time my brain conveys that message to my feet, I can see exactly how those sounds are being elicited through the windows.
I didn’t make a conscious decision to stand there and gawk. At first, I was paralyzed, unable to move as I watched the man who belongs to me crouch between pale thighs and eat pussy like a starving man. He was all I could focus on. The way his hand gripped her belly, the way his elbow pistoned behind him, the way he licked and sucked at her sex like she was an addiction. It wasn’t until she reached up and cupped her breast, rolling her nipple between her thumb and index finger, that familiarity kicked me in the solar plexus. I recognized the faint blush in the center of each breast. I have seen those milky thighs, but the cloud of silken, silver waves tumbling across Sal’s altar of bittersweet sin is unfamiliar.
Sal’s face is buried in the first woman I’ve looked at twice since…. My eyes are fixated on the pair of them as a fine sheen of sweat breaks across my brow. I claw at my tie, ripping it off, only to find its removal does nothing to help me draw air. The future I envisioned with Sal drowns in cam girl cream as I stare, fixated on the carnal scene before me. Sal’s golden brown, flexed fingers press lickable indents into that snowy landscape of her abdomen. My tongue darts out, wetting my lower lip as I recall the way he looks when he’s kneeling in front of me, grunting, his eyes tearing as I fuck his throat. A memory seared into my brain, one that does nothing to alleviate the pain of seeing him bent for another. My gaze travels down his forearm, corded and golden, nestled low on her belly before disappearing between her legs. Soft midmorning light limns his darker skin and hair, transforming the two of them into a Renaissance painting.
Even the raging, jealous beast beneath my skin cannot deny the two of them are beauty incarnate together.
The sounds she’s making, although similar in tone to the dulcet squeals and purrs she emits on camera, do not carry the same cadence I’m familiar with. These cries of pleasure aren’t curated. They’re freely given, edged with a wild, joyous abandon that tightens my skin and stirs my cock. I swallow hard when I realize that my dick claims ownership of that siren song, too. Sal’s grunts and Anise’s lusty peals belong to me.
I watch him draw an orgasm out of her like a master and then work her back down from the stars. And then he stands up, licking his chops as though he’s hungry for more. The evidence of his arousal is obvious, even in black pants. And then he grabs her hands and pulls her into a loving embrace. Her body molds to his like she was made for him.
Tender and intimate, the two of them share a connection that begins and ends with only them.
How dare either of them give and take without my permission?
The kitchen doors swing open with a violent clang as I burst through them. The girl jumps, half-naked in Sal’s embrace, the silver hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall of moonlight bouncing.
“…none of her fucking business,” I finish for him, my voice a hot, sharp knife cutting through the musk that still lingers in the air.
Anise’s violet eyes widen, jerking and jumping as a mixture of embarrassment and something I can’t quite put a finger on scalds her cheeks. Sal’s grip on her tightens instinctively, his brow furrowing as he jerks his head, dropping his chin over her, confusion morphing into defensive annoyance as he seeks to hide her from me.
“Haze,” Sal says, trying to keep his voice steady, “this isn’t what it looks like.”
“Really?” I snap, my eyes flickering over his defensive posture. “Because it looks like you’re fucking someone on my kitchen table.”
He blinks, his eyes filling with anger as my choice of words trigger him. I know instantly I’ve fucked up, but I press my lips tight, unwilling to take back my poor choice of words.
“Get out, Haze,” Sal demands. He runs the flat of his hand up and down her back, comforting her. My fists clench at my sides. The gesture inspires a blinding flare of anger so hot my vision burns white. “I’ll be changing the code to the locks as soon as you leave. You can’t just waltz in here whenever you like.”
He’s made himself clear. I should turn around and walk out. But I feel the need to protect him. “Do you know who she is, Sal? Do you have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into?”
Murky green eyes plead, his hard edges dissolving with pity. “I didn’t know until after I… until it was too late.”
Like a physical blow, his confession is a fist to my gut. I blink, but Sal remains across from me, Anise still tucked in his embrace. My heart shatters again as I realize he’s chosen a side. I cast my eyes to the ground, looking for the shattered pieces of my heart. But this time, they aren’t tiny pieces scattered far and wide. This time, there is nothing but dust, ground so fine I know I can never be made whole again.
He's let me go. Cast me aside for another. A woman. A delicate creature, shiny and beautiful, with tender hands and plush curves to cover the bottomless reservoir of emotional maturity, boundless love, and immutable strength inside. I don’t blame him for longing for the love of a good woman. I had that once. There is nothing comparable.
I am not enough for Sal Pagliano. It’s a simple truth; one I must find a way to swallow. He’s tired of living with a broken shell. Even if the stars aligned and I magically became whole, I still wouldn’t have what Sal wants. I am not enough.
Angie’s voice whispers from deep down in the well of my memories, the only voice of reason I’ve ever heard. If you love him, wish for his happiness and set him free.
I always want to do what my dead wife asks. She’s the only conscience I’ve known.
She’s right. I should leave.
But if what I wish for is his happiness, I cannot leave him here with her. I must protect him. “Sal, this isn’t what you want.” It’s my turn to plead. My last shot at saving him from an even bigger mistake than I was.
His jaw ripples as his face tightens. The pity swimming in his eyes vaporizes. “Interesting statement, Haze,” he hisses, “considering I was crystal clear about what I needed.”
“She isn’t the one, Sal!” Raking my hand through my hair, I lift my palms in supplication, begging him to understand. I can’t stand the way he’s curled around her, protecting her from me. “She’ll have nothing left for you after she’s spent all night giving herself away.” The words come out harsher than I intended, any measure of good intent lost to the venom with which I spoke.
Anise gasps, stiffening in Sal’s arms as she turns her face and buries it in his neck. I close my eyes, exhaling, waiting for him to banish me from his presence. Sal laughs harshly. “You fucking hypocrite, judging someone else for your preconceived notions. Unbelievable. How much did you save for me when you were working dawn to dusk eight days a week, Haze? Who are you right now? You spend your life stealing companies out from under families for pennies on the dollar, and you have the gall to judge her? She—"
A hand comes to rest on his cheek. Instinctively, he responds to her wordless request, his mouth snapping shut as he nuzzles into her touch. “That wasn’t meant to degrade her. I only wanted to—"
“No one here except you gives a single fuck about what you want, Haze. Get. Out.” I open my mouth, willing the truth to spill out. I should fall to my knees in supplication, confessing my sin to them both. Sal’s eyes flare, bleeding green fire, unimpressed with my indecision.
And then he scoops her up from the counter and turns his back to me, shutting me out.
You can’t succeed in my line of work without knowing when you’re beaten.
The only avenue left is to back away and leave. “Anise,” I mutter as I turned, nodding goodbye to the devastating temptress with her naked body pressed up against the only person I fucking care about.
As I turn the car down Crosby Street, the familiar surroundings roll by like a blurred memory. Each house I pass feels like a reminder of what I thought we were striving for—the fulfillment that comes with success. Now, I see the neighborhood differently. There are no bikes lying in the grass, no barking, no laughing and shrieking children. This neighborhood is as empty as the people who populate the gaudy homes lining each street. Giving Sal free rein over the renovation of my property here was supposed to be a gift. I thought he'd beg me to move in after he fell in love with the work we did. A knot tightens in my chest. This place never felt like a future home to Sal. Not with just the two of us here, crowded by my ghosts.
I pull the car into the driveway, the gravel crunching beneath the tires. The house looms before me, a monument to the dreams I thought Sal and I would share. But now, all I can see is the intimate scene that's burned into my mind—Sal, buried between Anise's thighs, bringing her to ecstasy.
I feel numb, unable to shake the images that play on a loop in my head. The way Sal's fingers dug into her skin, the sounds of her pleasure, the tenderness in their embrace—it's all too much. I clench my jaw, trying to push the memories away, but they cling to me like a thick fog.
Stepping out of the car, I make my way to the front door, my footsteps heavy. I need to escape this place, this life that no longer feels like my own. Once inside, I head straight for the liquor cabinet, my hands trembling as I pull out a bottle of scotch, the amber liquid sloshing against the glass.
I pour a generous amount into a tumbler, the burn familiar as I take the first sip. The alcohol does little to dull the ache in my chest. I click the burner to the stove off and on, remembering the carbonara Sal had made the day we opened this bottle. We ate at the island in the kitchen, standing because, along with no dinette, there were no stools in the kitchen. The weight of the glass in my hand is the only thing grounding me from losing myself in the past.
How could this happen? I've suffered my share of loss. Sal was supposed to be it for me, my forever. I thought we had something special, a connection that could weather any storm. Sal was strong enough to light the way for both of us to travel through the shadow of the family I lost. But now, it's all crumbled to dust, leaving me grasping as shattered remnants slip through my fingers.
I take another sip, the scotch warming me from the inside out. I saw the cracks in our foundation, the way Sal's needs, and my inability to fulfill them, were slowly pulling us apart. But I was blind, so desperate to hold on to what we had that I ignored the warning signs. And now, I've lost him to a woman, a woman who can give him what I couldn't.
The bitterness rises in my throat, threatening to choke me. I should have fought harder, should have been willing to compromise, to open myself up in ways I've never done before. Damn it, I tried. I trialed girl after girl. I knew dating wasn't for me after suffering through my mother's setups, but the cam girls… When I found Anise, I thought her sexuality, combined with her inherent kindness and ability to see past the surface, might be just the magic formula to pull me out of my repulsion for any other woman but my dead wife. Progress was being made in our private sessions. The mere sight of her stirred my dick and set my pulse racing. Everything about her enchanted me. But sexual attraction was never my problem. My inability to get past the nausea of being unfaithful, disloyal to my wife… I couldn't do it. I promised her she'd be the only woman for me.
Being with Sal doesn’t break my promise. Both my desire and my affection for him are rooted in his masculinity, the similar drive we both possess to achieve success, and the way we both enjoy fucking like every encounter is a fight to the death in a gladiator pit. I won't rationalize or pretend there is something wrong with deciding that the only way I could move on and find some thread of happiness after my wife's death is by keeping the vow I made to her. I swore I would never touch another woman. Sal is my loophole. A way to find a little bit of relief from my grief without breaking my promise to Angie. Someone to share a few happy moments with that I didn’t have to feel guilty for enjoying. Ridiculous and hypocritical to some, sure, but not to me. And this is my life. Maybe that's part of the reason I'm so resistant to Sal's wishes.
But the thought of sharing Sal, of allowing another person into the fragile sanctuary of our relationship, was too much for me to bear.
And now, I'm left with nothing but the sting of regret and the hollow ache of a heart that's been shattered beyond repair.