CHAPTER 35
Aaron
The glow of the candles on my kitchen table makes my home look like a séance. The plated food with settings next to them does the opposite of rousing hunger in me. I feel like I’m going to be sick. I think I just lost him.
“You’re late,” Jason calls, pouring red wine into a glass on the table.
I don’t have wine glasses. I sold most of my kitchenware at a pawnshop in Seattle before I left. Where did he get wine glasses?
“I had to take care of some things,” I mumble, hanging my coat up by the door.
Arching a brow, he studies me as I make my way to the kitchen. I don’t have the energy to hide anything, and for once, I honestly don’t care. If I have to accept the changes in him, he’s going to have to accept that I had a life while he was… dead.
“Your tattooed friend?” he ventures, arching a brow.
I don’t know how to respond, but a part of me doesn’t want to say Easton’s name in front of him. Not because Easton’s mad at me, but because he’s mine . Even if he’s no longer mine, he’s still mine . He’s not someone I want to be casual conversation with Jason.
“Didn’t figure that’d be your thing,” he murmurs, looking amused. Sliding a chair out, he gestures for me to sit. “I kept it warm for you.”
I take a seat and go through the motions of eating without tasting. It all feels so formal, not like the haphazard meals Easton and I would share, as though food was always an afterthought to each other’s company.
Jason talks about all the things we can do in Brazil. Hiking. Museums. A theater. When he mentions camping, I do a double take. I can’t remember how many times I asked him to go camping, but he always dismissed it. Would he finally make time for me, or is it an empty promise? A tinge of guilt flickers through me for even thinking so. I never doubted anything he did years ago. Is it him who’s changed or me? Or is it both of us?
My gaze catches on something that seems out of place. My mail is piled on top of my puzzle boxes on the bay ledge below the kitchen window that overlooks the backyard. I spot the puzzle Easton and I last finished canted sideways and upside down. The picture on the box will get scratched like that.
Who sets a puzzle box upside down? My heart sinks, seeing it stowed away so carelessly. I had left it put together on the table as a vigil of sorts, a comfort that made me feel Easton was still here.
“Dessert?” Jason asks. I hardly noticed him clearing my plate and standing.
“Um, no. I had a big lunch. Thank you, though. That…that was good.”
Clasping my hands together, I blow out a breath to try to be present. Except it doesn’t help. This is the present, the wounds of my argument with Easton still fresh.
Why did he lash out like that? It felt almost… calculated. It reminds me of that first day at his apartment and his closed-off demeanor. He was posturing then, I’ve since realized, because he was hurt. The tension in my body eases, considering that information.
I know Easton. I know him now. Today, that wasn’t Easton. Not the one who is ‘ very happy too.’ Of course, he’s hurt. I’m here with a husband.
Soft music interrupts my thoughts. Watching Jason set his phone down on the counter with a playlist pulled up, I get a flicker of agitation. He still hasn’t given me his number. I could ask, but I shouldn’t have to ask. Why didn’t he give it to me the first day he showed up?
Walking over, he holds his hand out. I take it, realizing I’ve been just sitting here for however many minutes while he rinsed the dishes. I turn to head toward the living room, wondering if talking will be less awkward with the television playing in the background. I don’t get but a step, however, when his hands alight on my hips.
His beard tickles my ear, and his chest presses against my back. “You look good,” he murmurs.
I don’t feel like I look good at all, so the compliment falls flat. “Thanks.”
My heartbeat skips in alarm when his arms wrap around my waist. I should be happy. I should welcome the embrace. I should be grateful that my husband isn’t dead and wasn’t murdered by criminals. Happy people don’t stand like terrified statues, though, when their loved one holds them.
“I missed you,” he breathes into my neck.
I close my eyes and say the words I feel owe him, “I…missed you, too.”
It’s not a lie. I did…once. As he starts kissing my neck, a tear tracks down my cheek. I missed what I thought I knew of him. Maybe if that man had walked through my door, and sooner, I might have fallen down, crying tears of relief.I close my eyes in shame knowing these are tears over the death of a fairy tale I’m starting to think only lived in my youthful dreams.
“Do you remember the night we drove out to that drive-in theater not far from here when we first met?”
God, that was a lifetime ago. He’d never been to one, and the way he looked so out of his element was endearing. We were so happy then, laughing at everything. I was just floored that someone like him even thought to look my way, let alone wanted to spend an evening doing something antiquated with me.
“Yeah. They just opened for the season, but it was still freezing.”
Chuckling, he turns me around. “And you kicked my horn when we climbed into the backseat.”
Groaning, I drop my head as my face heats. “I was mortified. Thankfully, there weren’t very many people there.”
His fingers hook under my chin. When I look up, his beard tickles my jaw. For a second, I see the man I fell in love with leaning in to kiss me. I can’t find a reason to say no when his lips touch mine. He’s my husband. I’m supposed to kiss him.I’m supposed to at least give him a chance.
It’s soft and delicate. I wait for some life-changing moment, some flicker that will right all the confusion in my brain and my heart. And I wait…
When the tip of his tongue slips past my lips and his fingers cup the back of my head, it’s like kissing a stranger. Worse than that, it’s like not kissing Easton. I can find a thousand reasons to say no, and they’re all because of him and the betrayal I feel I’m committing coursing through my rigid body.
Breaking away, his mouth travels to the side of mine. He peppers me with another round of kisses there as his hand moves to the small of my back, swaying us to the music. “I can’t wait to see you in our bed when the sun from the coast comes through the windows in the morning,” he croons, while my fingers grip in panic at the front of his sweater. “You don’t have to cook. I hired a chef, and the cantinas there are out of this world.”
I can’t breathe. It’s like I’m paralyzed in fear. His words are like prison bars wrapping around me. His hand tugs, drawing my hips into his. The hard bulge that presses into me shouldn’t be the shock it is. For so long, I wanted for him to want me more often than he did, not just our random perfunctory sex that often left me feeling like my emotional needs weren’t satisfied. Maybe I should be glad I still turn him on, but something like revulsion flows through my petrified body.I want something to wish me away.
Swaying our hips as he grinds into me, he whispers, “I’ll take you out dancing.”
Dancing… Visions of Easton. Memories of how Easton made me feel even before I knew I was falling for him. That’s how talk of dancing should make someone feel. Not this horrifying paralysis that has bile rising up my throat.
The death grip knots I’ve made in the front of Jasons’s sweater finally loosen and my palms flatten against his chest. “I can’t.” I push, breaking free of that suffocating breath on my neck. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, releasing his hold on my hips to run his hands up my arms. “We don’t have to. I know it’s been a while. It probably feels like we have to get to know each other again.” He smiles and leans in like he’s going to kiss me again. “But we can look forward to that,” he adds with a smile.
“No.” My voice comes out firmer this time as I dodge my head to the side. “I don’t think I can go to Brazil.”
I don’t think I can’t. I know I can’t. Nothing in me wants to go.
“You just need time.” He smiles, that laughing look that always made me feel unheard.
Drawing away, I take a step back and shake my head. On this, I need to be heard.
“No. I know it all sounds wonderful, but…I just can’t.”
My message finally registers on his face, his playful look sagging. I’m almost grateful that his nostrils flare. At least it means he knows I’m serious.
“Is this about that guy?”
Hugging myself, I wish it was Easton’s arms wrapped around me instead of my own. I bite my lip, knowing that not replying must look guilty. Easton’s not just ‘that guy,’ though. Not to me.
“You think you’re in love with him?” It’s rhetorical and full of disgust. Snorting, he shakes his head and glances skyward.
“I love you too,” I assure him in a rush. At least, I think I did once, but I don’t want to end things with him on bad terms. “I want to help you Jason, and I will, but…I’m sorry. Everything’s changed.” An odd sense of peace settles over me now that the words are out. They’re not quite true, so I amend them with more clarity. “ I’ve changed.”
He studies me for a long time like a newly discovered blemish on a neglected family heirloom. Nodding, he stuffs his hands into his pockets. “So…one little mishap, and that’s that, then?”
A little mishap? He cannot possibly see disappearing for two years as a little mishap. I walked myself into an argument with Easton earlier. I’m not going to make the same mistake now. That will get us nowhere.
“I think we should go talk to a lawyer.”
“About what?” he asks like it’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever had, as he shuts the music off on his phone.
“About what happened to you. About all of it. We could get advice on what’s best to do.”
“I don’t need a lawyer. They’ll want to go to court, and then I’ll be right back where I started being exposed to those criminals. Did you listen to anything I said to you?”
“Yes, but I could talk to one on your behalf while you…lie low or something. I won’t tell them where you are, and we can get it worked out so you can go back to Seattle. You could be able to see your mother again. I know this hit her hard.”
Pinching his eyes shut like I’m daft, he shakes his head. “She doesn’t—” Sighing, he holds a hand out. “Forget it. It’s fine. I’m happy in Brazil. Happier even.” He shrugs, rubbing that dig in. “Just…I thought maybe my husband might be happy there with me.”
I’m not even uncomfortable over his clear bitterness. Maybe he did love me once, or maybe he thinks he still does. Maybe he doesn’t know what love is and can’t see that I’m just a possession to him. He’ll never know what love is, though, if I go with him. And I’ll never feel it again if I do.
“He might have been,” I digress, gently. “Maybe if he’d had a choice, but…you know things weren’t always perfect between us. We can’t pretend they were.”
Some of the wounded pomp leaves his posture. “I thought they were pretty perfect.”
That does make me feel bad—if he truly felt that way. Still, I can’t change that I saw things differently. Moving to a new country isn’t going to change that.
Stepping forward, he adds sagely, “Nothing’s perfect, Aaron. You’re not so na?ve that you think so, do you? That’s what marriage is—it’s work—and I know this might seem like more work than average, but I didn’t ask for this. I know you didn’t either, but it’s what we’ve been dealt. Are you really going to give up on us when we have another chance?”
I know he’s struggling to process this, but his words seem so unfair. As I stare at him, all I can think is that I never gave up.
He must read something in my silence because he scoffs. “Or you must really be in love with this guy.” Shaking his head, he paces to the window, hands on his hips. “Lucky him. He must be pretty perfect not to have any baggage. You always said I cared too much about what people think. Well, apparently living with a husband who’s down on his luck is too much for you.”
How can he put his decision to disappear for two years on me? I’ve tried to save him his pride through all of this, but my decision has nothing to do with a shallowness he must think I possess.
“That’s not true. Everyone has baggage. His father killed his mother, and now he’s out on parole, staying with him. He has plenty of baggage.”
Whirling around, his eyes are wide. “What?”
Why did I say that? It clearly didn’t help my case, and I don’t feel any better spilling Easton’s secrets. “It’s not about our pasts,” I explain. “We barely dated before we moved in together, and then we got married shortly after that. If we’re being honest with ourselves, we hardly knew one another.”
“And you know this guy so well?”
This time, I know exactly what to say. I only hold back a second to soften the blow.
“I do.”
The words fill me with warmth, knowing they’re true. I do know Easton. I know he’s just hurt and feeling betrayed. I can fix things with him; I’m sure of it, just as long as I stick to my guns for the rest of this conversation with Jason. Easton is my future. Jason isn’t.
I watch the way his teeth seem to be grinding. I’ve never seen him look so humbled or… humiliated.
“I have some things to take care of before I leave,” he mutters off-handedly, stepping closer, but then looks me in the eye. “Maybe we didn’t know each other, but we had a life together. It meant something, didn’t it?”
Jesus, this is not how I thought my marriage would end up when I said ‘I do.’ It’s so damn heartbreaking, but I can’t see any alternative, even if Easton wasn’t in the picture. We’re not… right for each other.
My voice comes out choked with emotions over our shared loss of shattered dreams from long ago. “Of course it did.”
That seems to appease something in him. He lets out a long exhale and walks to the door, pulling his coat off the hook. “I’ll come see you in a few days—before I go,” he says, picking up his bag.
The unspoken message is clear— to see if you changed your mind . I don’t want to have this painful conversation again, but maybe it will sit better with him if he sees my answer hasn’t changed in a few days.
Hand on the doorknob, he steadies his gaze on me. “We have our whole lives ahead of us to make it better, Aar . We’ll never know if it could be if we don’t try again. Try to remember that.”
The cold air gusts inside as he exits, washing away the tension in the room and thinning the lingering scent of his cologne. My lungs stop aching instantly. I don’t need a few days. I dig down deep, trying to feel guilty about that, but the guilt never comes.