Cheater

65. Chloe

My face is hot; I’m sure it’s red.

He looks good. Really good. He’s wearing a winter coat. Gloves. His hair is a little longer, in his eyes a little. He’s clean shaven. In jeans and boots.

But the eyes are different.

Maybe because he’s not looking at me the way he usually does.

“I… yes. I… have something for you. I have it with me.” I fumble through my leather bag on the floor and find what I’m looking for, though I’m not sure here out in public is the place I want to be doing this.

His expression goes hard. Or I should say harder.

He takes a step back before I even have it out of the bag fully. He glares at it with an expression so insidious I’m surprised it doesn’t burst into flames in my hand.

He turns around and walks out without looking back.

I look at the envelope in my hand and realize what he thinks it is. And of course he doesn’t want it if he thinks it’s divorce papers. Steeles aren’t allowed to divorce. No, he’s not allowed to divorce me but there are no rules against him having a woman in his condo with her stilettos off, are there?

Sour-faced, I stuff the envelope back into my bag, put the lid on my soup, sop up a few droplets of mess with my napkin, gather my things, and put my coat on.

I jolt awake in the pitch dark. I touch my phone screen on my bedside table. It’s three o’clock in the morning.

A shadow moves in front of me, and I gasp and lunge for my phone.

I touch 9, 1, and am about to hit 1 again when light floods the space and temporarily blinds me.

It’s Derek.

My heart trips over itself.

“You scared me,” I breathe.

His mouth is tight. His eyes are cold. And not pointed at my face. He’s looking past me.

“I saw you come out of the bakery down the street from Downtown. Who did you have lunch with that day?”

I frown. “The other day? Carlos. He works for me. I lease an office space in your father’s office building above Downtown.”

Carson organized that for me.

Derek’s expression doesn’t change.

I ask, “Who was in your apartment with you yesterday? Someone you’re putting a Christmas tree up with?” My voice wobbles, betraying my emotions about this fact, damn it.

His eyes narrow, but still point at the wall. “I’m not staying in the apartment. That was Paulina. The chef. She’s renting it while her house is being renovated.”

“Oh. Where are you staying?” I ask shakily.

“I’ve been at the homestead.”

“Oh,” I say.

“You’re not getting a divorce,” he informs.

“Did I miss the part where I asked for one?” I ask.

“Chuck’s log says you were in a lawyer’s office last week for two hours,” he accuses.

“Chuck’s log?”

“I never got the chance to ask Kenny to stop having logs made.”

“And of course you read them anyway.”

He doesn’t respond.

“That was a corporate lawyer, not a divorce lawyer. I was making Frank a partner.”

“I bought that company for you,” he says with accusation.

“He’s got a lot of experience and connections in the industry. He’s got a lot of great ideas, too. Besides… I need the help.”

He says nothing.

He made the company completely mine. And when I started working there again, the fact that he put it in the name Chloe Steele is how I found out he had my name legally changed, too. It’s how I have to sign things, which I found extremely annoying as I got used to it.

“It’s three in the morning, Derek. You left the hospital three days ago. So, why are you here now?”

His eyes move to me, and he stares at me for a long, uncomfortable moment. But he doesn’t say anything, and my bladder is nagging at me, so I get out of bed, pull my robe on, and go to the bathroom.

When I come out, he’s still standing in the same spot. He’s staring at the bed.

I walk out, go down the hall to my office and grab the envelope from my briefcase.

His eyes are on what’s in my hand when I get back. And they’re like dark glaciers. Colder than I’ve even seen on his father or his brother Elijah. I feel the chill straight through to my marrow.

“Don’t you wanna know what this is?” I ask.

“Do I?” he fires back.

I shrug. “Okay, forget it.” I toss the envelope to the table.

He stares me down with the stone-cold expression.

“Is there something else?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer.

“It’s three in the morning. I’d like to try to get some more sleep, so if you just came here to mean-mug me, mission accomplished.”

“Mean mug you?”

“Stare meanly. Intimidatingly.”

He turns away and leaves.

I don’t know what the hell that was, but I lie in bed pondering it, pondering him, until the sun is up, and I decide that although it’s the weekend, I’d might as well get up and make myself useful. More useful than staring into the void pondering the facts, especially the obvious one – Derek went into the hospital vowing he loves me, but came out looking like he now despises me.

When I get to the kitchen, I startle. Derek is drinking milk from the carton. He’s in a pair of track pants, a white T-shirt. Bare feet.

And there, on his left hand, is his wedding ring.

He’s still wearing it.

My heart skips a beat at the sight of it.

“I didn’t know you were still here,” I say.

“I live here,” he mutters, not looking at me, tossing the empty milk carton into the trash.

I frown as he walks away. “You drank all the milk?”

“I needed to wash down my meds,” he mutters without turning around.

I don’t know where he’s been all day, don’t know where he slept last night, but by eight o’clock, I’m dead on my feet from not having slept much the night before. When I get into bed, uncertain if sleep will elude me or not, I hear noise. Footsteps getting closer, then receding. Getting closer, then receding again. I step into the hallway and see Derek’s back. He’s walking down the hall.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He whirls around and looks at me with a curled lip. He storms toward me and the intensity on his face, his body language, they make me back up. I stumble a little, but catch myself and plaster myself against the wall beside the door to the bedroom.

“Stopping myself,” he rasps, thrusting a hand through his hair.

“From what?” I ask.

He gets four or five feet away and stops.

“They’re not working,” he tells me.

“What?” I ask, trying to shrink.

“The pills.”

I blink a couple of times.

“What are they supposed to do that they’re not doing?”

Is he having violent thoughts? He looks so angry.

He’s not answering my question.

“Your hand isn’t twitching,” I observe. It looks steady to me.

He lifts his hand, turning it to first examine the front, then his palm.

He abruptly lunges, caging me in against the wall with both palms.

I gasp and stare at him wide-eyed.

He’s breathing hard. He’s got beads of sweat above his eyebrows, above his upper lip. His pupils are huge. What’s happening here? Is Derek having a psychotic break?

“They’re not stopping my thoughts, they’re not stopping my urges.”

“Derek, you’re scaring me.”

“Know what my urges are, do you?”

I shake my head.

“Do you want to know?” he demands.

He’s so close I feel his body heat. His eyes are so angry, so cold.

“You’re really scaring me.”

“I want to throw you on the nearest surface and fuck your brains out. Fuck you to death. Fuck you until I’m dead. I want to fuck you until there’s nothing left of either of us.”

I somehow manage to swallow.

He’s breathing even harder, practically breathing fire.

“If I touch you, I’ll explode into full-blown madness.”

My heart hammers hard in my chest.

His voice gentles just slightly. “If I don’t touch you…”

“What will happen?” I ask in a whisper.

“The same.”

I work down a swallow and ask, “So, what will you do?”

He flinches. “I’ve been trying not to touch you. Was trying to stay away, not sure what would happen when I saw you. Then you went looking for me and I saw how upset you were on the security footage in the hallway when you thought I was with another woman.”

I nod slightly.

“So I tracked you. To the soup place.”

I nod again.

“Smelled your perfume. Saw your face. Looked at you…”

I wait.

He moistens his lips. “And I knew the time apart, the counseling, the meditation, the medication… they didn’t help.”

My heart is about to take flight, leave my body; it’s pounding that fast.

“At all. Because I want to fucking devour you. I want you, maybe even more than before.”

He’s so close. His face is just inches from mine. His hands are pressed to the wall just inches from my body.

Despite the chill in his gaze, I feel the radiation of his body heat, and it’s like it’s caressing my skin.

I bite my lip and tentatively reach for his face. He backs up as if I’ve got a communicable disease.

His nostrils flare.

I take a step forward.

“Chloe…” he warns.

“Derek,” I whisper and reach for his jaw. He steps back out of my reach.

“I’m scared, bunny,” he whispers.

“Why are you scared?”

“They didn’t fix me, baby.”

“I was scared, too. But what you just said… it helped.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you anymore, Chloe.”

“Then don’t hurt me anymore, Derek.”

His gaze softens just a little as his eyes travel my face.

I step closer and reach for his jaw again. This time he doesn’t stop me.

He closes his eyes tight, like my hand on his skin burns.

I put my free hand on his back. I move it up and down.

He’s shaking now. Hard.

His eyes open and pain slashes across his features as he grabs my face with both hands. He’s holding me a little rough, his grip is a little too hard. His chest moves up and down with heavy breathing as I sidestep and begin to back up into the open bedroom doorway.

He follows, looking conflicted, still holding my face.

His eyes land on something. I look over my shoulder. The envelope lying on the nightstand.

“Do you want to see what’s inside?” I ask.

“Maybe,” he says carefully.

He still has my face in his hands. I try to move away, but his grip tightens.

“Open it,” I urge, gently.

Uncertainty is in his eyes as he lets go of me and lifts the envelope.

He pulls out the cardboard sheets and the lined sheet of paper, frowning.

“The book report I owe you.”

He jerks in surprise, eyes scanning the lined sheet of paper. He sets it down and looks at the three cardboard color charts in his hand.

“That’s for ideas for the closet and the bathroom. I didn’t want to just pick a paint color without you, but I can’t take that green that much longer. And the other–”

I’m rendered speechless, because my nightgown is ripped from my body, and I’m thrown on the bed. The book report flies off the nightstand and the paint charts are on the floor.

My husband is on me.

His shirt is flying over his head. The clothing south of his waist is all falling and now he’s covering me, mouth on mine, slamming his hips forward, filling me. Our needy sounds fill the space around us. They fill our room, in our house, where we’re going to grow old together. Where we’ll raise a family.

I clamp around him and weave my fingers into his hair, about to say something, but his tongue is in my mouth, then he nips my bottom lip, and it smarts. I jolt with the pain, and he pulls out, flips me to my stomach, and drives back inside me.

“Mine. My wife. My Chloe. Mine. Fuck.” His teeth clamp down on my shoulder.

I whimper, fisting the bedding as his hand slips beneath me and cups me between the legs. His fingers work magic while he slams into me over and over again, grunting like a wild animal. My wild animal.

I’m flipped again and he’s glaring into my eyes now.

“Never. Never want to be away from you again. Never.”

I shake my head. “Never.”

He grabs my face.

I notice the necklace he’s wearing.

My wedding and engagement ring are dangling there.

I burst into tears, and he looks confused for a second until I fit my palm under them and sniffle.

“I’ve had them close to my heart this whole time,” he says.

He’s still wearing his wedding ring. And he’s worn mine close to his heart.

My heart…

“Put them on me, Derek.”

He’s too lost in sensation, too focused on fucking me. My legs are lifted up to rest on his shoulders and he slams back into me, putting his thumb to my clit, running his other hand up and down my leg.

He sets about a rhythm with his fingers and with his pelvis that have me shuddering out in ecstasy in no time at all.

I cry out his name, digging my nails into his skin, and as my legs fall, he spills inside me, collapsing on top of me. I can feel that his heart is beating as fast as mine is. I hang on tight to him, holding him with my arms and my legs. Reaching for him from somewhere deep inside me as our gazes lock.

He looks distraught. Torn up inside. I see so much pain on his face and I want to fix it. I long to fix it. Maybe what I’m about to say next will help.

“Which one do you like the most?”

His forehead crinkles. “Which what?”

“Paint color.”

“Paint it whatever color you want. I’ll even live with the green.”

“I can’t live with that green, husband.”

He swallows.

“Can you reach them?” I ask.

He stares blankly at me.

“The paint swatch thingies.” I stretch, signaling I want him to move.

He doesn’t budge.

“Get me the paint things?”

“That’s what you wanna talk about right now?” he asks, looking at me like I’ve lost it. “Paint it whatever color you want. I think there are other things we should talk about.”

“What things?” I ask.

He looks like the weight of the world is on his broad shoulders.

“I don’t know,” he admits.

“Let’s start with the paint. How about that?”

“The paint,” he repeats.

“Yes. Can you grab those thingies?”

He rolls off me and halfway off the bed to reach them from the floor.

“Which one do you like?” I ask as he holds up the three cardboard sheets.

I take them from him and drop the purple and blue sheets to the bed beside me and hold the sheet with all the blue-gray shades.

“I like this one.” I point to a bluey gray square. “Which one do you like?”

“Chloe, I don’t care what color you paint the bathroom.”

“Okay, we’ll paint it this color then.” I put the paint thingie down and lift the other two.

“Do you care what color we paint the baby’s room? I like this one if it’s a girl. If it’s a boy, I’m not sure which blue I like. Maybe this one?”

His eyes are on me with laser-focus. “The baby’s room?”

“My room was purple when I was a little girl. I just loved it. I didn’t want pink. If it’s a girl and she wants it to be pink, it’ll be pink, but I was thinking a soft lavender first and go from there. If it’s a boy… this blue is kind of nice.” I point to the one closest to robin’s egg. “Though if he or she wants it pink or purple or heaven forbid… neon green – blech – we’ll paint it that.”

Derek jumps up. Not to the floor. He’s standing on the bed, looking down at me.

“Baby’s room?” he repeats.

I bite my lip and nod.

He stares at my naked body and frowns.

“My belly hasn’t popped yet. It probably will in a couple of weeks, though. I haven’t had morning sickness yet, but I’ve been super-tired, and my boobs have been sore.”

“You…” He gives his head a shake. “Wait. What?”

“The pill was in my bra, Derek. I didn’t take it. I thought about it. Believe me, I did. I even unwrapped it. But I couldn’t do it.” I shrug.

“There weren’t any doctor’s appointments in the logs.”

I shake my head. “I called my doctor and she said to start taking prenatal vitamins and to come in at twelve weeks for my first official appointment. I’m not at twelve weeks yet. Do you want to come?”

At least no one was listening to my calls while he was in the hospital.

He falls to his knees on the bed. I sit up and reach to undo his necklace.

“You’re carrying my baby?”

“That’s why you can’t finish all the milk, Derek.”

He closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh. “I drank all the milk.”

“Yeah. Don’t do that.”

He winces. “I threw you on this bed.”

“It’s okay. I landed on my back. I bounced. Put these on me.” I pull the rings off the gold chain.

“Fuck, Chloe.” He puts his forehead to mine. “Fuck, baby.”

His hand splays across my stomach, then he moves down, kissing his way down to my stomach.

When he gets there, he presses a kiss just above my belly button, then just below it, before resting his chin there, love shining in his eyes.

“When you were here for me when she died and at her funeral, it meant so much. When you finally started to let me in, let yourself fall that afternoon, it was everything. I… I’m sorry I fucked it up,” he says.

I swallow down a lump of emotion, eyes filling with tears.

“I’m sorry for all the times I made you sad, scared, angry.”

I nod, chin trembling.

“And you should know… I’d do it all over again to be right here, you looking at me like this, my child growing inside you.”

“I know,” I tell him, handing him the rings.

He carefully puts them on my ring finger and kisses it.

“I love you, Derek,” I tell him. “I’ve missed you so much. I’m so ready for you to make me happy. I’m so ready to make you happy, too.”

“The doctors didn’t fix me, Chloe,” he reminds me.

“Good,” I say.