Chapter 24
CHAPTER 24
S HANNON
I help Troy carry our dishes to the kitchen, and it dawns on me that I’m not ready to leave. Dinner was... nice. I’ve been nursing the same glass of wine throughout the meal, and when Troy gestures to the bottle, then my glass, I shake my head no. If I weren’t driving, I’d be all about adding more to my glass, but I need to make sure I’m safe to drive.
I glance down at my watch. I still have two hours until I have to be home. I probably should go somewhere and study. Yet I don’t want to.
“Do you have to go?” Troy asks. He’s scratching his head and looking down at the tile floor. It’s clear he expects me to say yes.
“I could stay for a little while. I-if you don’t mind.” My voice is hushed.
Troy’s head whips up, and his face betrays he’s pleased. He’s sporting the most gorgeous smile. “Yeah?”
I nod, giving him a slight smile back.
He glances over at the coffee pot. “Would you have any interest in meeting me in the living room for drinks?”
I laugh out loud and grin broadly at him. “That might work on me,” I tease. “But if you’re gonna get back out there, you’ll have to work on your pickup lines.”
As the words come out of my mouth, they taste bitter, and I want to reel them back in, especially when I see the smile fade from his face, and he pierces me with those green eyes of his.
He says nothing but doesn’t stop staring at me. As I’m opening my mouth to apologize, he steps within a foot of me. Not enough to make me feel crowded, but enough to be clear it’s on purpose.
“I don’t need pickup lines, chiclet.” My breath catches at the use of his old nickname for me—one he hasn’t used in several years—his voice low and gravelly. It’s that voice I still dream of when I dream about us. Hey, a girl has needs, and if they’re not being met, it’s normal to have sex dreams. It’s normal for them to be about your soon-to-be ex-husband. Right?
Holy hell, is it hot in here?
I swallow past the lump in my throat, fighting the pull of my body telling me to move closer to him. I force a deep breath in, then out.
“D-do you have coffee?” I squeak out, and heat rises in my cheeks. I’m fully aware that I’m probably blushing, but, Jesus, what does the man have his heat on? That’s the only possible explanation for how I’m feeling. Well, that and the glass of wine.
Okay, it’s not the wine.
The sexy grin Troy gives me causes my heart to flutter. Maybe I should leave. Clearly, I’m having some issues with my... urges tonight. Before I can freak out too much, Troy steps back and turns toward the coffee maker, preparing to make a pot of coffee.
“Meet me in the other room. I can bring it to you. If you want me to quiz you for your test, I’d be happy to.”
“‘Kay.” My voice is quiet, and I scurry out of the room. I go to my bag and pull out my study questions. Why doesn’t he need pickup lines? Because women flock to him naturally? Because he already has someone, or isn’t looking? I shake my head to clear my thoughts and get ready to study. Truthfully, I’m well prepared, and I probably don’t need more studying tonight, but there’s a sense of safety in having my book out. It eases my nerves about the fact I want to be here. It’s a legit reason to be here. At least one I don’t have to question. Though, if I scratch the surface of my emotions right now, I know there’s more than that keeping me here.
When Troy walks into the room with the coffee, the distinct, rich aroma perks me up. I love coffee. It doesn’t matter what time of day. Even without having my sweetener here, I’m looking forward to it.
Troy passes me the mug, careful not to let go until he’s sure I have it secure, something he’s always done. It warms my hands as I lift it to my mouth while watching him take his seat at the other end of the couch. My eyes widen when the first sip hits my taste buds, and I hold it in my mouth for several long seconds before swallowing. When I lower the steaming cup, I keep it in front of the lower part of my face, like a barrier between my emotions and him.
“Is this my sweetener? My ‘sugar syrup,’ as you call it?” My voice is shaky. I’m not sure if I’m ready for his answer, though I know it’s a ‘yes.’
Why does he have my sweetener?
Troy stares at me, his eyes intense. He simply nods, then places his own mug on the coffee table and picks up my study book. He opens it to the page I have marked and clears his throat. He spends the next several minutes asking me test questions, and I answer, but I’m distracted.
“I’m on medication now.” I can’t help blurting it out. I’m sick of studying.
Troy looks up from the book, his brow furrowed with questions. “Huh?”
“I’m on medication.” I grip my coffee cup in my hands and look down into the caramel-colored mug of deliciousness. “For depression. Plus, I see a counselor about every three weeks now. My primary care provider thought it was severe enough that I needed counseling and meds, at least for a while.”
I don’t lift my eyes right away, fearful of what I might see. Will he think I’m weak because I take medications? Will he be worried?
“Hey, Shan. Look at me, okay?” There’s no hint of judgment in his soft and soothing voice.
I force myself to meet his gaze. There’s an intensity in his eyes, but it’s comforting, not upsetting.
“Are you feeling better? I’m proud of you for taking care of yourself.” His words are so quiet they’d be difficult to hear if I wasn’t near him.
“I am. Feeling better, I mean. A lot better. I still have moments, but the medication and counseling have improved my symptoms. Plus, she’s helping me dig into?—”
I stop abruptly. He doesn’t need to know this. He probably doesn’t care anymore.
He scoots about a foot closer to me and reaches over, squeezing my hand while he waits. Okay, maybe he does care.
“She’s helping me dig into why I’m so hard on myself and talk so harshly about myself sometimes, especially when I’d never talk to another woman like that. I’m trying to change it, but it’s a process.”
I search his face to see if I can read his thoughts there. His slight smile is comforting.
Troy pulls his gaze away from mine and looks down at the couch. “I’m sorry I made you feel invisible. I should have done a better job showing you that I saw you. That I saw what a fantastic mother and woman you are. I hate that I caused you pain.”
“Troy—”
“No, wait. Please let me get this out. It’s no secret communication isn’t my strong point.” He pauses and lifts his eyes to mine. The sad smile on his face causes a pinch in my heart. I nod and grip my coffee cup like I’m drowning, and it’s a life preserver.
He stares at my coffee mug, focusing his attention there, then clears his throat.
“I think I knew you were depressed, and I felt helpless because I didn’t know what to do to help pull you out of it. I’m pretty sure I took the easy way out and tried to ignore it, do more around the house so you’d have less to worry about, and work more so you wouldn’t be worried about money. The problem is, in retrospect, none of that was what you needed.”
He lifts his head and looks at me, his face marred with regret and sadness. I don’t know how long we sit looking at each other, but it’s not uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” I whisper. “I never wanted to hurt you. I... I blamed you for my unhappiness because, at the time, it was easier than admitting something was wrong with me.”
I’ve barely gotten the words out when he says, “There’s nothing wrong with you.” He reaches up and tenderly tucks a stray strand of my hair behind my ear. “Nothing. You’re going through something, but it’s not ‘wrong,’ it’s just something.”
Intensity surrounds the air around us, and I feel a need to divert the topic a little. I force a chuckle. “Well, that’s kind of you to say, but I’m aware there are some things wrong with me. And there were deeper emotional issues going on with me than us struggling in our marriage.”
“I’ve never understood how you don’t know you’re the most beautiful woman in every room you’re in. The fact that I didn’t do everything in my power to make sure you remembered that…” He pauses and looks over to the side for a moment. I notice he’s rubbing his hand at the base of his thumb like he does sometimes. Then he clears his throat and returns his gaze to mine. “It’ll take a long time to forgive myself for it.”
He reaches up and brushes my hair off my forehead, his fingers barely touching me. Neither of us says anything for several long seconds.
“We stopped meeting for drinks. When we were together, I mean.” I practically whisper the words.
Troy looks at me and slowly nods. “We did. It was a mistake.”
“It was,” I agree. “That was our time, and it may have seemed like a little thing to others, but I loved it. I loved that it was us. That we had our special toast.” My voice is hushed, and I’m fighting back the moisture behind my eyes, so I lean my head back on his couch and close my eyes.
Troy’s large hand wrapping around mine causes me to open my eyes and tilt my head toward him. He’s watching me.
“I loved it, too.”
His words cause my heart to crack a little. I don’t respond, but we sit, holding hands in silence for several long moments after that. Troy finally pulls his hand away and breaks the silence.
“How is work going? Are you happy there?”
I hesitate, unsure how to explain that what I thought I wanted, what I thought was my dream job, isn’t. It’s not that I don’t want to be an accountant. It’s that the type of work I’m doing right now at the firm doesn’t feel good to me. It’s not rewarding.
I feel Troy’s stare on me and realize I never answered his question.
“It’s going okay. I’ve got enough hours now to sit for my test—obviously, since it’s scheduled for this week. I’ve made a new friend at work. Her name is Tillie. You’d get a kick out of her. But...” I pause for a second, trying to find the words that will explain it. He waits patiently, intently focused on me. “It’s not what I expected. The firm isn’t how I remember it. The clients are all very high profile, and there isn’t a lot of the personal touch I enjoyed when I worked for the old Mr. Stinson. I’m grateful for the opportunity, though. But when I pass my exam, I’m gonna want to think about something that gives me the flexibility I want with the kids but also makes me happy.”
“It’s not your dream job?” There’s no sarcasm or judgment in his voice. He sounds truly curious, surprised even. I can’t count the number of times I threw it in his face that I gave up my dreams, that I lost them to my role in our family.
I shake my head because I can’t find the words, and I don’t want to cry. I’m afraid if I try to speak right now, there’s a good chance that’ll happen.
“Maybe this isn’t the right place, but it’s the right type of work. You can figure out what you want it to look like, visualize the dream”—he pauses, and his eyes light up—“tell me about it. Tell me what you like and what it would look like if it was your ideal job.” I’m quiet for an uncomfortably long time, and then Troy speaks words that take my breath away. “Dream with me, Shan.”
My heart rate and my respiratory rate both kick up. He hasn’t said those words to me in years, nor have I said them to him. It was our toast. The toast we made every time we met for drinks. I lift my eyes to meet his, questioning whether he means this. Does he honestly want to know?
“Tell me,” he says in a hushed but firm voice. He doesn’t break eye contact, and I realize I want to tell him.
I spend the next couple of minutes telling him about how I would like to do something like Tillie has been talking about: Working with smaller businesses and women-owned businesses, focusing on the personal nature of the work, and helping other people meet their business goals. I tell him about Tillie joking about us going into business together, and his eyes brighten when I say it. I tell him I want to be able to control my schedule because I don’t want to work full-time right now while the kids are young. I want to be there for them as much as possible while still helping to provide for them and doing something that makes me feel stimulated on an intellectual level.
Troy listens intently the whole time, asking a question here or there for clarification, but there’s nothing in his expression or his voice that seems to be anything but supportive.
When I have to be home in about forty-five minutes, I pack my things, and Troy walks me to the door.
“Do you think I’m selfish for wanting these things?” I ask.
He cups my face on both sides with his rough palms and gently forces my gaze to his.
“Absolutely not. This is what you need to do for yourself, and fulfilling this part of you will be a good example for our kids and will keep you healthy. I’m only sorry that we didn’t figure out a way to help you do something like this when we were still together.”
I can only nod, afraid if I say anything, I’ll cry. Troy leans down and kisses me on the forehead. The tenderness in the gesture makes it hard for me to swallow. Before I lose control of my tears, I grab my bag, and he opens the door for me. He insists on watching me until I get to the car.
I make it about fifteen feet away from him and stop, my back still to him. There’s something that’s been bothering me all night. I’ve been pushing it down and refusing to give it any extended space in my thoughts. I’ve been telling myself to let it go, that it’s not my business. That I asked him for a divorce.... But somehow, in light of all the vulnerability I allowed myself to show him tonight, I need to know.
I hear him call my name, questioning and concern in his voice. So, I turn around and face him. I close the distance between us.
I fight the tears welling up behind my eyes. The anxiety on his face and in his eyes makes me feel bad for worrying him.
“Are... are you dating? Seeing someone? I know it’s not my business, but I have to know. I know this is my fault, that I asked for this, but I didn’t think it would happen this fast. And I just... I need to know.”
Before I know it, he grabs me by the hand and pulls me back inside. He’s searching my face, his brow furrowed, and his eyes narrow in confusion.
“I know I don’t have any right to ask. And I shouldn’t. I should leave and go home. But it’s better if you rip the Band-Aid off now...”
“Chiclet, what are you talking about?” There he is with that nickname again.
“The wine glasses. You have two wine glasses that were probably favors from a wedding you went to and felt like you had to lie about going to in order to spare my feelings. You probably had a date for it, and that’s why you have two. Plus, you had wine here. You rarely drink wine. But you had wine here. Women like wine, so maybe she’s been here.”
“Shannon—” His hands grip my shoulders.
“Maybe she’s sat at that table or will someday soon with you and our kids. And you got a bed. You didn’t have a bed before, and now you do. There are four pillows on the bed, Troy.” My words are rushed, almost frenetic. “You only sleep with two pillows. You have two pillows for someone else. There’s someone else?—”
My heart is racing, and my chest feels tight.
He’s backed me against the wall, his hands on my face again, tilting my head so I look at him. His thumbs caress my cheeks, centering me a tiny bit.
“No,” he whispers. His face is only inches from mine, his intense focus on me helping pull me into the moment, slowing my racing thoughts. “No, you have it all wrong. There’s no one else. There won’t be—can’t be—not for me. The wine glasses were from a wedding, but I didn’t go. I didn’t wanna go alone, and I didn’t wanna go without you. David brought me a couple when I gave him his gift, saying he knew I had a new house and could use them.”
A hot, wet tear spills from one of my eyes and starts to roll down my cheek. I don’t know what it means, but he leans in and kisses it away. Then he rests his forehead against mine.
“The bed...”
“No, babe. I wasn’t kidding when I told you that you’re always gonna be the only one for me. I got a bed because Owlie told me it made him sad I didn’t have one. Nearly broke what’s left of my heart. That’s all.” His thumb is now drawing little, mesmerizing circles on my skin. “I do have four pillows. Two for me and two to hold onto because I can’t sleep in that big bed without something to trick my mind into thinking you’re there. I hate that you’re not there. It’s always only you.”
I lift my eyes to his and fix my gaze on him.
“You haven’t moved on yet?” My voice is shaky. I know it’s unfair of me to ask him this.
“No,” he growls. “I’m not,” he places a gentle kiss on my left cheek, “moving,” he kisses my right now, “on.”
I don’t wait for him to kiss my lips, which is what I’m hoping he was planning to do next. Instead, suddenly desperate for him, I kiss him. There’s not a moment of hesitation on his end as he consumes the kiss like he’s been dying for it. It’s been so long since I felt his mouth on mine, and now that I have it again, I want more.
His hands are still on the side of my face, but one slides until his fingers are in my hair, grasping at it as if he’s afraid I’ll pull away. No chance of that. My body is on fire—the good kind—right now. We’re desperate as our mouths search each other’s, struggling to get closer, deeper.
“Troy.” I hear it in my voice, and I know he does, too. It’s the way I say his name. After all these years, he knows when I say his name like that, I need him. I need him in an intensely physical way. He pulls back and searches my eyes.
“Please,” I plead. I don’t know what it means, but I need to feel him. All of him.
That’s all it takes, and within a second, we’re a wild, chaotic, hot mess of limbs flying around as we pull each other’s clothes off. It’s as if we can’t stand to have anything between us right now.
He knows exactly what I need at this moment to calm everything going on inside me at once. Within seconds he’s got his hard, thick cock out and lined up with my entrance. He grips my leg on one side in his strong hand and lifts it so that he has better access to me.
Everything is raw, a primal need for each other driving us.
“Are you sure, Sh?—”
I cut him off with a thrust of my pelvis toward him, trying to force him inside me. It’s all the answer he needs.
When he pushes into me, it’s in one smooth movement, and my resulting moan is loud enough that the neighbors probably heard me. Quite frankly, I don’t care. Because at this moment, I need this man.
“Hard. Harder and faster, please.” my mouth is right by his ear when I say this, and I know it drives him crazy when I tell him what I want.
He gives me exactly what I need, slamming his cock into me, filling me, connecting with me. I’m so close, I’m nearly going crazy, and he knows it. This man knows my body probably as well as he knows his own. He slips his hand between us and, with the very tip of his thumb, caresses my clit. He’s somehow soft and slow, in such contrast to the hard, fast fucking we’re doing, and it sends me right over the edge.
I scream his name as he continues to pound into me while the pleasure of sweet release races through my body. I don’t want it ever to end. It leaves me spent in the best possible way, but I won’t be satisfied until I get to feel and watch him come because of what our bodies do when we connect like this.
Within a few more seconds, my satisfaction is complete as his cock spasms inside of me, and the sensation of his warm cum filling me almost gets me riled up again. But I force myself to calm down.
Troy buries his face into the side of my neck, placing caresses there with his mouth, planting barely-there kisses on my sensitive skin as he slows his pace and then stops.
“I love you, Shannon. Only you. Don’t ever doubt that.” His words are spoken in a hushed, rough voice. They’re the words that both soothe and terrify my heart at the same time.
We don’t say anything else for some time, but then he starts to pull away from me. I know from experience he’s going to want to look me in the eyes, so I grip him tighter, preventing him from moving away. Preventing him from looking at me.
“Shannon, we should probably talk about this.”
“No, please. Not tonight. We can talk about it later. I promise. I just can’t tonight. Okay?”
He sighs and then lifts his mouth to kiss me on the cheek. As he does, he runs his hand down my hair on the other side. It’s a calming sensation, and it doesn’t escape me that it’s much like you would probably use to calm a person who was on the edge of freaking out.
Am I? Am I on the edge of freaking out?
“Okay. We’ll talk when you’re ready.”