Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
Carter
“Jo,” I groan, finally breaking the kiss. “What the hell are we doing?” I gather her close, tucking her head under my chin, so I won’t be tempted to find her mouth again.
“Isn’t it obvious?” she asks, her voice slightly muffled against my chest.
I shake my head. “No. Not really.”
“I dunno, Carter,” she says with a sigh. “Maybe…scratching an itch? Does it need to be any more complicated than that?” Her words do more to dowse the flames than just about anything else could’ve done. Because of course that’s all this is to her. That’s all it ever was.
I guess I should be glad for the reminder—and I am. Sort of. But it hurts all the same. Because it’s never been that for me; not with her. “Yeah, except I’m not that itchy,” I tell her.
She inhales sharply as she pulls away—far enough to meet my gaze, far enough for me to see the stricken expression on her face.
“Joking,” I tell her; even though I’m really not. “I’m just…
“Don’t,” she begs quietly. “I can’t joke about this. It’s not funny.”
No. It certainly isn’t. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” I admit.
Jo shrugs. “Me either. But… Just don’t say there’s nothing between us anymore. Or that it’s too late. Or that you don’t want this as much as I do…” Her voice trails off, like she’s realized that she’s said too much. We stare at each other. I’m lost for words. I know that I should be telling her all those things—not because they’re true, but because admitting how I really feel is too painful, too futile, too pathetic.
I don’t know what she sees in my expression, but whatever it is, it causes her to glance away, blinking back tears as she says, “Unless that’s what you mean, of course. Then you should definitely say it. Because the one thing we never did was lie to each other. So, let’s not start now.”
“I don’t know how you can even say that,” I counter. “I’m pretty sure we were lying the whole time we were together—maybe not to each other, but definitely to ourselves.”
“What?” She stares at me in dismay. “No. You don’t mean that, do you?”
“Of course I mean it. It’s true, isn’t it? I’m not saying we were doing it on purpose; I don’t think we even realized we were lying. I think we just got so caught up in the story we were pitching to everyone else that we started to believe in it ourselves.”
“Is it really a lie, though, if you don’t know you’re lying?”
“Well, sure. Has to be, right? I mean, if it’s not the truth, what else would you call it?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure I even know what’s real or true anymore. Do you?”
“Maybe not,” I admit, pulling her against me once more. “But I also don’t know what the hell you want from me right now, so…”
“I think I just want you to help me forget,” she says after a moment. She sniffles a little and rubs her cheek against my shirt and I’m pretty sure she’s wiping tears from her face in the process.
“Forget what?”
“I dunno—the last ten or eleven years, perhaps?”
“Jo…”
“Look, Carter, let’s not play games. I know I hurt you, all right? I know there’s no coming back from that. So, I’m not asking for a second chance, because I know I don’t deserve one. And I’m also not expecting to get a do-over, because this is the real world and that kind of thing doesn’t happen here. But, I guess I was hoping that, just while I’m here, we could, I dunno…”
“We could what? Sleep together? Act like we’re still fake married and you’re home from school on a break? Pretend we’re a couple?”
“I mean…yeah?” she says, looking relieved and hopeful—like she has no idea what she’s asking for. Which…Fuck my life. I guess she really doesn’t know.
“Do you honestly think that’s a good idea?” I ask gently. Because I sure as hell don’t; I think it’s a terrible idea.
“Why not?” she asks. “You’re not seeing anyone, are you?”
“No. Come on. Do you really think I would’ve kissed you like that if I were?”
“Well, me either. So, who would it hurt?”
And I can’t answer that—I mean, I could . But I can’t. I can only shrug and shake my head. Because the real answer, the one I can’t give her; is me. It would hurt me . Which, unfortunately, doesn’t mean that I’m not gonna give in and do it all the same. Because fuck yeah, I want that, too. I always did. I never stopped.
Being fake married to Jo was easy enough in the beginning. We made a good team. We spent most of that first summer working hard to convince the entire town that we were actually married—and succeeding all too well. We even had a fake ceremony, with flowers and rings, and got someone to take pictures to further our claims. Looking back, that was probably when the line between truth and fiction began to blur for us as well.
At the end of August, Jo went off to school, as planned. I stayed home and worked at the farm and dreamed about starting my own restaurant—hopefully, someday, in the not-too-distant future.
And we…dated other people. Just like we said we would. I never asked her what she was telling her partners about me, or if she was even mentioning me at all. I didn’t really want to know. On my part, however, all of my hook-ups were well aware that I was a “married man” and not looking to get seriously involved.
It wasn’t until the following year that things began to slip sideways. Jo and I had been keeping in touch on a more or less regular basis. We called each other (on average) a couple of times a week, texted almost every day, sexted when we were in the mood to. When I could get the time off from work, I drove out to see her—but that was a lot less often than I would’ve liked.
My parents had found out, fairly early in the game, that we were married, which shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Why I thought we could keep it a secret from them is a mystery to me now. They hadn’t taken it well. As my boss, my dad could certainly have let me have more weekends off, if he’d wanted to make things easy for us. Apparently, he’d rather punish us for being, in his words, dumber than a box of rocks.
Jo’s trips home were more infrequent than mine, and a lot more irregular. She rarely planned her visits ahead of time and almost never called to tell me she was on her way. Mostly, she’d just show up at my trailer late at night, which occasionally led to somewhat awkward encounters—like the one that occurred nearly two years into our pretend marriage…
I hadn’t heard from Jo in almost a week, at that point, which generally meant she was hooking up with someone new. I was feeling pretty salty about that, if you must know; and more than a little sorry for myself. So, on Friday night, I let himself be picked up by a woman I’d slept with a couple of times the previous year. Nancy followed me back to my place—because I was and am a selfish bastard; I didn’t want to inconvenience myself if there was a door number two to choose instead.
I’d taken off my shirt within minutes of getting home because the AC had been off for the few hours I was gone, and it had gotten hot. Nancy had removed her jeans—either to get more comfortable or to show off her legs, which (I have to admit) were well worth showing off.
We were lying in bed, just starting to mess around, and yeah, I was into her. It wasn’t pretense; I was definitely DTF. I mean, she wasn’t Jo, but she was here, half-dressed, in my bed—all things that Jo was not—and I really had not wanted to be home alone tonight. But all the same, when I heard a car pull into my drive, I paused, mid-kiss, to listen. Headlights arced across my bedroom wall, and my breathing stalled. I lifted my head and waited.
The familiar tread of Jo’s feet on my front porch, brought a smile to my lips. My pulse kicked up as she let herself into my house and called out, “Honey, I’m home.”
Nancy gasped and whispered. “What the hell? Who’s that?”
“That,” I told her, “Would be my wife.”
Jo pushed open the bedroom door, causing Nancy to squeal as she dived off the bed, fumbling for her jeans.
Jo paused in the doorway, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Oops,” she exclaimed as her gaze met mine. “Is this a bad time?”
“You know,” I replied as I crossed my arms and glared at her with mock annoyance. “You could occasionally think about calling ahead of time just to let me know you’re coming.”
“But I wanted to surprise you,” she said, grinning mischievously.
I huffed out a laugh. “Oh, yeah? Well, mission accomplished. You sure did that. Nancy, this is Jo, by the way. Jo, Nancy.
“Hi. I’m just gonna head out now,” Nancy said, as she sidled toward the door.
I nodded in agreement. “Yeah, sorry. That’s probably for the best.” Because, after all, what other options were there?
“Bye,” Jo said, waving at Nancy as she passed her on the way out. “Sorry you can’t stay.” Then she turned to me and said, “Well…she seems nice.”
I rolled my eyes. “Cut the crap, Jo.”
“What?” she demanded. “I am sorry—sort of. And she does seem nice.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What, am I cramping your style, or something?”
“Yeah,” I told her. “You are. So why don’t you get your ass over here and make it up to me?”
Her smile turned wicked once again. “I could maybe do that,” she said as she quickly stripped out of her clothes.
I took the opportunity to shuck off my own jeans and caught her around the waist as she jumped into my bed. I settled her on top of me, straddling my lap. As she bent to kiss me, I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close and then holding her in place while I plundered her mouth.
“You’re not really mad that I’m here, are you?” she asked, a little breathlessly, as she broke away from me.
“’Course not,” I told her, sitting up to nuzzle her neck. “I missed you. I’m glad you’re here.”
“Good,” she said as she slipped out of my hold. She wiggled down the bed until she could take my cock in her mouth, mumbling words I couldn’t really understand, but that sounded a lot like, “I missed you, too.”
I groaned in appreciation as she took me deep. The heat of her mouth, the swirl of her tongue, the way her cheeks hollowed as she sucked me hard—it was a matter of minutes before I was begging her to grab a condom, to take me inside, to let me have her.
As she rode me hard, I took her mouth in another kiss and slid two fingers between us to stroke her clit. She broke first, crying out softly, the walls of her cunt pulsing around me as I grabbed her hips and pumped into her. Hard. Fast. Deep. I wanted to prolong the pleasure forever, but I couldn’t even last another minute. Her name blasted from my lips as I came and came and finally collapsed, boneless and exhausted.
“So, what made you decide to come home this weekend, anyway?” I asked a few minutes later as we cuddled together, in a sweaty, wrung-out heap of entwined limbs.
My question was met with silence. For a worrying amount of time, she lay still and quiet, her face averted.
Until, “Jo?” I prompted, twisting my head to look at her, then cupping her face, urging her to meet my gaze. “What is it? What’s going on?”
She huffed out a breath, squeezed her eyes closed and said, “I’m sorry, Carter. I don’t want to do this anymore.”
My breathing stalled. I silently cursed myself for having forced this confrontation. I couldn’t have just gone to sleep, could I, and left well-enough alone? “Do what?” I asked hesitantly.
“I don’t want to date other people,” she replied, biting her lip and peeking up at me nervously. “I mean, I don’t want either of us to.”
“That was your idea,” I reminded her, still too shocked to be relieved.
“I know,” she said, nodding in agreement. “But we weren’t sleeping with each other then, so it was the only logical thing to suggest.” She shrugged and added, “But now…”
“Now we are,” I said, finishing her sentence.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“So, what are you saying? No more open marriage?”
“No more open marriage,” she agreed, in hopeful tones.
“Thank fuck,” I groaned as the tsunami of relief that had been building within me the last few seconds finally crashed over me.
“You don’t mind?” Jo asked, giggling a little as a surprised smile broke across her face.
“C’mere,” I said, finally finding the strength to move. I pushed her down into the bedding and levered myself on top of her. “Let me show you just how much I don’t mind having you all to myself.”
“So…what would this look like,” I ask now. “How would we even ‘pretend to be married’ after all this time? What would it even entail?”
“Maybe we could just tell people, if they ask, that we’re thinking about getting back together?” Jo suggests.
I shake my head. “That’s sounds like a really bad idea.” The last thing I need is for her to leave—as she will—and for the entire town to go back to treating me like a pathetic, grieving fool. Which, to be fair, was pretty much what I was, last time around. “How about we don’t tell anyone anything? We’ll just keep it to ourselves and try and keep our relationship on the DL. And if anyone asks, we’ll lie and say nothing’s happening.”
“All right,” she agrees. “If that’s what you want.”
“Absolutely,” I say. It’s not even remotely what I want. But it’s the best I’m going to get. And that will just have to do.
Jocelyn
Back in the very beginning, when Carter and I were just starting to become friends, I used to fantasize about being his secret girlfriend. Back then, the idea of having to sneak around to see each other seemed romantic—in the same way that doomed, tragic and ill-fated did. Now it just seems toxic and dysfunctional. It feels wrong, and I low-key hate it.
Then again, I hate everything about my life right now. I know it’s still too soon for Vi to be diagnosed with post-concussion syndrome, but her symptoms are alarming. I really can’t see them magically disappearing in a couple of days. It breaks my heart to see her so helpless and confused. There’s no possible way I can leave here while she’s like this.
On the other hand, I’ve talked to her nurses, I even called one of her doctors—I know it’s possible she might be like this for weeks or months or, God forbid, years. I’m not sure where that leaves me, other than majorly fucked.
I mean, logistically I know I’m lucky. I hadn’t exactly planned on becoming unemployed last month, but my boss was a major narcissist, so it was always a matter of time—and I prepared for it. I have no real responsibilities elsewhere; so, I can afford to stay here as long as I’m needed. I’m not even worried about finding work in town, if I have to, since I’m sure Carter’s restaurant isn’t the only local business that could use an assist.
But what kind of life would I have here? Being secretly friends with Carter was a thrill at fourteen. Being secret fuck buddies now? That’s a whole ’nother story. That’s only tolerable because I know Carter. I know he’ll provide the emotional support I need right now.
I just wish I’d’ve remembered that when I’d needed to. Maybe then I wouldn’t have made the biggest mistake of my life…
I’d been out of school for several months, living with Carter—still pretending to be married—and chomping at the bit for my next adventure. When I received a job offer in California, I was ecstatic. I was so ready to leave town. Carter…really was not.
I think that’s why it was so easy for me to fuck things up, to jump to erroneous conclusions, to assume he’d stood me up. Deep down inside I knew the real reason he was coming with me was because I’d dangled the right, organic carrot in his face. He wasn’t moving to California because he couldn’t bear to be without me, he was embarking on a pilgrimage to the cradle where the farm-to-table movement had been born.
I’d spent the night before we were supposed to leave at Vi’s house, visiting and reminiscing, and packing up my childhood bedroom, even though Vi insisted it wasn’t necessary.
“You always have a home here,” she told me. “If ever you need one, for as long as you need it—I told you that when you first moved in, you know. It’s still true, even if you are all grown up now.”
“I remember” I sobbed hugging her tight. “And I’m not leaving you . I just…”
Vi patted my shoulder. “I know, dear; I know. I was your age once myself. You need to make peace with yourself, to see a little of the world and find your place in it.”
“I wish Carter understood that,” I told her. “I don’t think he’d be leaving Heartwood at all, if I wasn’t making him.”
Vi nodded. “Maybe not. He’s always been more dug in here than you ever were. Hopefully it will work out for you both. I think it could be good for him.”
“Yeah, assuming I can even get him in the car,” I quipped—not really meaning it.
But then, the next morning, when I arrived back at our trailer to pick him up, it didn’t seem funny or unlikely. Carter was nowhere to be found. His bags weren’t packed, the refrigerator hadn’t been emptied, calls to his phone went immediately to voice mail. I even drove by his parents’ house, but no one was home there, either. Or maybe they just were, and they just weren’t answering the door.
It was all too, too familiar. Too much like the drama surrounding my parents’ divorce. I felt like I had been here and done this before. It hadn’t been fun the first time and I wasn’t enjoying it much now either. But I could read the writing on the wall. And, much as I hated the idea of leaving without him, what else could I do? Should I wait around for someone to show up and tell me I wasn’t wanted? No. Fuck that. Not happening.
His family had never really warmed to me, which was understandable, given that I was pretty sure they thought I’d somehow tricked Carter into marrying me. Ludicrous, I know, but he refused to set the record straight. And I could only imagine how much pleasure they’d derive out of telling me to get lost.
I was not having it. So, I put my phone on mute, put my car in gear, and headed for the coast. I did text Vi when I got there—once—just to tell her that I’d arrived safely, and that I’d be in touch; but after that I was too busy getting my new life in order to bother checking messages from my old life. By the time I did, by the time I realized the magnitude of the mistake I’d made, it was much too late to fix things—even with a phone call. Even if I flew home and threw myself at Carter’s feet, there was no way we could pick up where we left off.
It was over. At least that’s what I told myself. Carter’s father was dead and buried. And as for any future relationship with Carter? I figured I’d nailed the coffin shut on that myself.