Chapter 13
Shannon
Things are ramping up with the case Gregor took on after Driscoll was fired, and Serafina and I see even less of him these days.
Since the day of the photo shoot, almost three weeks ago, I’ve stopped fighting. I’ve stopped begging. I’m determined to make my life what I want it to be, others’ opinions be damned. Including Gregor’s.
Hudson has been by the house for the occasional delivery, and it’s still such a rush to see him, even if it’s clear we’re both trying like hell to keep our interactions appropriate and professional.
It’s hard to look at him and not picture his body from that day at the lake, though.
That’s an image that will forever be seared into the folds of my brain.
Each time he arrives wearing a smile, my pulse ticks a little faster and my body responds despite my protestations.
However, it’s been twelve days since Hudson and I’s most recent encounter. Not that I should be keeping track, but with each day that passes, the current number rolls to the next, whether my brain wants it to or not.
But is it the life you want? I hear in my mind.
I’ve finally realized the answer is no. Somewhere along the way, I lost myself to my husband’s dreams. It’s his life I’m living, not mine.
I’ve found a couple of great career opportunities with one practice that offers fifty percent in-office time and fifty-percent tele-health appointments, and one option that is completely online.
After talking with my mom, I think I’d actually like the blend better.
I’ll still need someone to watch Serafina either way, and having the ability to go into an office and engage with other professionals a couple days a week sounds really appealing.
I also opened up my own bank account, and the small steps toward finding my independence again are a breath of fresh air.
I’d briefly thought about pawning some of the jewelry Greg has bought me over the years to give myself a leg up, but that feels like taking a handout, and I want to do this on my own.
Despite the positive changes, I’ve gone back to having trouble sleeping.
I’m stuck in a cycle of timing when I go to bed so I can avoid interacting with Gregor, and I hate living like this.
Even as I slowly claw my way back to a version of myself I know and respect, it’s becoming increasingly clear that my marriage is not following suit.
Turning over in bed in an attempt to calm my racing mind and find a more comfortable position, I notice Gregor’s side of the bed is empty.
Knowing he’s stressed to the max about this nightmare of a case, I go in search of him. Perhaps I can offer comfort or support of some kind. Despite my waning attraction and complicated love for my husband, I’m still his wife.
Climbing out of bed and throwing on my robe, I push aside the nagging voice in my head. The words strike a chord too close to my heart and I don’t want to examine them right now. Are you offering support for the sake of your vows? Or so that when your marriage fails, you can say you did your best?
I pad down the hallway, my bare feet making no sound on the hardwood floors as I descend the staircase. I’m not trying to be sneaky, I’m just a light stepper. The glow from Gregor’s dual monitors filters into the dark foyer.
As I approach his office, I hear his groan and my heart freezes in my chest. Thinking something’s wrong—a heart attack is most likely, considering the stress he’s under—I race into the office only to catch my husband with his dick in his own hand.
His eyes widen when they see me and he quickly reaches for the mouse, frantically clicking to change the screen.
The last strand of hope I had snaps. I don’t even care enough to be angry, and that’s how I know it’s really over for me.
“All I’ve wanted these past few months was for you to let me be your wife.
For months, going on a year, I’ve craved intimacy with you…
only to find you’d rather give it to strangers online.
” My voice is completely devoid of emotion.
I’m sure anger or sadness will hit me at some point, but that point isn’t right now.
He scrambles to shove himself back in his pajama pants. His cock doesn’t even have the decency to deflate after being caught, which is another slap in the face, since whenever he’s with me, he can’t seem to get hard.
“It’s not a livestream, Shan. It’s just videos,” he says, like denying me his pleasure is okay because it isn’t a livestream.
It’s not the video. Hell, I’d be okay if my husband watched the occasional video to learn something new, or sure, to get off if I was out of town, or if he used it because I was so exhausted from all the other sex we’d been having that I needed a break.
Or we could even watch it together if it would help.
But catching him like this? Sitting in the dark at three a.m. after months of being denied while trying to get him to share that part of himself with me?
No, it’s not just the video. It’s not just that he’s masturbating.
It’s that he’s purposely cutting me out when this is the part of him I’ve needed the most.
I wish I’d caught him with his secretary.
That’s a definitive line in the sand.
But this?
I can’t help but hear others’ voices in my head. She left him and gave up everything just because she caught him watching porn? She obviously overreacted.
But there’s no way anyone can understand how deeply this cuts me. And fuck their opinions, anyway, I remind myself.
“I’ll be in the main floor guest room tonight,” I say, turning to go.
“Shan, wait,” he says, hopping up and moving swiftly around the desk.
I spin and hold up my hands. “Gregor, you will not touch me right now. We’ll deal with this in the morning.”
“Babe, let’s talk. I have to leave at five to prepare for that deposition.”
“Then we’ll talk about this at some point, but not right now.”
“Come on, Shannon. It’s just a little porn.”
“Do not come on Shannon, me. Do not make this my fault. I’ve been the perfect wife, presented the perfect image, given you the perfect daughter. And all I wanted was your attention and some genuine affection in return. But here you are, spilling onto your own hand because you won’t let me in.”
“Christ, Shannon, I just wanted it to be quick. I was working and needed to relieve a little tension. I didn’t want to drag it out and—”
“And actually make an effort?” I snap. “It wouldn’t matter, anyway. I’ve been the only one to make an effort lately, and I can tell you, it doesn’t work. Goodnight, Gregor.”
“Shannon, for fuck’s sake, can we just go to bed? I have to be up early and I can’t handle you being mad at me on top of everything else I have going on.”
Right. Because once again what’s best for him is the only thing that matters.
“You know what? I need some fresh air. I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back by the time you leave.”
“A walk? It’s three in morning and dark out, Shannon. Be reasonable.” Gregor chooses this moment, when I literally just caught him with his pants down, to scoff at me yet again.
“That’s what they make flashlights for, Gregor.” There is no snark behind my words, just a flat tone of truth.
I walk out of the office and head back upstairs toward our room to get dressed.
Although my breathing is steadier and I no longer feel like lashing out, I know only a walk at the small sandy beach by the lake will calm my broken heart. Only the inky blackness of the depths of the body of water can soothe the ache.
Armed with a flashlight, my phone, and a jacket, I drive the short distance to the public access. I walk for a while, the ends of my hair whipping around my shoulders in the wind. My heart rate has slowed, the tears have come and gone, and now I’m just exhausted.
As I approach the access point to head back toward the parking lot, I’m lost in my thoughts when suddenly an arm reaches out and grabs me by the waist.
I scream, thinking I’m about to be mugged.
“Shannon, shhh. It’s okay, just breathe. It’s me…Hudson.”
Just breathe.
I don’t know if it’s the realization that I’m not about to be kidnapped or if I’m so happy to see Hudson outside of work that I lose my sanity, but I turn and jump into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist and bury my face in his neck, sobbing as my broken life falls to pieces around me just as I was starting to put them together again.
He cups the back of my head, holding me to himself as I wrap myself tighter around him, like a python squeezing its prey.
“Shhh. Hey. I’m sorry I scared you. I’m fishing and you were about to walk right into my lines,” he explains into my hair.
Inhaling through a sob, his scent permeates my sadness. I don’t know if it’s his deodorant or his detergent, but the man smells wonderful.
Realizing I’m not getting down anytime soon, Hudson walks us to his chair. He grips my torso with his forearm and grabs my thigh with his free hand to unhook my legs from his waist.
Thinking he wants me to get down, I start to detach myself when he stills me by popping his hips forward so he can pull my other leg through. When he sits, my ass is on one of his thighs and my legs are draped across his lap like a child.
“Shannon, what happened?” he asks, causing me to pull back and take him in.
His backwards hat has my stomach in knots, along with the stubble of a growing beard. That’s new.
As I take in the beautiful sight that is Hudson Goddorah, he uses his hand to brush strands of my long hair off my chilly, exposed face.
I don’t know how to explain without sounding crazy and when I open my mouth to try, I end up taking a different route entirely. Running a hand over his jaw, I keep my eyes fixated on the same spot. “I like this.”
“Shannon.” His voice sounds like a plea as he closes his eyes. It sends a shiver down my spine.
“Can I kiss you?” I ask, moving one of my hands to cup his face, seemingly drunk on his presence. I’m starved for affection, and I’m so hurt from Gregor’s most recent rejection that I’m prepared to seek that affection elsewhere. Hell, I want to seek it elsewhere.
But Hudson places his hand over mine and pulls it from his fevered skin. “Slow down, baby.”
Baby.
Not babe. It’s one letter, but it makes all the difference. Babe sounds so platonic. Like the PG version of endearments. Baby, on the other hand, is possessive, and God do I love him for using it right now. “Tell me what you’re running from,” he encourages, searching my eyes.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of what I think about you,” he says not unkindly.
And I begin to open up, letting the words rush out of me like a torrent of water plummeting over the edge of the falls.