chapter 21
Gus
Voices carried from the front porch, along with Decca’s keys jingling in the lock. I fisted my hands in anticipation while pacing the kitchen floor.
I hadn’t seen her in days. I was used to seeing her face, listening to her routine in the morning, which started with a multi-step skincare regimen and ended with her tipping her oatmeal pot upside down to let it drain on the dish rack before picking up her ruck sack for a day in the field. I was used to the unpleasantly witchy smell of her indie perfume oil. Frankincense and rose like we used in church, but mixed with something earthy and dark. Even her godawful perfume was starting to grow on me.
Tonight was the night. I hoped. I couldn’t take it much longer, being physically separated from my wife. I was ready. I needed to hold her. To start learning her body and all the ways I could get her off. Needed to bury myself inside her and feel her legs squeeze me. I’d finally decided to believe George and Dad and Decca and God, who’d all thought my hesitation was pointless.
I just hoped this dinner was enough of a date night. I hoped I remembered what to do. What if I forgot what a clit looked like? What if I was too rough? What if I came the second I was inside her?
Well, that last one was a given. I’d just have to find other ways to make it up to her while I rebuilt my stamina.
The door squealed on its hinges as Decca stepped in, dropping her bag with a thud and rubbing her eyes. Seeing her was like putting on my reading glasses after not realizing how long my eyes had been burning. A cool balm that soothed a sting.
The man breezing in behind her, laughing at her joke, was not so soothing.
“Hi,” she beamed at me, bubbly and buoyant despite days in the field of a mass casualty event and hours of travel. “It smells amazing. Gus, this is my good friend Chris. We met forever ago when he did his post grad work at the FAC, and now we work together sometimes on DMORT cases. He does teeth.”
I hated him.
I stretched my hand toward him reflexively, trying very hard to rearrange my face any way that didn’t flash an angry red stay away warning, but I was probably failing. Inside, my primal urges were screaming something completely opposite.
“My boots are still pretty muddy. I’d better not.” He gestured to the mat beneath him, so I came closer. He took my hand and pumped it twice. Warm and not overly firm in a way that was vying for dominance. “Chris Carter. What Decca means is that I consult in forensic odontology. Normally, I’m just a regular dentist.” He smiled, showing off his own perfect set of blindingly white teeth through a charmingly lopsided smile.
I bet his brand of geeky handsomeness went over well with women. Good for him.
The question was…did it go over well with my wife?
“He’s being modest. Chris travels the world solving cold cases. He teaches at the dental school at Tennessee and at the FAC, and in his spare time, he helps with cleft palate surgeries in developing countries.” She held his forearm proudly, beaming at him.
That was it. I was done for. Forever doomed to having an unrequited crush on my wife.
I didn’t want to hate this man and his brilliant smile, brilliant mind, brilliant eyes framed with cool-guy tortoiseshell glasses. Jealousy flashed like a fierce green flame inside me. I tamped down my urge to rip her arm away from his.
I resigned myself to a night spent in prayer to make up for it. In the meantime, I would use every resource at my priestly disposal. I straightened my shoulders. Until I could love him as a priest should, I would pretend to love him as God would.
Sometimes I hated being a priest.
“I invited Chris to stay for dinner. He rented the car to drive us back, since the helicopter that flew us out didn’t stick around to bring us home.” She turned to him, and their eyes communicated something I wasn’t privy to, Decca’s sarcasm hinting at yet another connection they shared. “His parents live in Nashville, so he’s going there after.”
“I don’t want to impose. I can keep going now. It’s not too late. I didn’t realize Dec had a...” He gestured to me as he gave her a reprimanding look. Another thing that highlighted their familiarity with each other. I rolled through the catalogue of every conversation I’d had with Decca, trying to locate the name “Chris” somewhere in my mental files. Was there a reason she’d never spoken of him before? Obviously, they were close. Was he more than just a friend to her? Were they more than friends now?
“Chris, this is my... husband,” she said after an awkward pause. “Father Constantinos Smythe.”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. All the wind had been knocked out of his sails.
Oh, fuck.
They were definitely more than just friends. Or had been at one time. By the look in his eyes—like he was now the one tamping down the urge to drown me in the river (after expertly pulling out every one of my teeth so they couldn’t identify my body)—he’d like to be more than friends still.
“Father?” His voice cracked.
“Just Gus,” I said.
“He’s a Greek Orthodox priest,” Decca said, as if that was all the explanation needed.
“And… your husband.“ He tried to play it off, but from the clench of his teeth, the word was bitter on his tongue.
Ah, the tides have turned, Chris the Dentist.
“Uh, yep.” Decca turned away, kicking her own boots off and ignoring the feral cat atmosphere she’d created. “That’s okay, right, Gus? If Chris eats with us.”
“Of course. There’s more than enough.” Finally, I had the upper hand and could play the magnanimous host.
Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner. More on that later.
“When were you going to tell me you got married?” His voice was higher pitched and light. Good for Chris. He was playing off her betrayal well.
“I thought I did.” She avoided eye contact with both of us. “Take your muddy boots off before you trudge whatever’s on the bottom all over the house.”
Chris bent to untie his laces, but didn’t take his narrowed eyes off her.
“That’s news. That should have been the first thing you said when the chopper picked you up. ‘Hey, Chris, I met and married the love of my life!’” he teased.
“It’s not... I mean, we’re not—” Decca’s eyes shot to me, then down to the floor.
“I can’t believe you didn’t invite me. How did I not make the cut?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The wedding? I thought I was one of your best friends.”
This seemed like something Decca might like some privacy for, not that there was much privacy in the small house. I went to the kitchen to get another place setting for the table. Another glass for the wine. It also seemed prudent to blow out the candles and turn off the music.
“It was a small wedding. Tiny. Only immediate family. His, since I don’t have any family.”
“I’m not family? I thought… Never mind. I’m happy for you, Decca.” He gave her a bear hug. “For both of you. Congratulations,” he said to me when they came to the table. “I’m shocked, and I don’t know how you got her to say yes, but you’ve got a great woman.”
“I know.” I said, looking at my woman as her cheeks reddened.
She pinched her lips together and turned away. I plunked the pot of sweet potato and quinoa chili on the kitchen table and got ready to maintain my composure through what would be an absurdly tense dinner.
Three hours and a six-pack of Modelo later, Chris and I were arguing about college football in the living room.
“Tennessee’s having a good season,” Chris said, coming back in from the kitchen. Even as a bonding event, I maintained a strict two-drink rule and was tapped out for the night. I was satiated—as much as I could be from vegan chili—and among what turned out to be surprisingly pleasant company.
“Season? They’ve played all of two games. Their Swiss cheese defense and a bad running game will lose it for them soon enough.”
“Just one year, during my lifetime, I want Vanderbilt to win the Title.”
“Vanderbilt? Never gonna happen.” I shook my head. “Tennessee might have a chance, though, now Saban’s retired.”
“Nah, Vandy will rise. You heard it here first.”
“Right. I’ll remember where I heard it. Because no one’s ever said it,” I said, leaning back as the ticker scrolled by with odds for tomorrow’s games and the stats and news of lesser sports.
“I didn’t know you liked football,” Decca said over the rim of her wineglass.
I looked at her face, scrunched up in distaste. Chris’ own piqued expression looked from her to me.
“I try to follow all sports. You never know when scores and plays are going to start a good conversation with someone.”
“You ever play?” he asked.
“I played DB in high school.” I shrugged. It was fun, but I didn’t like to dwell on my adolescence very much. I hated who I was back then, and the truth was, I mostly played football to attract girls.
“Kicker. Obviously.”
“You any good?”
He snorted. “Backed up the starter all four years. In the first game I ever played, senior year, I had a punt blocked, came down on the safety’s helmet, and tore both of the CLs in my left knee.” At least he was able to laugh at himself.
“That sucks, man. At least you’re doing well for yourself.”
“What is a DB?” Decca asked.
“Defensive back. Covers the receiver,” Chris said. “Wait, how many Saturdays have y’all spent together? You don’t know he follows football? What am I missing?”
“Well, we—”
“It was kind of—”
We both started to answer at the same time. Both unsure of what to say. I gestured to Decca. Chris was her friend. I didn’t know what story she wanted to go with. Or how far she wanted to go.
“It was a bit of a shotgun wedding,” Decca said slowly, looking wide-eyed at me.
“Shotgun? Are you pregnant? I thought you never wanted—”
“I don’t. I’m not. Definitely not pregnant. Wine, remember?” She gestured to her glass before taking a sip. “We just... met and fell in love quickly, I guess.”
“I thought you’d been talking to him for years now. Gus, from seminary, right? I remember you getting all starry-eyed in the FAC lab when you told me you met the man you—”
“Right,” she said too loudly. “Yes. That... is true. We met a few years ago. Gus is Soula’s brother, so we’ve known each other tangentially for a while now. We just... clicked. Sort of. It was a new thing. We both decided to jump in.”
She took a long swig of her wine. Then another. Giving me a look.
I jumped in to try to save the situation. “It took a while, but when you know, you know, right?”
“Sure.” He didn’t sound convinced. But he was smart. He was playing along, collecting information bit by bit, until it finally added up to something more concrete in his head.
“I’m just... drunk... I guess,” Decca said, definitely not drunk.
He gave her a look that said he wasn’t buying it either, but he wasn’t going to push for more tonight. No doubt they’d discuss it on a phone call when she was at her office.
“Okay. Cool. I guess that’s my cue to head out. Thank you so much for dinner. It was nice meeting you…Father Gus. Would it be alright if I got an Uber to my mom and dad’s place, left my car overnight? It’s pretty late, and I don’t feel much like driving through Nashville, four beers in.”
“Absolutely not. You’re staying here. We’ve got the guest room...” Decca trailed off when she looked at my horrified face.
I’d been living in the guest room. Our cover would be blown as soon as Chris stepped upstairs.
Chris stood. For a moment, I almost let him leave. But basic human decency got to me.
“Please, Chris.” I said. “We insist. Let me just go get the room ready.”
“Well, I appreciate that. I promise to be out of your hair before you even wake up. I’ll even finish the dinner dishes.”
“You’re our guest. I’d never let—”
“I insist.”
I practically dragged Decca up the stairs with me. “Let him do the goddamned dishes. We need to talk.”
I didn’t let go of her elbow until the guest room door was shut behind us.
I flattened my palms against the door on either side of her head. “You didn’t tell him about us.”
“I—” her eyes flicked around the room like she wanted to bolt.
“No. It’s not a question. You didn’t. You spent the past four days with him, working the same case, sleeping in the same sleazy motel, sharing meals and downtime, and it, what...? Never once came up that you’re married?
“Are you mad at me?”
“And married to a priest?”
“It was awkward.”
“Are you fucking him?” I blurted it out. It was none of my business. Sort of. Maybe it was. God, I didn’t know anymore. Good for her if she was. I’d be just fine. George could always pick my cold dead body off the floor when she left me for good.
“Of course not,” she crossed her arms, defensive at first, then immediately she deflated. “Oh, God. Not... anymore,” she said quieter, pressing her lips between her teeth.
I sucked in a breath with a pearl-clutching gasp that I hadn’t intended to be so audible. Shit. I’d noticed the easy way they joked through dinner, the quick smiles and comfortable glances. Even a few, friendly touches. I’d promised myself I’d stop making assumptions. They were just that—friendly. Like how Decca and I used to be before our wedding.
But I was a fool to think a guy like Chris, with his smart-guy glasses and self-deprecating humor, wouldn’t fall for Decca. They were perfect together. Their conversation flowed like a fine vintage. They had such a shared history. He was obviously into her. I could see it all over his face.
He looked at her the way I longed to.
“How long ago? For how long? How many—”
“Are you slut-shaming me now? It doesn’t matter, Gus. It didn’t happen a few days ago, and it’s not happening now. It’s over. Now, instead of having sex with a trusted friend on rare occasions, I’m not having sex at all. With my husband. Are you happy?”
God, the fucking relief that broke over me. Yeah, I was fucking happy. Except for the part that she and I weren’t having sex, but tonight that wasn’t my fault.
“Okay.” I took a deep breath, closing my eyes. “I’m sorry for making you feel.... I just got...” I rubbed the pain in my chest.
“Yeah, whatever.” She crossed her arms.
“What are we doing about tonight?”
She shook her head and gestured to the room that should be the guest room that I’d turned into my room. “I’m following your lead. If you don’t want him to know this is an arrangement, I won’t spoil it. But you probably need to move some of your things around, so it doesn’t look obvious that we don’t share a bed.”
“Is that going to be okay to share your bed tonight?” We’d never slept together. To do so now, because of a stranger… It felt wrong.
“Gus, you’re my husband. I expected you in my bed on our wedding night.”
Her eyes were almost black in the light of the bedside lamp. It was a challenge, her expression read. One I was too cowardly to fully commit to, but maybe, just for tonight, I could give in to that bit of softness.
I looked around the room. It didn’t look too bachelor-pad-y. Except for the bed I hadn’t made that morning, it would easily pass for a guest room/study. I nodded. “I’d like to make this a real marriage.”
Decca’s doe eyes grew wider. Her arms dropped to her sides.
“Around Chris, I mean.”
Something inside her dimmed.
“I know he’s your friend, so you can tell him whatever you need, but...” oh, shit, here we go... “I don’t want to share my wife with another man. Call me selfish, possessive, patriarchal... I realize I’m being all those things. But, Decca...”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry if I’m out of line.”
“You’re not out of line, Gus.” She closed the gap between us, reaching forward to clasp my hands in hers, then sucking in a deep breath and thinking better of it. “You’re my husband. My real husband. Maybe I proposed to you because I thought it would be convenient, but I also thought it would grow to be a real partnership. All the bells and whistles. I have no desire to have a sex friend anymore. And I have no desire to start off our marriage by confirming to any of our friends that we’re a planned arrangement.”
While she spoke, the warmth of her words and tone of voice spread through my chest and blossomed into a fire that nearly engulfed me. Before I thought about it, I pulled her into my arms and folded my body around hers, giving in to the need to cover her as completely as I could. Every inch of her wrapped in every inch of me. I kissed the top of her head, lingering in the contact as I breathed in the scent of her cheap hotel shampoo—different from the usual cheap shampoo she used here because she hated spending money on herself.
I pulled myself away, but an image of gossamer strands still connected us in my mind. Her face was slack. Dazed. Starved for this outpouring of any feeling at all from me. It was so much less than she deserved.
Oh, Crow, just wait for me a little longer. I’ll give you everything you want.
She recovered first. “You strip the bed. I’ll hide your things.”