Chapter 12
Cody
The buzz of my phone vibrates against the mattress.
I reach out in the dark, my eyes straining against the screen. The name flashes in white text. Toria.
A knot tightens in my stomach. I look down at Rain, her shoulder bare, her breathing soft and even against my side. Only an hour ago, I was holding her close, telling her I wanted to let myself fall in love with her. The guilt hits immediately.
I slide my arm out from under her with agonizing slowness, my chest tight as I try not to disturb her. I crawl out of bed and pad across the dark room toward the far corner, keeping my footsteps light.
I press the phone to my ear. "Hello?" My voice is rough, thick with sleep.
"Cody? You need to come," Toria's voice carries through the line, breathless and sharp. "I'm back. I'm at the hotel, and everything is a mess. When do you come?"
I look back at the wide bed, at the quiet silhouette of my wife. The conflict rips through me, tearing at the promises I made just hours ago.
"When did you come back?" I ask, my voice dropping to a whisper.
"Yesterday," she says, her tone desperate. "I need you here, Cody. Can you come right now?"
"I can't right now. My wife is here."
A pause stretches over the line, heavy and suffocating.
"You promised you would always be there if I needed to escape," Toria whispers. "I don't know what to do. Are you really choosing her over me now?"
"I don't know, Toria. You left," I say, the old defensive shield rising in my throat, though the history we share still pulls at me.
"Please," she says. "Just come tomorrow. I need to see you."
I rub a hand over my face, the weight of the past crushing the fragile peace I just built in this house. "Tomorrow. Five."
"Five PM?"
"Five PM," I confirm, the words tasting like ash on my tongue. "I'll book a flight."
"Thank you," she breathes, her voice softening. "I've missed you so much, Cody."
The words hang in the dark air. I glance back at Rain, my heart racing. It feels like a betrayal to even form the syllables, the effort making my throat ache before they can slip past my teeth.
"Yes. I miss you, too," I murmur.
"Bye," she whispers, and the line goes dead.
I lock the screen, returning the room to shadow.
Just as I turn, a small sound catches behind me, thin and swallowed, gone before I can place it.
I go still, straining to hear it again. Nothing follows.
I tell myself it's the house settling, old wood shifting under the weight of the night, and I almost believe it.
"Rain?"
No answer. I step closer, the friction of my feet against the dark wood sounding too loud.
"Rain," I call again, my voice tense.
I reach the edge of the bed and look down.
She is perfectly still, her face turned toward the window, her shoulders rising and falling evenly.
I reach out, my fingers tapping her shoulder gently, testing the weight of her sleep.
She shifts a fraction of an inch, letting out a low, groggy murmur. "Mmm?"
She doesn't turn around. She doesn't speak.
I pull my hand back, relief washing through me. Thank God she didn't hear. I can't even begin to comprehend what she would think of me right now, after everything we said tonight.
The mattress dips as I settle back onto my side, sliding under the comforter. I stare at the ceiling, and a persistent whisper echoes in the back of my mind. Having to lie to your wife is bad, Cody. You are breaking the very foundation you just asked her to build.
I roll onto my side, leaving the vast expanse of mattress between us, returning to our old routine.
A few minutes pass. The room settles into stillness.
I am drifting off when the duvet is pulled back.
Before my mind can process the movement, I feel the warmth of her lips against my chest, trailing slow, burning kisses upward toward my face.
I wake fully to the sensation, my pulse leaping as her touch moves over my skin.
I can feel the dampness of her tears hitting my skin.
I open my mouth, some instinct in me wanting to ask what put those tears there, but the question dies before it forms. Her mouth finds mine first, swallowing it whole, and it hits me, distantly, that she timed it that way, like she already knew the question and decided I would not get to ask it tonight.
My hands find her waist, pulling her flush against my chest as I sit up against the pillows. I take over the kiss, hunger driving out what's left of the phone call. My fingers tangle in her hair as her spine arches into my touch.
Our eyes meet in the moonlight. Her gaze holds a fierce affection that strips away my restraint.
We stay like that for a long time, the silence of the room returning as the intensity of the moment settles into a quiet, desperate rhythm.
Every touch feels like a silent conversation, a depth of connection that leaves my senses scattered.
Eventually the heat of the room cools, and we lie there in the dark aftermath.
I hold her against me, our breathing slowing as the air stills. I trace the line of her shoulder, the scent of her skin filling my senses. The reality of tomorrow rushes back, and I force the words out, dropping them into the silence.
"I think I'll be going on a trip this evening."
She goes perfectly still, the warmth of the moment evaporating.
"Rain," I call softly.
"Mmm. So, when will you be back?" her voice is tight, muffled against my shoulder.
"I'll be back in a week," I say.
"Yeah," she says, the nod brief against my skin.
***
The late afternoon sun beats down on the driveway, baking the concrete. The car idles by the curb, the door already open, the driver waiting for me to finish my goodbyes.
I lean down, pulling Samuel and Rose into a tight embrace, telling them I'll see them soon. When I straighten up, my eyes land on Rain standing by the door.
A thick knot of remorse anchors itself inside me, making it hard to find the right words. I can't bring myself to step across the threshold and touch her. I bypass her, turning my head to meet her gaze across the short distance.
I lift my hand, offering a brief wave.
She stands straight against the doorframe, lifting her hand to wave back. But as I look into her eyes, a hollow sensation settles in my stomach. The way she looked at me last night, with those silent tears, plays back in my mind like a warning. Her expression now carries a terrible finality.
It feels like goodbye.
The thought sends a jolt of panic through me.
I open the car door, my fingers cold against the metal handle.
For a split second, I look back toward the house, searching for the strength to turn around, to stay inside the warmth of the home we built.
But the history with Toria pulls at me, and I find myself unable to alter the path.
I slide into the backseat, closing the door.
As the car pulls out of the driveway, I shake my head, trying to clear the images. The memory of the kids laughing, of Rain sitting beside me, fills the quiet interior of the vehicle.
I'll explain everything when I get back, I tell myself, staring out the window at her receding figure. I just need to settle this one last thing.
But as the house disappears from view, a cold fear pricks at the back of my mind.
Someone can only wait for so long.