Chapter 25
I n the morning Lainey and Dexter woke twined together like a broken Slinky, his legs with her legs, her arms with his arms, her hair in his eyes, mouth, and ears. It was hard to know where one ended and the other began. Not that they would have cared, except for the incessant pounding.
They didn’t have the long, snuggly slow wakeup both of them had envisioned when they thought of this moment. Instead Lainey did a pushup, using Dexter’s chest as the springboard and he clutched the headboard so he wouldn’t topple out, bashing his head in the process.
“Burglespot,” Lainey murmured, squinting.
“Whabby?” Dexter returned, rubbing his head.
“S’pounding for?”
He sat up, closing his eyes against the pain in his head. If the skull was supposedly so thick, why did it hurt so much to bash it on something? “Pounding?”
Lainey lay back down and wriggled into the blankets, a sleepy puppy who had already forgotten the pounding that Dexter could no longer ignore.
“It’s coming from your half,” Dexter said, putting his hand on her shoulder to shake her.
“Fix it,” she mumbled and he realized he would have to because it wasn’t as if he could kick his wife out of bed to answer what was clearly a deranged person incessantly pounding on her door.
He slid out of bed and threw on his pants, tossing Lainey a regretful look. His bed might not be as comfortable and welcoming as hers, but it felt so with her in it. Maybe that was the key, not the mattress or the blankets or the comforter, but the warm and soft little wife who made him never want to leave.
He jogged down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Now that he had identified the source of the pounding, he wanted to make it stop ASAP. For that reason he opened his own door, not bothering to go through Lainey’s apartment to open hers.
“Yo,” he said before he even saw who it was. Not that he would have known what to say in any scenario when Ian swiveled to look at him, looking deranged and unhinged.
“I need to talk to Lainey,” he said.
“She’s asleep,” Dexter said.
“I’m not leaving until I talk to her,” he said and resumed pounding on her door, now calling her name.
“Stop,” Dexter said. He was used to handling men with overblown emotions, it was part of his everyday work with The Russians. This felt different somehow, and he finally realized why: his emotions were overblown, too. The sight of this man, calling Lainey’s name and pounding on her door, made an unrecognizable rage begin to simmer inside him. He had his chance, and he blew it. As far as Dexter was concerned, the cards were off the table, and so was Lainey.
“Lainey,” Ian called, pounding harder. “I know you’re in there.”
“I told you she’s in there. I also told you she’s asleep.”
“I want to hear it from her,” Ian said, now sounding desperate. “I want to hear her say that she married you, even though she loves me. Because she does, did you know? She told me so, and then a week later she married you . How does that make you feel? Because it makes me feel pretty bad.” He swiped a hand under his nose. His hand shook, and his eyes were bloodshot, leading Dexter to believe he was hungover. Whatever he did last night had led him to this moment, meaning Dexter should cut him some slack, a hard fact to remember when all his arrows hit their marks.
But before he could fathom a reply, Lainey ducked beneath his arm and spoke. “Ian?”
Ian dropped his hand and stared at her, shell-shocked. Apparently despite the fact that he’d requested her, he couldn’t quite believe he’d actually conjured her. “Lainey? You look so pretty.”
She did. In fact she looked beautiful, tousle-haired and bed warm. She wore her Albert Einstein sleep shirt, and it was much more revealing than Dexter remembered, barely covering her underpants. He resisted the sudden urge to tug it down because nothing on display was Ian’s to look at. And yet here he was.
“Thank you,” Lainey said gently. “Ian, this is not a good time. We have our reception tonight.” She glanced up at Dexter and, with a flush, quickly looked away again.
“You can’t go through with that. Lainey, come on ,” Ian said. “This is me, okay?” He thumped his chest. “We’ve been heading somewhere for the last decade. You can’t just let that go, you can’t let us go.”
“We weren’t together,” Lainey said.
“But you told me you love me. You told me. How can you just not love someone anymore?” Ian demanded.
“You didn’t want me,” Lainey said, which was not the rejoinder Dexter was hoping for, but he’d take it.
Ian swiped his hand over the back of his neck. “I needed time, okay? You know how my brain works. I thought…I thought we’d let it lay a bit and circle back eventually when I was ready. I had no idea it was an ultimatum, that it was then or you’d marry this…” he waved toward Dexter, apparently unable to think of an adjective bad enough to convey the depth of his loathing.
“It wasn’t like that,” Lainey said, now twisting her index fingers together in misery.
“Then what is it like? Because the Lainey I know wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t tell me she loves me and marry someone else. So what is this? What is going on? I think I deserve to know.”
Lainey squeezed her eyes closed and pressed her fingers to her temples. “Ian, I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t want to hurt you, don’t want to hurt you, but I cannot have this conversation right now, not today. Dexter and I have our reception tonight and it’s a big deal.”
“I don’t care,” Ian yelled.
Lainey opened her eyes. “I do. And Dexter does. And I’m not going to mess it up for him, I owe him that.”
Dexter flinched. What did that mean? Was she still thinking of their contract? Would she follow through, down to the last detail, and let him go? What about last night? Was it only because he was there and Ian wasn’t? He swallowed hard, feeling sick, feeling used . Would he have to do the walk of shame to his office?
Lainey took a steadying breath. “Please go, please. We’ll grab a coffee and talk when cooler heads can prevail, all right? Are you okay to drive?”
Ian nodded, looking wobblier than his assurance credited, and turned toward his truck. Dexter and Lainey watched him go in silence. When he was fully out of sight, she turned and faced Dexter, leaning on the doorframe behind her.
“That was an eventful way to wake up. Sorry. Would you like some breakfast before you go to work? I can make eggs.”
Eggs? What was she talking about? He didn’t want eggs; he wanted answers. He wanted declarations. He stared down at her, trying to fathom a reply. Long practice meant his face revealed none of his thoughts or emotions, and he worked hard to keep his tone even, too, when he answered.
“No, thank you. I’m going to get an early start. Lots to do today, The Russians are leaving early to set up the party.”
“Oh.” Maybe he wasn’t as good as he thought at keeping his pesky emotions under wraps because she was doing the blinky thing she did when her feelings were hurt.
Get in line, he thought. His feelings were hurt, too. He’d had the best night of his life, with the woman who happened to be his wife, and yet he couldn’t enjoy it with the unanswered question between them. Who did Lainey love? Which one did she want to be with for the long haul?
“I should go,” he said, his stupid hand reaching out so it could touch her hair. He wound a piece around his finger, staring at it.
“Okay,” she said, voice soft, big eyes still watching him. “I…I have some deliveries to make this afternoon. Maybe it would be easier if I met you at the party.”
There was a question in there, but he didn’t know what it was. And he certainly didn’t know how to answer. He felt like he was supposed to say no, that he would pick her up and they would drive together, but it didn’t seem like the sensible thing when she had things to do.
“All right,” he agreed.
She looked disappointed, but why? He was out of his element, over his head. All the usual tactics—being calm and reasonable—were failing him. What was left?
He had the sudden vision of himself bestowing the Kiss To End All Kisses, grabbing her, pressing her against the doorframe, then carrying her back upstairs. But of course he didn’t do that. Could he even carry her all the way upstairs? Doubtful. And it felt wrong to kiss her with Ian’s breakdown still hovering between them. Still, though, he stared at her lips as he waited for her to speak, wanting, yearning. There was a word he never thought he’d use to describe himself. Before he met Lainey he would have said it only applied to proper Victorian maidens. But it was the only word that could describe this persistent and unending ache inside him. He yearned for Lainey to fill the Lainey-shaped hole she’d created in his heart.
“So I’ll see you tonight,” the pretty lips said. “At the party.” She tapped his shoulder and then she was gone, disappearing from view as she went to her side of the house and shut the door.
“See you,” Dexter said, hand held aloft in a suspended wave. He formed it into a fist and stared at it, debating the merits of beating himself to a pulp for his newfound helpless stupidity.