Chapter 7
SEVEN
Alex
When the sun breaks over the mountains on the eastern side of the lake, I stand slowly. Feeling…different. Better. Not happy, but not like I might die under the weight of my mistakes.
And she did it.
She stands with me, giving me her softest smile that shows no teeth, just a turn of the lips that shifts the dusting of freckles across the apples of her cheeks.
The sun’s rays dance off her curls as we turn to head back towards the house. This time with her leading, I watch her ass sway as she traverses the uneven ground.
Torture.
It would be agony living like this. It wasn’t the plan to open up to her. To be close to her. But at the moment, it’s all I want. To be close to her.
But I’m not supposed to be.
I’m supposed to be mourning Jess. The guilt claws its way back to front and center. With each step we take away from the cove, the weight of that guilt grows. It feels as if by the time we get back to the house, this weight will be a tangible thing upon my chest. Worn like a scarlet letter.
‘Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t come visit.’ But why the fuck am I feeling guilty when those were her final words to me?
She doesn’t want this, Alex. Not you. Let it go.
I have to find a way to let it go. And burying myself deep in my wife feels like the best idea I can think of.
But she’s right that I would regret it. I’d regret letting go of the pain and letting myself feel even just a second of joy. I already regretted letting her take me in her mouth because I didn’t deserve it.
I don’t deserve her.
And there lies the source of my regret.
Maybe if I’d met her at some other point in my life, everything could have been different. But maybe I never would have given her a second look. Because without being broken, I wouldn’t need her so desperately to fix me.
When we get to the clearing beside the garage, the unofficial trailhead, she turns to stop and wait for me.
“Can you take me somewhere today?” She asks. I nod. “I think it would be good if I had a car, so I didn’t have to ask you guys for rides and stuff…”
“Do you want me to just get you a car?” She shakes her head.
“No, I can use what you gave me to buy one.” I’m already shaking my head, though.
“No, that’s money for you to save. For you. I’ll go with you… Or Blanks will, and we’ll get it.” Her brow wrinkles slightly.
“I appreciate that, but I need it to be in my name. It’s…important to me.” I give her the same look of confusion.
“And it will be.”
“Okay…” She lets it roll out seemingly against her will. If I can do nothing else right, I can take care of Emma’s needs. She should want for nothing while she’s here.
There’s a small instinct inside me, willing me to make some kind of gesture. A hand on her shoulder or arm, a hug. But then there’s reality. My boots feel too heavy. She feels too perfect, and the closer I let myself get to her, the more corrupt and less perfect she’ll become.
I want to keep her a certain way in my mind and reality. And the more I touch her, the more muddied she would be. So I keep my distance and bypass her to walk towards the house. She doesn’t say anything because she’s not expecting anything either.
When we walk inside, I can feel it. The difference. The absence.
“Blanks!” I shout into the expanse of the main floor, hearing only the sound of the kitchen faucet in response.
Seething, I walk past the great room, discovering what I knew to be true, then on and into the kitchen.
“What’d you do with it?”
He shrugs nonchalantly, “I took care of it.”
“Where is it?” I practically yell. He doesn’t respond. He never engages when I get like this. I fume, standing in the kitchen, over the missing gifts. The bottom of the tree empty. Barren. The stockings hung on the mantel. Gone. Her fucking high chair. Missing.
“I didn’t ask you to take care of it,” I hiss, but he stands there stoically, broad, taking it.
“She’s not fucking coming back,” he says eventually, breaking the tension. Breaking me.
I want to throw or hit or anything, but light shuffling has me halting when I remember Emma behind me.
“Take Emma to get a car today. I can’t be here.” I watch his face twitch with anger and see Emma step uncomfortably from one side to the next.
I should apologize for the outburst, but instead, I walk away and far. Opting for the trail up the mountain, I hope a small little hope that I never see this house ever again.
Emma
“Do you always just take care of him?” I ask Blanks, who loads a glass into the dishwasher, his back to me.
“Someone had to do it.” He dries his hands while turning around to face me, then leans back against the large, apron front sink.
“Should we have waited till Christmas morning? Opened them even though they were addressed to someone else? Done it after Christmas? Fuck that’s depressing.
I did him a favor by ripping off that bandaid. ”
I arch my eyebrows, pursing my lips together, “Well, alright then.” I take my jacket to the mudroom, hanging it and the beanie I was wearing on an empty hook.
“So, where were you two love birds this morning?” Blanks asks the second I’m back in the kitchen. He immediately grabs a clean mug when he sees me turning towards the coffee maker, filling the cup for me.
“Uh, we just went for a walk.” He watches me, my movements, my face.
Passing the cup to me, he says, “You fucked, didn’t you?” It’s not crass, just matter of fact.
“No, we didn’t.” He laughs, but the chuckle has no warmth behind it.
“He turn you down, then?” My cheeks flame at the inference.
“No.” My business, and Alex’s business, is none of his. “Are-are you jealous?” I stutter out.
He leans forward, crowding my space, then does something that has my panties twisting. He fists the front of the sweater I’m wearing, the material disappearing in his massive hand, and he drags me closer to him.
“Not how you’re thinking, Angel. We’re leaving in an hour. Be ready.” He releases the fabric, and I sway backward, no longer inches from his face.
“Okay…” I whisper when he stalks out of the kitchen.
Having a sister or a best friend could be really fucking helpful right about now. Or just anyone to talk to at all.
I’m still thinking about the gesture and confused as hell about it as I blow dry my hair post-shower, setting it back to straight.
Is he jealous of Alex spending time with me? Or me spending time with Alex? I was insinuating the latter. The closeness they share…The never-apart thing… But maybe…
No.
It’s confusing. Being here. Surrounded by them.
The hand on my leg. The fist in my sweater.
His length on my tongue. Oh god, I won’t make it through the day unless I take care of this.
Setting down my blow dryer, I lean against the freestanding bathtub ledge.
In only my bra and underwear, I watch myself in the mirror as I slide a hand down, feeling the smooth, freshly shaven skin heat under my own touch.
I’m wishing, dying, for it to be someone else’s, though. I tip my head back when my finger pad brushes my clit, massaging. But it’s not enough. I want pressure, I want movement, I want to be fucked like I’m someone’s one and only other half.
That’s the only way I’ll take it; otherwise, it’s not worth it.
I turn, straddling the edge of the tub, letting my panties pull tight between my lips, and I thrust my hips forwards, the fabric tugging at my pussy, and my inner walls contract.
I rub my clit and think about him holding me down.
I think about that fist in my hair and not my sweater.
I think of him slipping into my bed at night to do lewd things with me.
I rock back and forth across the tub ledge and rub my clit with a prayer: let me have someone. Give me someone, please. “I’m begging you…” I say softly to the universe.
As the heat in my pelvis grows, my inner thighs turn taut, and I rock forward once more, my chest jutting out. My nipples strain against the lace fabric of my bra, and I ride the high.
I turn to look in the mirror to watch myself come undone when his eyes meet mine. Fucking asshole. But I don’t stop riding it out, fucking myself as best I can all alone. Though not entirely alone.
With my thighs and walls clenched tight, I can feel the rush of wet heat. Fuck! Yes!!! The thrill of an audience sends me somewhere that’s eluded me before. I want to scream, but I hold it.
When I’m done, I slide my hand out of my panties and lick the pads of my fingers clean while he watches me.
Fucking eat your heart out.
Saying nothing, I swing my one leg off the side of the tub to head to the water closet.
“Five minutes, Angel,” he says to my back as I walk to the toilet. I hold up one hand in a one-finger salute as I retreat, and I hear a faint chuckle.
Sitting beside him in the car should probably be embarrassing for me, but I’m not. He should be embarrassed for not looking away.
He leans across, taking the seat belt out of my hand, and buckles me in, the gesture confusing me.
“For the record, Sweetpea, I’d never leave you begging afterward.” I turn my head to face him, and with him leaning over to slip the buckle in, his face is just millimeters from mine. Our mouths would touch if either of us so much as exhaled.
He removes his hand from the buckle when it clicks into place, and my heart skips a beat. Moving his fingers up to my jawline, he drags his tongue across the tip of my nose simultaneously.
I-I don’t even know what to think about it. I think my mouth hangs slightly open, and he looks down at it, then in my eyes, but remains silent.
After that, he turns away, fastening his own seatbelt, and then starts the black sedan.
“So, what kind of car are we getting?” He does that a lot. Uses “we” to reference to us. It’s so fucking surprising and sounds way more intimate than I think he even realizes it does.
“Probably the same thing I had. A Honda Civic.” He laughs at me.
“That’s a no.” I turn to look at him as we pull out onto the main mountain road.