Chapter 11
JJ
Flying in to see Franklin is a risk. He doesn’t like surprises, but had I told him I was coming, he would have said no. At least this way, I’m not going against his wishes, and he can’t be angry for disobeying him.
It’s my own fault for his bad mood, anyway, so I can’t blame anyone but me. But I’m here now. I’m with him. I’m trying. Which is more than I can say for him.
The new shiny pair of cuff links I bought him as a gift sit on the kitchen island untouched, the dark blue velvet box hardly noticeable on the black countertop.
I stare at them across the room from my spot on the couch, needing something to ground myself, to keep myself calm, so I don’t fling myself off the rooftop.
It would be a long way down from here, forty-one floors up.
Franklin’s expensive shoes clap against the shiny floor as he comes out here from his bedroom, fixing his sleeve—inserting a pair of cuff links I’ve never seen before. I bring my gaze back to the blue box and take a deep, steadying breath.
“You should have told me you were coming, Jericho.” He smooths his shirt down before checking his phone and putting it face-down on the counter.
I glance at my phone in front of me—face up.
“I wanted to surprise you,” I say flatly.
We both know that isn’t the case. My goal wasn’t to surprise him. It was to catch him off guard.
It seems each time I speak with him, it gets harder and harder to pretend I’m happy.
“You know I don’t do surprises.”
No, not unless it’s a birthday party I’m not invited to, like the one that was thrown for you over the summer; the photos splashed all over the internet for everyone to see how happy and excited you were… without me.
Yeah, except for that.
“I was hoping we could spend some time together.”
“And had you asked to come, I’d have told you my schedule, Jericho. You know I’m busy.”
Asked. Not told. But asked. Schedule time with him like an investor or customer and not his husband.
“I could go with you,” I offer, ignoring the way my stomach is churning.
He scoffs. “What has gotten into you? You know how this works. This isn’t what we do.”
Not by choice.
I nod like I understand, like I haven’t been bending myself into this shape for years just to fit beside him. Like wanting more from him—a normal marriage, what was promised to me—is a phase I should’ve outgrown by now.
I’m the one who always forgets the rules, who always fucks up.
I thought showing up here would mean something, even if it was small, and even though I should know better by now.
This isn’t the first time we’ve done this song and dance, and yet I keep expecting things to be different every time I do it.
Definition of insanity, right?
Being with my husband in the light isn’t something I’m allowed, even if it was what he promised in the beginning, and multiple times throughout these fourteen years. And it’s starting to feel like I’m not allowed to be with him at all anymore.
Things change, he says. I’m a different man now. In a different position. It has to be like this. And it works for both of us, Jericho. Your job keeps you busy, too.
But we don’t have to be like this. We could be happy, like we once were, all those years ago. Deep down, we are still the same people. But by staying with him, I’m agreeing to this arrangement that I fucking hate, but put up with, anyway.
“Why are we still together, Franklin? You don’t even like me.”
I’m not sure where that came from, but he looks at me like I’m a disappointment.
“That’s a dramatic thing to say, Jericho. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care about you. But you’ve always needed more than I do.”
That hurts more than it should, and I can’t think of a single thing to say back.
Franklin picks up his phone, sighing as he turns to face me. His light-grey gaze meets mine in a stern stare.
“I have to go.”
He heads toward the door but stops and turns to face me again.
Hope blooms in my chest, and I wonder if he’ll let me go with him after all.
I have clothes here. A suit I could put on in record time.
I’d go, just to spend time with him, just to be near him and remember my husband for once—the good parts of him.
The way it used to be, how it should be still instead of what we are.
Hell, I’d be okay with an apology right now.
Something along the lines of, “that was harsh. I’m sorry.
Let’s figure things out.” But of course, I get nothing like that. Not even close.
“Jericho,” he says, taking a step closer to me. “We’ve built something good. Something stable. Don’t let your emotions get in the way.” He turns and leaves, making me feel two inches tall—which is what he’s good at.
The moon is high in the sky, not quite full but bright. I lean on the glass edge of Franklin’s private rooftop pool and look at the city below.
I think back on all the decisions that got me here, wondering which one would have made a big enough difference to change the trajectory of my life. It all goes back to the same thing.
That one nuclear event in my life. That one horrific day.
The day my parents died.
Everything stems from that day.
If I could go back and change that one day, my entire life would be different. I would be a different person. I wouldn’t be this broken, weak man constantly pretending he’s fine all the time.
Sometimes I think she’s better off, not having to deal with him anymore.
Other times I just want her around. Most days I’m grateful he’s gone because I can’t imagine how I’d feel if I still had to deal with him—if I knew he was living and breathing the same air as me, getting three meals a day, television rights, socializing, and everything else people get to do when incarcerated…
while my mother’s body lay cold in the ground. It’d drive me mad.
Franklin is one of the only people who know what happened that day, one of the only people I’ve ever opened up to about it.
I’ve told him more than I have told any of the therapists.
My brothers and I don’t speak about it, even though we experienced it together.
Maybe being vulnerable and spilling my darkest thoughts and secrets to a man who didn’t deserve them was stupid…
but I thought he’d be there for me. He promised he would.
I didn’t realize his being there had a time limit, though.
I didn’t realize I’d run out of the amount of support my husband would give me.
I mean, I flew thousands of miles to see him, and yet I’ve never felt further away. And though I’m torn about him, about what to do and how to feel, I can’t stop thinking about someone else. Someone… so very different from Franklin, who came into my life and somehow keeps showing up.
Would Franklin even care that I hooked up with someone else?
Of course not. He’s hinted that he’s okay with me doing so, though I know that was mostly a benefit to himself.
He needs to let off steam, and since I’m in Chicago and he’s here… well, it’s just sex, Jericho. It doesn’t have to mean anything.
He’s warned me to be discreet, well before the first time I hooked up with someone else. And I don’t miss how he casually brings it up, every now and then. Like it’s no big deal, something as simple as talking about the weather.
I’m not blind. I see the way he plays me. Really, I do, yet… I always turn a blind eye to it, because what else am I supposed to do? He’s my husband. I chose him. I married him. I got on this flight, thinking maybe if I saw him, things would change. That I would be harder to ignore.
Miles wasn’t close to the first person I hooked up with, and he probably won’t be the last. Though it did take me a lot longer to allow myself the permission to do that than it did Franklin—that I’m sure of.
Guilt ate at me for years until I learned that those few moments I’m buried inside someone can be good. I can feel something still.
This is the life I’m destined for. I should probably be used to it by now. I should stop hoping that things will be fine the way they are and accept that this dark cloud is my cross to bear.
Only the darkness of my life doesn’t seem so dark when I think about Miles.
About that bright light that radiates from him.
Pure sunlight and happiness, so bright that it bursts through all the shadows in my heart and my mind.
And it’s not intentional. He just… does it.
Without even trying. There’s just something about him that lightens my mood and makes the air around me less heavy when he’s around.
I shouldn’t be thinking about him, especially not while I’m in my husband’s pool, about to go inside and lay in our bed.
That one word hits me harder than it should.
Our bed? When has it ever been our bed? Since he moved here, we’ve never shared the bed together.
None of my things are in his room; he keeps my stuff in the spare closet because he says he needs room in his for all his things since he lives here full-time, and I don’t.
There’s no space for me. Not here, not back home, or anywhere in between. Because I take up too much.
I’m just an obstacle for him. I’m only in the way when it comes to Franklin—an obstruction in his way of life—yet I’m too weak to say or do anything about it. I can’t give up on this because I gave up on her. I won’t do that twice in one lifetime.