36. Audra #2
I turn towards the hallway and practically run to my room, feeling his hot gaze on my back the entire time.
My body is screaming for him to come after me.
To drag me back into his arms. And dammit, so is part of my mind.
I don't slam the door, but I lean my back heavily against it the moment it's closed. Fuck.
I lean my head back; the sturdy wood is anchoring me. My heart is beating against my ribcage as if screaming, I've had enough. Let me out.
Shit. My hands reach up to my face. What have I done?
Ever so slowly, my body sinks lower, toward the ground, until my ass hits the floor. Still leaning against the door, I let the tears flow.
What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?
The words run on repeat in my brain, keeping it busy enough that the rest of the truth hits only partially, one thought at a time.
I feel like I betrayed Pete, as stupid as it sounds.
I was going to leave him. I would have had sex eventually.
But that's just it. Eventually is a long way from what just happened.
Here I am, having sex and… the time of my life, while he just died a horrific death. What kind of person am I?
But yet, with Gabe, I feel like I can breathe. He's seen the worst of me. Has heard the worst parts of my life, and he still sees me.
I've been playacting for the last six years of my life. Playing the role of the docile little wife and liking it. And I did like it. I liked it just fine until… until I got arrested.
Now, I could put all the blame for that on Annette.
If she hadn't invited me to that stupid party.
If I hadn't gone, yada, yada, yada. That's not it, though.
That person I was pretending to be for the past six years?
That wasn't me. She was a defense mechanism that stuck for longer than she should have due to unfortunate circumstances.
Mom getting sick and having to live with us didn't help any.
Not that I blame her. No. Not at all. This is all me.
This is all on me. The night of the purse party was just a catalyst, a catalyst that could have started at any time.
Deep down, I know I would have tried to break free.
One way or another. I can pretend all I want that I never would have hurt Pete, and I know I would never have wanted to hurt him.
But at some point… I would have. I know that.
Maybe not now. Maybe not even in a year or two, but it would have happened.
Maybe it would have been different if we had kids.
Maybe that would have been enough adventure for me.
I'm pretty sure it would have settled some of my restlessness, anyway. We didn't, though.
So, now that I can face that truth…
I take a deep, shuddering breath. Now I have to face some others. A knock interrupts me.
"Not now, Gabe," I call.
"It's me." Mom.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and somehow manage to get on my feet to open the door. She steps in. Takes one look at me and folds me into her arms.
"Oh, sweet child. It'll all be okay."
Something breaks in me. It's been so long since Mom held me like this.
Since she was the one comforting me. I notice how fragile her little body is in my embrace, remembering that she barely weighs a hundred pounds, with clothes and shoes.
But for the first time in a long time, that thought is secondary. Secondary to my misery.
She leads me to the couch by the fireplace—a freaking fireplace. In Vegas. In a guest bedroom—where we sit down, me, still enfolded in her arms.
"It will be okay, Audra. Trust me."
I let out a disbelieving snort. She pats my back. "I know you feel bad. You feel like you betrayed Pete."
I nod against her chest. She's got that right. It's not just a feeling, though. It's a fact.
"Look, I loved Pete, you know I did. He was like a son to me." She sniffles.
I believe her. In her way, she did. "But he's gone," she adds just as quickly, like it's a simple conclusion. "And you… You're still here."
My chest tightens.
"You can sit in that grief for ten days or ten years, sweetheart, it won't change a thing." Her hand moves up and down my back in slow strokes. "The hurt will still be there. It'll take as long as it takes." Her voice softens into something almost coaxing now.
"What you do in the meantime?" A small shrug against me. "That's entirely up to you."
Her words make my stomach twist. Is she right?
"You have every right to have some fun. To be with another man."
Fun? The word feels wrong. Out of place. Like it doesn't belong anywhere near Pete's name.
"Mom…" I murmur in weak protest.
"Who cares what people say?" she continues with her unfailing mom logic. "Those people aren't living your life. They don't matter. They'll judge you," she continues, almost amused. "Of course they will. That's what people do. So what? Do you need them?"
I don't answer. I have a feeling I know where she's going with this.
"Who are you worried about, anyway?" she goes on. "Pete's mother?" She scoffs. "Oh, please. According to that woman, you'd have to grieve for the rest of your life. Never remarry. Never be happy again."
That stings. But it is not entirely wrong.
"And the people at that clinic?" she adds. "The ones who'll probably fire you because life got in the way? Those people?" Another scoff. "Not exactly the moral authority I'd worry about." Her arms tighten around me slightly.
"I won't judge you, sweetheart," she says, softer now. "Pete just wasn't the right man for you."
Something in me recoils. Even if I don't fully understand why.
"And even if he was," she adds with a careless shrug, "he's dead."
The words hit like a slap. It takes effort not to react. I know she means well. She's just very, very straightforward. Her parents were German. The kind of people who always tell you the truth, no matter who it hurts. If you ask any of them for their opinion, you'd better be prepared for the truth.
"Mom," still, I try to protest, pulling back just enough to look at her, "the funeral wasn't even a week ago."
She just shrugs again. Completely unfazed. "As I said… time is relative." Her gaze flicks—just briefly—toward the door. Toward the rest of the penthouse. Toward him. Then back to me. Slow. Knowing.
"You can grieve alone," she says lightly, "or in the arms of a man." A pause. A faint, satisfied smile. "A powerful man."
And there it is. Not just comfort. Not just permission.
Something else. Something that has nothing to do with Pete and everything to do with her comfort.
She never approved of Pete's and my lifestyle.
Why would you settle for him, Audra? An accountant?
She asked in the beginning. She didn't like Pete at first. Called him a loser.
Her tune only changed after she moved in with us.
After she was fully dependent on me and the loser.
That's when Pete became the apple of her eye.
Because, let's face it. As far as providing for us, he was the better choice, what with his banking job.
That's my mother in a nutshell.
However.
She may be all about self-preservation, but I do know that in her own messed-up way, she loves me. Plus, she's the only one I can bounce my worries off right now.
"Thanks, Mom. I'll think about it, okay. But Gabe told me something last night."
She tilts her head. I have her full attention.
I fill her in about seeing him at the police station; she already knows about my arrest, and unlike Pete, she thought it was hilarious.
But I've never told her, or anyone, about seeing Gabe there.
I fill her in about the purse. About him sending the invitation to the ball.
She looks thoughtful. "Sounds like he's been obsessing over you for a while. Audra, you deserve a man who thinks the sun rises and shines only around you."
A sad smile plays along my lips. "Pete did."
She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, he did." She admits. "But Pete wasn't Gabe."
No, definitely not.