“So am I. Come with me, baby.”
Her pussy clenched around my cock as I let go inside her. “Oh, God. I’m coming, Jack! I’m coming!”
My stomach bottomed out. I quickly slid my still-twitching dick out of her, covering the head to catch the rest of the cum in my hand. Not that catching the rest in my hand really mattered at this point.
My other hand grabbed her face as I forced her to look me in the eye, but it was still too dark to see clearly. “Laurel, it’s me. It’s Isaac.”
She was silent for a long moment, then she gasped. “Oh, my God... Oh, my God. What have I done?”
Chapter 22
Laurel
Isaac did me a huge favor and left while I was still hugging the porcelain throne in the bathroom, though it did take some cajoling on my behalf. He didn’t want to leave me alone when I was obviously still so drunk and distraught. But he didn’t understand, he couldn’t possibly understand, just how distraught I actually was.
Yes, Jack and I were separated.
Yes, I was drunk.
Yes, I thought I was dreaming about Jack.
Yes, I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted him before.
No, none of those facts superseded the cold, hard fact that I had cheated on my husband. I was a whore.
I woke with my head resting on the toilet seat. I didn’t feel like I’d been asleep long because the numbing effects of the alcohol hadn’t completely worn off. Grabbing the edge of the pedestal sink, I pulled myself upright. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and almost vomited again. Blonde bird’s nest around my head, mascara bruises around my eyes, pink scrape across my cheek. I shook my head as I vaguely recalled doing a face-plant on the porch.
They needed to invent a new word for whatever was worse than a hot mess.
Looking away from the mirror, I turned on the water in the shower. As I began to undress, I let out a pitiful wail when realized I was only wearing the silky mustard-yellow cashmere sweater I’d worn for my birthday celebration. I was naked from the waist down.
I gripped the sides of the sink as I vomited into the basin. My stomach was empty. I had nothing left to give but the bitter bile at the base of my pathetic existence.
I gracelessly tore the sweater off and climbed over the bathtub ledge into the shower. The water scalded me, burning away my tears, disinfecting me. I scrubbed myself raw, my bright-pink skin doing nothing to quell my guilt. I sunk to the floor of the tub, hugging my knees as the shower’s stream battered the back of my head.
Even as the bathroom filled with thick steam, I could still feel the cold sweat that preceded another mouthful of bile rising in my throat. I spit out the bitter yellow fluid onto the floor of the tub and tilted my head back, letting my mouth fill with hot water. I swished it around, then I opened my mouth, letting the tainted mouthwash dribble out the sides of my mouth.
When the palms of my hands began to prune, I knew I needed to get out of the shower, before I disintegrated and went swirling down the drain. I made a half-hearted effort to towel-dry my hair, but I couldn’t be bothered to turn the light on in my old bedroom to search for a nightgown. I didn’t want to face the rumpled sheets.
Instead, I grabbed the wastebasket in the bathroom and dragged my naked body to the guest bedroom. Slipping under the cold sheets, I hugged the covers to my bare bosom and cried. Shivering with cold and trembling with guilt, I managed to fall asleep again without vomiting.
The next time I woke, the sun had risen, casting a buttery glow over the gray comforter and the pine nightstand. Glancing at the alarm clock, the red numbers told me it was 9:21 a.m.
I had no idea what time it was when I took my shower and went to bed. But the mild soreness in my chest muscles and inner thighs told me it couldn’t have been too long after Drea and Dylan left. It took a while for delayed onset muscle soreness to manifest in overworked muscles.
Jack taught me that.
He also taught me that the soreness wasn’t caused by lactic acid buildup in the muscles, as most people assumed. The pain was caused by microscopic tears in the muscle, caused by overworking them or using them in ways they hadn’t been used in a long time.
I couldn’t remember what happened with Isaac very well. All my brain could call forth was flashes of the encounter. My uncoordinated fingers fumbling in the darkness as I tried to find his zipper… The way his erection filled my mouth… Tilting my head back as I rode him… Being rolled onto my back… The pleasant shock as he slid into me… The sheer happiness of finding Jack in my dreams… The unpleasant shock of being awoken by Isaac’s voice… Isaac’s cum dripping out of me as I kneeled in front of the toilet.
Oh, my God. Oh, my fucking God. He came inside me? Was I remembering that correctly?
I leaped out of bed and raced to my old bedroom and snatched up the wastebasket next to the bed. I upended it, but nothing came out. I looked inside and saw only the white plastic bin liner. Maybe he flushed the condom? He didn’t have unprotected sex with me, did he?
No. That didn’t sound like something Isaac would do.
My stomach muscles contracted and the bed swayed beneath me as I realized I didn’t really know Isaac. Not well enough to know if that was something he would do.
“Oh, God.” The pictures on the walls were a dizzying blur as I raced to the bathroom and dry heaved over the toilet for a few minutes.
I needed emergency contraceptives.
Shaky and covered in perspiration, I tried to ignore the splitting hangover headache and intense nausea as I turned on the water to take another shower. I needed to wash away the sweat. Then, I would put on some clothes and drag myself to the drugstore.
It was an excellent plan.
But by the time the hot steam filled the bathroom, I began to feel as if I were suffocating. I tried taking deep breaths despite the tightness in my achy chest muscles, but I soon realized I was swaying. I was going to pass out.
I turned off the shower and splashed water all over the floor as I rushed out into the hallway. I gulped the fresh air as if I were taking my first breath. As if I were being reborn.
I sobbed as I used the wall to steady myself. Making my way back to the guest bedroom. I collapsed onto the bed and pulled the covers over my damp body.
I would take a nap. I just needed to rest. When I woke, I would go to Walgreen’s. Just a nap.
Then, a sudden thought occurred to me. I didn’t need to go to the drugstore. This was Portland. I could order my morning after pills to be delivered to me.
Pulling on my bathrobe, I stumbled my way downstairs. I found my phone on the dining table, next to four empty bottles of prosecco and six empty bottles of beer. The sickly sweet smell of alcohol permeated the entire bottom floor of the house.
I snatched my phone off the table and breathed through my mouth as I got myself a box of crackers and a glass of water. Heading back upstairs, I took one careful sip of the life-giving liquid and waited a moment to make sure it wouldn’t come right back up.
When I was satisfied the gurgling in my stomach was mostly benign, I slipped beneath the covers in my bathrobe and opened the Postmates app on my phone. I placed my Walgreen’s order and put the delivery instructions in all caps: LEAVE THE ORDER IN MY MAILBOX. DO NOT KNOCK OR RING DOORBELL.
The last thing I needed right now was to see the face of the Postmates delivery person as they arrived with my pills.
Once I was certain the order had been accepted, I turned off my phone and hugged the extra pillow to my chest. I wanted to call Drea. No, I wanted to call Jack.
I hugged the pillow tighter, wishing madly that it still smelled like him. But it didn’t. Jack was gone. And so was I.
“Laurel, baby, wake up.”
My eyelids fluttered open at the sound of Jack’s voice, and my heartbeat came to a screeching halt when I saw him kneeling at my bedside. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, clutching at the sharp twinge in my chest as I realized I was either dreaming or so dehydrated I was ha
llucinating. I pulled the covers over my head to avoid any further torturous visions.
“Baby, look at me. Are you hungover? Do you need me to get you something?”
“Stop it. Please,” I begged my traitorous mind to stop playing tricks on me.
“I know I fucked up by missing your birthday, but I explained everything in the email. Did you read my email?”
My eyelids flew open as I slowly pushed the covers off my head. Jack was kneeling next to my bed, wearing a black long-sleeve T-shirt with the words Professional Asshole written in white block letters across his chest.
My entire body began to tremble. “Is it really you? I’m not dreaming?”
He chuckled and the sound stopped me cold. It was that gruff familiar tone that made my skin ache. I screamed as if I were being murdered, then I tossed away the covers and launched myself at him. Throwing my arms around his neck, I almost knocked him over.
He laughed harder now. “I guess that means you’re happy to see me?”
“Yes,” I whispered through my tears. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”
The warmth of his solid arms buoyed me so I felt weightless. I was actually floating. Jack had stood up, lifting me off the floor.
“I’ve missed you so fucking much,” he said, burying his face in my neck. “I’ve been a total fucking idiot, but I swear that’s over. We got him, baby. It’s over.”
The word “him” made my body tense. “What do you mean? Who got him?”
He gently set me down on the floor and looked down at me with confusion in his blue eyes. “You didn’t read my email?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t checked email for a couple of days.”
“Drea didn’t tell you to check your email?”
I blinked. “I very vaguely remember her telling me she sent me a gift card. I think she did tell me to check my email for the gift card, but I’ve been pretty hungover.”
He smiled and the sight of it made me ache in the deepest parts of my soul. “I can see that. The whole place smells like a frat house after a kegger.”
My shoulders slumped. “I think I drank away my sense of smell.”
He took my chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted my face up so he could get a good look at my face. “Did you sleep?”
I squeezed my eyes shut as images from last night’s encounter flashed in my mind. “Yes,” I whispered. “I slept a long time and I took another nap. I feel much better. Just a little thirsty.”
He kissed my forehead and grabbed the glass of water off the nightstand. “Drink some of this and we’ll get you some Gatorade on the way home.”
“Home?” I repeated the word as if he’d spoken a foreign language. “But you said you wanted a divorce.”
He fixed me with a quizzical expression. “You really didn’t read my email?”
“I was busy with birthday stuff,” I replied, slightly agitated at his disbelief. “I haven’t checked my email since the day before yesterday.”
He let out a soft sigh and sat on the edge, patting the mattress for me to join him. “Sit. There’s something I need to tell you.”
I stared at the space next to him as if it were a confessional. But Jack was not my priest. He was my husband. He wasn’t obligated to forgive me, just as I wasn’t obligated to forgive him for leaving our marriage in the dust a few weeks ago.
While I had betrayed our marriage, Jack had given up on it. Which was worse?
I sat on the bed next to him, thankful that his body weight made him sink farther down, the force of gravity pulling me toward him against my will. He accepted me into his arms and we sat like this for a long time. Maybe whatever Jack was going to tell me was worse than what I’d done, and that was why he needed time to work up his nerve.
He burrowed his nose in my hair and inhaled deeply before he loosened his hold on me so he could look me in the eye. “Last night, I was in Idaho accompanying the Boise PD and their SWAT division on a call. A murder suspect had barricaded himself in his home and was shooting at officers through the windows.”
My breathing quickened. “A murder suspect?”
He nodded as he realized I understood what that meant. “They’re running his DNA against the unknown male hair they found in our house, but… It’s him, baby. We found him.”
I clutched my fist against the sore muscles in my chest. “He’s in custody?”
The excitement in Jack’s face fizzled out. “He’s dead. He shot himself before he could be taken into custody.”
“Why do you not look happy? I thought that’s what you wanted. Did… Did he kill someone else?”
He shook his head, but the regret in his face did not dissipate. “It’s a lot more complicated than that. And I promise I will tell you all the details. But right now, I want to talk about you. Drea told me you’re working on an app.”
The proud smile on his face brought tears to my eyes.
“I am. I’m working on a couple of apps.”
He reached up and brushed a tear from my cheek. “I always knew you’d do great things.”
“It’s a drinking game app,” I replied, laughing through my tears.
“Is there anything more noble?” he asked with the most gorgeous smile I’d ever seen.
He was back. The Jack I fell in love with died in that bathroom two years ago. But somehow, miraculously, he’d been resurrected. The hardness in his eyes was wiped away, replaced with that familiar gleam of confidence. The note of cynicism in his words had been replaced with hope.
“Come here,” he murmured, pulling me close again. “I’m so sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry for every day I wasn’t there for you.”
I sniffed loudly. “You’re not the only one who should be apologizing.”
“I am today. I’m the professional asshole, remember?” he said with a chuckle as he let me go so he could get down on one knee.
“What are you doing?”
“I promise I will never again go a day without making it known that you’re my world,” he said, grabbing my hand and planting a soft kiss on my knuckles. “I will be the man I promised to be when I stood on that altar five years ago. I will love you and protect you for the rest of my days. I will hold you when you’re hurting. I’ll be your light in this dark and fucked-up world.” He clenched his jaw and gave my hand a gentle squeeze as he seemed overcome by a wave of emotion. “I know I’m not perfect. I know our hearts have been broken beyond belief.
“But I also know that you’re my best friend, and the only woman strong enough to pull me out of the darkness and tender enough to handle my heart.” He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his phone, and turned the screen toward me to show me a photo of a field of grass surrounded by tall evergreen trees. “I just bought this sixteen-acre parcel in Sherwood. It’s pretty close to Intel, so there should be a large pool of tech talent for us to start a new business together.”
“But what about Kent?”
He shook his head. “I’m done with Halo. Larry’s already negotiating my buyout package. Let’s do something meaningful. Together.”
Larry Goodman was Jack’s attorney. If he was having Larry negotiate his buyout package, he was serious. Jack’s stake in Halo was worth at least $300 million.
“So this plot of land is to build an office building?” I asked, somewhat confused.
He laughed as he tucked his phone into his back pocket. “No, I’ll get an office near Intel. The land is for us to build a house, or two.”
“Two?”
“Well, we’ll need one for us and maybe… one for Drea and Barry. Barry’s leaving Halo and coming with me. I want to rebuild our home together, from the ground up. And I want you to choose how many bedrooms we have… for the kids. Happy birthday, baby.”
I covered my face to hide what was surely a hideously potent ugly-cry.
He chuckled as he pried my hands from my face and placed a soft kiss on each of my cheeks. “And you can build as many greenhouses as you need to create the right con
ditions to grow these.”
He reached into his other back pocket, then handed me a small ziplock bag no bigger than the palm of my hand. The bag was filled with a few dozen seeds. And the sticker affixed to the outside of the bag read: Middlemist Red.
I closed my fist around the bag to minimize the trembling in my hand. “But these don’t grow anywhere outside the UK and New Zealand,” I blubbered.
He grabbed my face and brushed his thumbs over my cheeks as he spoke softly. “If anyone can make those seeds bloom, it’s you.”
He took the seeds from my hand and placed the bag on the nightstand next to my box of crackers. Then, he pushed my knees apart so he could get closer.
He planted a tender kiss on the tip of my nose, and fixed me with a fierce gaze. “I haven’t told you this enough over the last two years, but you were, without a doubt, the best mother Junior could have hoped for.”
I wanted to wrap my arms and legs around him and squeeze tightly, the way I often used to do on lazy Saturday mornings. I would pretend to be too tired to get out of bed so he could carry me out of the bedroom. He’d usually set me down on the kitchen counter and allow me to be the official taster as he made breakfast.
Could I just coil my arms around him and turn back time? Could I pretend that the last few months never happened? Could I really keep this kind of secret from Jack?
I needed time to weigh the consequences. I couldn’t make this kind of decision on an empty stomach. And suddenly I was ravenous.
“I’m hungry,” I said the words aloud, surprising myself as much as him.
His hands had been resting on my hips, but he slid them forward and grabbed the tie on my bathrobe, giving it a soft pull. “So am I,” he murmured.
My body flooded with every good chemical it had on tap as he slowly opened the robe to expose my left breast. He laid his cheek against my nipple and it puckered as he brushed his stubble over the firm flesh. My breathing quickened as he slid his hand inside the robe, his thumb grazing my right breast as it skimmed past it, landing on the middle of my back.