It was a mistake to text him. I block him right after he says he loves me—no you don’t, you don’t know what that word means—and then I spend an hour watching and reading porn, trying to get myself off so the post-orgasm release will trip me into sleep.
It’s fucking rude that Luke’s affair has ruined some of my favourite smut subjects, too.
There’s no point raiding Sam’s cupboards for booze, either, because he doesn’t have anything. I find a single serving bottle of cheap champagne that’s covered in dust and undrinkable when I open it.
I hope he never wonders where that bottle went, because tomorrow I’ll find a better place to stay. I can’t stay here much longer without him figuring out I’m here, and…I’m not reading for that. As it stands, I’m already a creeper for letting myself in without telling him I’m there.
On the other hand, I know this apartment like the back of my hand. I helped Sam buy it, desperate to get him out of our place.
I thought Luke and I would be able to get back on track once we had our private life back.
I was wrong.
After pouring the bad sparkling wine down the drain, I steal a cheese stick from the fridge and go back to bed.
My second attempt at a desperate orgasm-to-sleep strategy works better.
When I wake up, it’s mid-morning, and my phone tells me it’s time to go back to the studio.
I made a long to-do list yesterday. I hate every single item on the list, don’t want to do any of it, but I’m a professional.
It’s time to get shit done for Future Grace, who will be very upset at me for making life even more difficult for her down the road if I don’t pull myself out of this pity party.
After putting my bedding in the washing machine, I make Sam’s spare bed with fresh sheets and go out to get a late breakfast.
When I walk past my car, parked on the street, I do a double-take because Luke is parked behind me. He’s slumped behind the steering wheel, wearing an old hoodie from university.
He looks like a stalker.
He’s acting like a stalker.
I throw my hands in the air and glare at him as he gets out of the car. “What are you doing here?”
“You blocked my number.”
“I didn’t want to talk to you.”
“You texted me.”
“A mistake.”
“I just wanted to see if you were…” He trails off.
I’m not okay. I wrap my arms around myself and shiver.
“Are you going to the studio?”
“Yes.” Eventually.
He glances at my car.
I could get in, but then I’d lose my prime spot, and I need to come back and put the sheets in the dryer after breakfast.
“After I get some food,” I mumble.
He turns and looks down the street, toward the hub of restaurants and shops not far from Sam’s place. “Can I join you?”
“No.”
His face falls.
Walk away.
But all I see is the sad, lonely boy in the cafeteria at dawn, studying his ass off.
No pity.
I wish I was smart enough to take my own inner advice. I sigh. “You know what? Sure. You can buy.”
His face lights up and I’m already kicking myself. But when he falls into step right beside me, and the tight vise on my heart eases a little, I can’t help but feel like this is okay. Not good, not great, but okay.
We’ve been married a long time. Together even longer. It’s going to be complicated to untangle our lives, and we don’t need to do it at DEFCON 1.
The first restaurant we poke our heads into isn’t busy, so Luke asks for a booth at the back. The server drops menus when she seats us, and promises to return with coffee momentarily.
It takes her nearly ten minutes, and they’re the longest ten minutes of my life. Luke makes small talk, which he’s not good at in the best of times. He asks about the show again, and I dodge the topic.
He brings up some book he started reading that morning about recovering from an affair, and I change the subject. I’m sure he just read the back of it and assumed he was the expert. That’s how he rolls through life.
Why did you ever love this man? An excellent question, followed immediately by my insides rolling over as another thought flashes through my mind. It’s going to take some time to fall out of love with him. I’ll teach myself how, it’ll be a fun project like launching my art career.
Because he can’t read my mind, he’s never been able to do that, Luke chooses that same moment to inch his hand closer to mine. I can feel the phantom warmth of his touch against my skin even with inches between us.
Traitor, I want to hiss at him.
Instead, my fingers flex, then flatten on the tabletop.
When I look up, his gaze is locked on my ring finger, which has been bare for a long time now.
He pulls his hand back, dipping it into his pocket, before pulling his own ring out. That’s better than mine, I guess. I vaguely try to remember where my ring even is, which is an easier thought to grab on to rather than really thinking about why he brought his ring to see me.
The platinum band spins on the table between us.
“I know we haven’t worn these in a few years…” His voice catches on the last two words. Has it been that long? I guess so. Time flies when you’re miserable and numb.
I don’t remember which of us took it off first. I do remember why, though.
“Why didn’t we break up three years ago?” I ask abruptly.
Luke’s face clouds over. “Because we love each other.”
I laugh. It’s the only reasonable response.
“Come on, Grace,” he mutters under his breath as the server finally makes her way in our direction.
We’re both silent as she pours coffee and takes our order.
As soon as she’s gone, Luke leans across the table. It’s not fair, he’s big enough he can get close to me without trying. “I want to fight for us. Fight with me. Tell me what I need to do.”
I shake my head. “I’m just here to eat some food before I go to work. You tagged along.”
He lets it go, and we eat, but after, as we back to our cars, he’s practically vibrating. I know he’s going to try again, and I just want to get to work.
I’m tired. He looks tired, too. This is not a good idea.
Don’t, I say in my head, which is how I have most conversations with him, apparently, because I’m exhausted just imagining saying half this shit out loud. Instead, I burrow deep inside myself and imagine what my life would be like if I hadn’t sat next to him in the cafeteria and told him I thought his answer the day before had been really good, actually.
Grace Dunn, propping up Luke Preston’s fragile ego from day one.
I unlock my car from a few feet away, and reach for the door handle.
Luke steps forward and puts his hand on the car, the same way he’d tried to block me leaving the bedroom yesterday. I glare up at him. “Don’t do this again.”
He ducks his head and mutters something.
“What?”
“I just want you to fight for us.”
It's the way he repeats the same pathetic plea he made in the restaurant, like we hadn’t agreed to let the conversation go. It makes my head explode. Fight for us. That's all I've done for the last twenty years. I have protected him, I have protected his family. I have loved him when he is the most imperfect man ever.