“You don’t know me. You met me, bought me drinks, but you don’t know me, so don’t start giving it. . .”
“What about tonight? Are you gonna be safe tonight?” I cut in.
She lets out a huff, rolls her eyes, and tries to pull away but I hold her in place.
“Don’t roll your eyes and behave like a brat. I’m worried, I want you safe.”
“Look, thank you for being worried. . .” She licks her lips and her eyes finally meet mine as she trails off.
“I’m still not happy about you going back there. Come home with me. I have a spare room, a sofa, a huge fucking bed.”
Her head’s shaking before I even finish.
“I need to go home tonight, there’s stuff I can’t get out of the house till he’s out tomorrow. I’ve got this.” She moves her hands from her side and rests them against my pecs. I’m only wearing a long-sleeved T, and the heat from her palms feels good as it seeps through the fabric to my skin. I notice she’s not wearing a wedding ring, which instantly reminds me of the bruises around her wrist and why that is.
“He has an early start tomorrow. As soon as he’s out the door, I can grab what I need and be gone. I’ll be all right. I wouldn’t be going back there if I didn’t think it was safe.”
“Why can’t you just go back tomorrow, once he’s gone?”
“Because if I don’t go home, he’ll come looking for me. I don’t want him banging on my mates’ doors at three in the morning. Besides. . .” She shakes her head before continuing. “All of my personal documents and all of the cash that I have are in the safe. It’s some state-of-the-art thing we had installed last year. It’s connected to an app, and we both get alerts on our phones when the safe’s opened.”
“Documents are replaceable, and I can lend you money.”
Looking as cute as fuck, she gives a small laugh and shakes her head.
“Gabe, seriously dude, you’ve known me what, all of three hours?”
“I don’t fucking care, I don’t want you going back there. . .”
“Lauren, move your arse,” Jo calls out from the front of the taxi line.
“I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow once I get settled at Jo’s, I promise.”
I blow out a hard breath, not happy with this arrangement. Before she can pull away, I lean in and kiss her gently on the mouth. It’s not the hot, passionate kind of kiss I’d like to be giving her, but I hope it conveys enough of what I’m feeling.
“Go.” I smack her arse as I relinquish my hold. “Call me tomorrow, Little Ren.”
With her hands buried in the pockets of her leather jacket, she turns back around and faces me. Walking backwards, she asks, “Little Ren?”
“Lau Ren. . . Wren’s are birds, really little birds, you’re a little Essex bird. . .” I hold my arms out to the side, palms up facing the sky, and shrug. “I don’t fucking know, it made sense in my head.”
Jesus, I sound like an idiot. I have no idea where I pulled that from, but my regret at having to possibly revoke my man card is short-lived when she gives me a smile and calls out, “Gabe?”
“Yeah?”
“I like it. I really like it. Thank you. Thank you for tonight.”
The indigestion returns and I rub at my chest as I watch her turn back around and run to her mates.
“Just make sure you call me.”
I stand and watch as she climbs into a cab with Jo, the remaining two women get into the ride that pulls up behind them. When they pull away, I decide to walk home along the esplanade and attempt to get my head around everything that’s happened tonight.
Chapter 9
Lauren
Relived to see my bed is empty when I get home, I quickly head into the ensuite, remove the remnants of my makeup, clean my teeth, and climb into bed.
My entire body is vibrating, and my thoughts are a jumbled whirl.
He kissed me on the mouth. Gabe, he kissed me. And it wasn’t just a little peck. He slid his hand into the back of my hair and held me in place. There were no tongues, just lips, but he held on to me like he didn’t want to let me go. Another man put his mouth on me, and I allowed it. It felt good. Better than good. After so long without affection, for a very brief moment, the tender way his lips brushed mine, made me feel wanted, desirable, normal.
I’ve been married to the same man for twenty-four years; we’ve been together for almost twenty-seven. I won’t claim to have never looked at another man or wondered what it would be like with someone else because I’m only human, and that would be a total lie.
Wondering is a bit different from wanting, wishing, and doing though. And tonight, all of those things happened. I wanted to go home with Gabe, I wished I’d left Jay sooner, and I did let Gabe kiss me.
If I needed any more proof that my marriage was truly over, surely tonight’s actions proved it?
Despite how deliciously gorgeous Gabe is, I need to set him and everything that was said and shared between us tonight aside for the time being and focus on getting my life into some kind of order once I move out of here tomorrow.
Despite my good intentions, the memory of that kiss is the last thing I remember as I finally drift off to sleep.
I’m dragged from sleep by the sensation of a hand pushing its way inside my sleep shorts. I know it’s Jay before I even open my eyes. The unmistakable scent of his after-shave, shower gel, the soap powder and fabric softener I wash his clothes in, all combine to make up a smell that used to bring me comfort. A smell that meant safety, love, home. It’s a smell I’ve spent most of my life happily bathed in. But now it’s mixed with something else. There’s the strong odour of alcohol that’s for sure, and something else my sleepy brain can’t quite pin down.
“Take your clothes off, Loz.” Jay’s rough whiskers scrape the tender skin of my neck as he burrows his face into the space between my ear and shoulder.
For a few long moments, I wonder if this is it. Could this be the turning point? A chance to make love, then talk things through, work out what’s gone wrong, and set things right? Is this the moment where we save our marriage and everything we’ve spent most of our lives building together?
“Come on, Lauren, take your shorts off and open your legs. I won’t take long, I promise.”
And then he squeezes in exactly the spot he kicked me the other night. Exactly where he kicked me after he’d thrown me to the floor. Where he kicked me while calling me a fat lazy bitch and telling me I’d ruined his life.
A loud sob escapes me, along with the very last glimmer of hope I had of saving what we once had. It’s not just the pain of him squeezing at my bruised body, it’s the fact that he’s the one who caused the bruises. My husband, the man who’s spent so many years worshipping me. I feel utterly betrayed by his anger, the venom and rage he’s aimed at me without a single explanation as to why. I hate the sad, defeated person I’ve become because of him, and there is absolutely no way I want his body inside mine ever again.
The self-pity and loathing I’ve felt for months are instantly replaced by anger and outrage.