I listen for the slow expansion of his chest, his measured exhale, until the world comes back into focus. “That’s it, princess.” He kisses me again, soft. “Was that too much?”
Yes. No.I don’t have a good answer. Because that was too much and it only made me want more. So I move away from him, spend a moment cleaning myself up with Asher’s back turned. Run the water and try to neaten my hair and makeup. I look almost presentable. “I’ve been gone too long. Brayden’s gonna freak out.”
“He really likes you.”
I glance up at Asher. “I mean, yeah, we’re married.” For the first time, I don’t feel like I’m completely lying when I say it.
“I thought maybe…” Asher shakes his head as if clearing it. “What’re we gonna do?”
“I’ll leave first. You wait for a few minutes and go down the elevator.” A repeat of that night at the house, only now with hundreds more witnesses.
“Sav, that’s not what I meant.” Because that’s the question filling up the space between us: what’re we going to do about any of this?
My throat tightens. “I know.”
Asher wraps his arms around me, once, briefly, and kisses me softly on my cheek. “Text me when you get in.”
“You’ll probably be able to hear it from your room.”
“Yeah.” He swallows audibly. “But just so I know. Even if I can’t— Even if we’re not— I like knowing you’re okay.”
I’m not. Because I’m not right now. I don’t know if there’s a word for being sad because you’re breaking someone else’s heart: Asher’s or Brayden’s or probably both. Mostly, as I gathermyself and I walk back toward Brayden, I realize I’m definitely going to break someone’s heart—and it’s going to be my own.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Brayden
Savannah wobblesslightly as she walks back into the restaurant dining room. Her head must be bad. I get up, intercepting her before she reaches the table, offering her my arm. She looks flushed, hair slightly askew. Was she throwing up? I know that happens sometimes.
In the elevator, she moves away from me onto the opposite wall, turning toward the mirror and checking herself over for something—I’m not sure what.
“When I was a kid, I thought elevators like this showed other dimensions.” She gestures to the two mirrored walls of the elevator, the reflection of a reflection, an infinite number of each of us. “In a different universe, do you think you would have played baseball?” She asks it like she’s really asking something else, but I can’t tell what.
“I don’t think Brad would give me a choice.” The way I wasn’t given a choice in a lot of things: I was taught there was one narrow path and any deviation from it made you a deviant.
“But you’re choosing baseball now,” Savannah says.
I don’t know how to do anything else. Other than maybe be your husband.“I guess I am. How about you? If you had the option, would you have done something else?”
She blows a strand of hair out of her face. “I would do a lot of things differently.” And then doesn’t say anything for the rest of the ride.
Back at our hotel,Savannah drops her things, grabs stuff from her suitcase, and goes into the bathroom like she can’t wait to get out of her dress. The shower runs, briefly.
A few minutes later, she emerges with her hair in a messy bun, her face bare of makeup. That’s not what I’m looking at, though. She's wearing those little sleep shorts, the cotton ones that stop right below the curve of her ass. Her legs are long and bare and dimpled in various places I want to put my mouth.
I distract myself by changing into joggers then realize I didn’t bring enough shirts to wear one to sleep in. Shirtless, I head into the bathroom. Brush my teeth. Savannah has put her toothbrush in an upright hotel glass so it doesn’t drip on the countertop. I put mine right next to hers, the handle of each brush crossing, her bright pink one next to my plain white. I don’t know why I like looking at them together. Or I do know why, and I don’t know what to do about it.
I think I’m falling in love with my wife.
In another universe, tonight would have been a date, a real date. She’d be in the other room, waiting for me. There would be no pretending, not to anyone else and most especially not to ourselves.
But we’re in this universe, so I go back out to the room and climb into bed.
Savannah moves around the room, picking up and putting down various things, looking for something, but it’s not clear what. Still, I watch the shift of muscles in her thighs and the soft dip of her belly right above the waistband of her shorts. The darkness of her nipples against her thin cotton sleep shirt.
“Sorry,” she says after a while.
I pull my gaze away from her. “Sorry, what?”
