My heart pounded in my chest, and my throat went dry as he crossed the room to stand before me. He looked me dead in the eye, his mouth a straight line.
“Do you live here, Sydney?”
It was just a question, but my throat tightened, and my chest quaked. I tried to swallow, but it wouldn’t go down. The look of certainty in his eyes and the flat tone of his voice told me he already knew the answer, but I still couldn’t say it. I still couldn’t admit I called another place home without him. So, I deflected. I redirected the conversation back to what mattered.
“Why are you here, E?”
He took a step back, and his lips pulled in, his expression painted with disappointment. I suddenly felt uneasy and wondered which part he was disappointed about: that I lived here with Jake or that I wouldn’t admit I did. He placed the CD down on the island and stared at it.
“I needed to see you.”
“Why?”
He was quiet for a long moment. So long, I began to wonder if he’d heard me or if he’d answer at all. His throat dipped with a hard swallow, and I knew he was searching for the words.
“She’s not mine, Syd.” He closed his eyes. Hard and pained.
“She’s not mine…” he repeated, and he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, holding in the tears that begged to escape.
I moved to him quickly, holding him by the elbows. “Of course she is, E. She’s your wife.” My eyes darted to the black band on his finger.
“No,” he sobbed. “Not Emma.”
I waited for him to release the breath he’d been holding, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He was holding it in with all the pain of his tortured soul.
“The baby’s not mine.” He fell to his knees. And he wept.
I fell with him. Watching him. Staring at him in disbelief. Trying to comprehend so many things—trying to think of what I could do and coming up painfully empty-handed.
“How?”
He sniffed as he wiped his nose and cleared his throat with a grunt. He sat back from his knees and blinked his eyes to clear his vision, but they wouldn’t meet mine.
“Emma hooked up with some guy before me.” He toyed with his wedding band, spinning it in absentminded circles. “The timeline didn’t add up, but she kept telling me the baby was just bigger than expected. I don’t know shit about this,so I just… believed her. People started backing her up, saying it happened all the time, so why would I question it, you know?”
He wiped his eyes with tight fingers, scraping his hand down his face afterward. “I went to every appointment. I read all the books! I fucking married her, Syd! And she was lying the whole time…”
My mouth hung open, and my body chilled as I followed his words.
“All because she didn’t want her baby’s father to be some drunken one-night stand from Brunswick Pub.”
He wiped his nose with his thumb and cleared his throat once more. His arms hung loosely over his knees, and his head hung between them. He looked up at me, and the regret in his eyes was painful just to see.
“I gave up everything, Syd.” My heart broke right there in front of him, but for once, it wasn’t because of him; it was for him.
“I gave up you.”
I slammed my eyes closed as the weight of those four words fell on me like rain. I pulled my lips in and held my breath as I willed it all away. All the pain, all the hurt, all the could-have-beens—I forced them back into the deep, dark pit where I’d buried them not long ago.
My eyes shot open at his gentle tug on my hand, pulling me toward him. And I followed. I sat up on my knees and crawled between his legs. I wrapped my arms around him and cradled his head, holding him close to my heart, which would always ache for him.
I held him there for a long time, his arms wrapped around me. I let him cry like he had let me so many timesbefore. I stroked his wet hair with my fingers and memorized his desperate hands on my back, clinging to me as if I had the answers to the universe.
When he finally relaxed, he looked up at me with sad, puppy-dog eyes, and I took his face in my hands. A million words paraded through my head, but I didn’t say any of them as my eyes danced between his. His hands gently trailed my back, and the moment his eyes fell to my lips, I couldn’t stop it—my lips came down onto his.
I kissed him with passion and regret, pain and remorse. And he kissed me back. It was longing and torment, love and grief mangled and knotted, and the ache of it all felt like coming alive. Our tongues met with a fervent need, and we both moaned at the sweet relief of our bodies connecting. His strong hands pulled me closer to him, and before I could think of another thought, I was reaching for the hem of his wet hoodie.
He lifted his arms, aiding me in removing his sweatshirt, and it fell to the floor beside us with a slap. His arms wrapped around me again, and I sank into the heat of his hard chest. He rose to his knees and undid the buttons of my blouse, and my hands came back to him, tracing the ridges of each ab.
