When I trailed my fingers down and wrapped my hands around him, I hoped for the old life. The fiery desire we used to have for each other.
I kissed him, trying to wake some of that with gentle strokes, but he got out of the shower.
“I’m tired,” he said.
I watched as he toweled off. It had been ten months since we’d been intimate. And that felt long, even for tired married folks.
“But I’ll give you a massage when you come to bed,” he offered, pulling on pajama pants.
“Sounds amazing.”
But I knew he’d be asleep by the time I got there. I still had laundry to fold and a bag to pack for the trip tomorrow.
“Are you all packed?” I asked.
“Gosh, I kind of forgot. Can you throw a few things into your bag for me?”
“Sure!” I called after him. “Hope it’s warm enough to swim in the lake.”
“If not, the indoor pool is heated.”
“Yeah,” I murmured. “The heated indoor pool.”
Zach was loaded, and Amanda, my best friend since kindergarten, had the kind of life Zach loved: no kids, money, freedom. Amanda always wanted kids, but Zach didn’t. And with her conflict-avoiding nature, that was that.
I stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around me, and crossed into the bedroom. Brian had turned the TV on but was already dozing off. The clock read 8:21.
I would also pass out on that bed the moment I lay down.
This was our life.
Some would call it pathetic. But to me it was everything.
My family and Amanda meant everything to me.
Everything.
Chapter 3
Lacey
My mom was curled up on the couch under a blanket, watching TV. The room was dim except for the soft glow of the screen. I dropped next to her.
“Couldn’t sleep, sweetheart?” she asked.
As if on cue, Ginny, the 140-pound female Doberman two houses down, started barking. She was the sweetest and kindest dog. Gentle with the kids and patient. Her occasional bark never bothered us, and the kids loved her. But most of the other neighbors didn’t see it that way. She was one of the biggest Dobermans I’d ever seen. People judged her by her size, not her heart. And they constantly complained about her occasional barks. Treating her like a monster.
“Did Ginny wake you up?”
I shook my head. “No. Poor Ginny didn’t do anything …”
She lifted the blanket and pulled it over my legs. I tucked myself in.
“You’re still picking up Zach after work tomorrow?” she asked.
I nodded.
She made that familiar “Hmm” sound of disapproval.
