Page 37 of Marriage and the Midlife Crisis

“I ought to kick your goddamned sorry ass, motherfucker,” he snarled, then gave me a shove that almost knocked me off my feet. Again, not an easy thing to do since Mark didn’t have nearly the muscle mass that I did, but he wasn’t letting that stop him.

“Look, I know –“

“You don’t fucking know anything,” he shouted, stepping fully inside the house and slamming the front door shut behind him.

I stood my ground as he shoulder-checked me when he stomped into the living room, then yanked his coat off and tossed it over the back of the chair.

He whirled around to face me, a look of fury on his face that I’d never have believed he was capable of. Mark was probably the most laid-back guy I knew, until you fucked up and hurt his little sister, apparently.

“Jen just picked Melanie up, because she was too upset to drive.”

My gut clenched at his words, but before I could respond, he got in my face again. “Do you know where she picked her up at?”

He didn’t wait for an answer to what was clearly a rhetorical question.

“The clinic, asshole. She went to the goddamned clinic to get tested for STIs because of you and your wandering dick!”

I could feel the blood draining from my face as I blanched at this bit of news. I remembered Melanie confiding in me years ago about getting tested repeatedly after her bastard ex had cheated, and how humiliating the entire experience had been for her. The idea that I’d caused her to go through that again was yet another sin to add to my list.

“How many times have you cheated?”

I shook my head mutely, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“How many, Ryan? Was this weekend really the first time?”

“No,” I choked, “I…”

Mark’s rage was almost a living, breathing entity, vibrating with energy and ready to explode as he clearly misunderstood what I was trying to say.

He stormed across the room and pulled back his arm, ready to let his fist fly when I grabbed it and stopped him.

“Let me finish,” I demanded, finally finding my words. “I was trying to say, no, I didn’t cheat. This weekend or any other time. I haven’t touched another woman since before I met Mel.”

Mark jerked his fist out of my grasp and took a step back, eyeing me warily, as if unsure whether to believe me.

“I swear it, Mark. I love her, and I would never do that to her. Mitch put that fucking thong in my suitcase as a joke. He hooked up with a stripper, and she left it in his room at the hotel. I didn’t cheat,” I repeated.

He must have heard the sincerity in my voice, or maybe it was the tears pricking the corners of my eyes that convinced him. He dropped his aggressive stance as some of the fight left him, then slowly turned and sank down into the chair as if he’d aged ten years in the last few minutes.

I understood that feeling.

I took a seat on the couch, sitting forward to rest my forearms on my knees.

“Explain it to me, man. The jeans that were covered in beer, the shirt with the makeup and shit on it, the strip club. Make it make sense for me, because from what Melanie said, all signs point to you fucking a stripper.”

I sighed heavily and hung my head in shame.

“I know it looks bad,” I admitted quietly.

He scoffed angrily. “Did you go to a strip club and get a lap dance?”

I hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.

“Then it doesn’t just look bad, it is bad. You know how Melanie feels about that scene, and with good cause, I might add.”

I nodded, staring at the floor because I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye. Mark and I had always gotten along great. Hell, I was closer to him than I was to my own brother. Our relationship was yet one more casualty of this weekend’s colossal stupidity.

I slowly started to explain what had happened. Mark let me speak without interrupting except for the occasional muttered curse under his breath.