A Love So Tragic (21 page)

The third quarter wraps up and the station flips to a Geico commercial, the one where the man is dressed in a Peter-Pan outfit singing “You Make Me Feel so Young”.

“I love this commercial,” Derrick snickers. “It’s my fav.”

I stretch, then get up and head to the kitchen. “Want another beer?” I ask

Matt nods. “Did you even have to ask that?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely!” Derrick sings.

I'm in the kitchen popping the tops from the bottles when my phone pings.

“What the fuck? Dude?” Matt says and I figure Derrick just said something about his dick.

When I come back into the living room, I find Matt staring at my phone, and Derrick's peering over Matt's shoulder, his hand covering his mouth.

“What,” I ask, sipping the beer as I try to fight the heat rushing over my face.

“What. The. Actual. Fuck, man?” He tosses my phone at me, and the text is still on the screen:

I can't wait another week. I miss you. I love you.

“Nicolas!” Derrick gasps. “Someone's been naughty! Eenie-Meeny-Miny-Moe,” he circles his finger in the air. “That naughty little slut is…” laughing, he points at me, “You!”

My brain is going ninety to nothing searching for a logical excuse. There's no name attached to the number, but I know Matt's picked up on the fucking area code.

“Peyton?” Matt slumps back into the couch before reaching for his beer.

I hand both him and Derrick their drinks and sit.

“Nic?” Matt asks. “Peyton?”

I shake my head. “Man, don't worry about that. It's...nothing.”

“Nothing? I'm not an idiot. That area code—I
love
you? Shit, man. How long have you been seeing her?”

“I've only
seen
her once...”

“Bullshit!” Matt tips his beer back.

“The question is,” a broad smile spreads over Derrick’s face, “Did you see her, or her vagina?”

Matt’s eyes lock on me. “I can't believe you. She's fucking married.”

“Don't you think I know that? You’re the one who said you wouldn’t fucking blame me.” I stand up, combing my fingers through my hair.

“I wasn’t serious, man.”

“Look, don't you judge me. You've no idea what the hell this is like, okay?”

And he doesn’t because a few months ago, had this situation been reversed, I would have been asking him what the fuck was wrong with him.

His eyes drop to the floor and he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You still love her, huh?”

What’s the point in lying? At least this way I look like less of an asshole, right? “Yeah. Fuck. I do.”

Derrick holds both hands up like he's surrendering. “Soulmates...” he clears his throat. “The passion, the love, the need, there's nothing like it, but watch yourself because it's either toxic or it's bliss. I told you we don't belong with them, Nicolas. There are no such things as lobsters...” 

“What the fuck?” Matt says, staring at Derrick. “What the hell do lobsters have to do with any of this?”

I shake my head.

Derrick rolls his eyes before cutting them over at Matt. “Don't you worry about that, Mateo.” His attention redirects to me, and he arches his brow. “Look, do what you want, my dear sweet Nic, but lobster's will pinch your penis off.” 

Matt shakes his head and chugs his beer.

“Thanks, but I'm a grown fucking man.”

“A grown man who’s dipping his dick in someone else's honey pot,” Derrick whispers.

I want to punch him, but I get up and walk to the patio. To anyone else, yeah, this may seem wrong, but I'm past the point of caring.

It's unseasonably warm for February. I’m actually sweating, so I take my jacket off, flinging it onto the driveway. Thick storm clouds roll across the horizon, the tree limbs snap and creak in the hard wind, and thunder rumbles in the distance.

“Tornado weather,” Jen says, slamming her trunk. 

“God, don't say that. You know I hate those things.”

She grins before pulling her phone from her purse. “Resting bitch face, and go,” she says, putting her arm around me and pulling me in for a selfie.

I glare at her. The camera clicks and she immediately uploads it to Facebook. “Road trip begins. Now this
trip
is documented on social media,” she says, dropping the phone back into her purse. “I sure am glad I still have pictures from those concerts we went to last year.”

“Yeah...” Chewing on my bottom lip, I look away.

“Hey,” she says. “I'd be lying if I said it isn't kinda hot. I mean, he's your first love, your one. Four years of regret, of thinking you're over and BAM, now you’re in a full-fledged affair and I'm covering for your ass.” She glances over her shoulder as she opens the car door. “You're dragging me to hell with you, huh?”

I shrug as guilt washes over me. “What else are best friends for?” I mumble.

“Hey, I don't blame you. You love him. It'd be tragic if you didn't end up with him. Really, it would. Isaac was a mistake, Nic is not.” She shuts her door, cranks the engine, and rolls the window down as she backs out of the drive. “I'll be sure to post a few pics, you know, to make it seem all legit and shit.”

I watch as she pulls off. Part of me wishes Jen wasn't so supportive. It makes this affair seem more acceptable than it should. Sometimes I wonder if she thinks I'm a whore—if she thinks what I am doing is disgusting but she just doesn't want to tell me.

Staring at the keys in my hand, I reason with myself. If I go to that hotel and spend the weekend with Nicolas, I will feel guilty. I will feel like a horrible person, and I will
be
a horrible person because I am cheating. But, if I don’t go, I’ll still feel guilty. I’ll miss him. I’ll dream about him. If I don’t go, I’ll hate myself. Honestly, I’ll feel worse if I stand Nic up, and what does that say about me?

It's a shitty feeling when you realize you’re not as good of a person as you hoped you were. Love is an unusual creature. It’s painfully beautiful but brings out some of the darkest, ugliest parts of your heart. I sigh, shaking my head because my mother taught me the most important thing to follow is your heart. And Nic is my heart.

I climb into my car and leave. The heavy clouds tear open before I pull out of Jen’s subdivision. Rain pummels the windshield. Lightning and thunder and wind. This is the weather I wanted when my momma died. Angry and violent. This is not what I want right now. The philosophical side of me keeps saying this is an omen, a sign I shouldn’t be doing this. Maybe there’s a greater force pissed at me for screwing with the fate I’ve been given.

Fifteen minutes later, I put the car in park. I step out in the pouring rain and hand my keys to the valet just as a streak of lightning shoots across the dark sky. Even though it’s storming outside, I keep my sunglasses in place when I walk through the lobby because the last thing I need is for someone to notice me—for some crazy baseball fan or businessman to notice that Isaac Miller’s wife is strutting through the Hyatt lobby, on her way to fuck another man.

I take the elevator to the seventh floor.
He said Room 7162
. I follow the corridor around, nearly to the end of the hallway. When I stop in front of the door, my stomach flutters. This is how it always feels with Nic. Always like something new and wonderful.  Nearly the second I knock, the door swings open, and there stands Nic with his broad smile. He’s not wearing a shirt. He’s barefoot and in jeans. And in this moment, everything is right.

He grabs me, yanking me inside and pushing me against the wall in a ruthless kiss. His hands are in my hair, his body pressed against mine as he kisses me deep and brutal, like I am the very air he breathes. My heart pounds in my chest. He smells familiar. He is familiar. He feels like home to me.

“Goddamn, I've missed you,” he says and that phrase sounds so desperate. “I forgot what it's like to love somebody.”

He backs me toward the bed, kissing over my throat, undressing me like the act has been rehearsed. His hands slide along my curves. As ridiculous as it sounds, he touches me with a hint of reverence and it makes me feel feminine and pretty and perfect. “I love you,” he whispers before throwing me back onto the bed.  

First love. It's the embodiment of youth. It’s brim full of adoration and obsession. A heady mix of hormones and lust. The only thing that can make you realize, as a self-consumed teenager, that this world consists of something other than you. And somewhere along the way you become so consumed you don't even know who you are without this person. Love isn’t just an emotion—it is a reaction you have no control over, and a high that no other drug can match. Addicts say there is never a high as great as that first time, and it’s the same with love. No matter how many people you try to care for, they will never compare to your first love. I’m fully aware that no one will ever make me feel the way Nic does.

As his naked body pins me down, I realize parts of me will always be his for no other reason than this is just how true love works. It never lets you go. This kind of love, it's what Shakespeare wrote about. And why? Because only something so rare, so all-consuming could create a tragic love story. You lose a love like this and you’ll never find it again. Never. This kind of love—it roots itself so deep within you, that person unknowingly becomes part of who you are. Whether or not this affair had ever started, my feelings would still be the same.

A loud clap of thunder rattles the windows, rain pelts against the glass.

I wrap my legs around Nic’s waist, and he sinks inside me and groans. “Fuck, I love you, Peyton.”

“I love you...” I pause. I want to cry. “I love you so much.” 

He holds my hands above my head, his eyes locking with mine as he makes love to me. “Don't ever leave me again.”

“I won't,” I whisper.

He presses harder into me. Releasing my wrists, his hands slide behind my back and up to my shoulders. He pulls me down on him with more force, smiling before kissing me with the kind of passion I forgot existed. The type of passion that makes your stomach flip, that makes your entire body tingle with electricity.

Nothing will ever compare to this. I love Nic. And in this moment, I know I have to leave Isaac.

Adele's
Hello
plays over the sound system, and I don't even notice I'm singing along until Jen nudges me.

“Huh?”

Jen's perfect eyebrow peaks, her lips curling on one side. “Catchy song, huh?”

I glare at her. “Everyone likes Adele.”

“Yep,” she says as she turns into my driveway. “Because everyone has that one that got away, well, except for you now. Yours came back like a fucking boomerang.” She glances up at my house then back at me. “So, Nic’s actually coming to Aiden’s birthday party tonight?”

“Yeah.” I go to open the door.

“And Isaac will be there?”

My heart palpitates—for the hundredth time today. That's how high my anxiety is right now...I'm having constant heart palpitations.

“P, this is not a good idea. You know that, right?” she asks, slamming her car door.

Jen is right, but the thing is it’s been five months since this affair started, and we’re getting too comfortable, too desperate to see each other. Nic is coming to the party tonight and Isaac will be there. And how am I going to act normal?

“It’ll be fine Jen.”

“What’s the point?”

I stop halfway up the sidewalk. “I just want to see him.”

“You can’t fuck him.”

I groan. “I know that.”

“So, again. What. Is. The. Point?”

“I guess there is no point, Jen. Just drop it.”

“Convenient that your husband and the ‘other man’ have the same friends, huh? Well, at least I'll be there to distract you, to, you know, stop you from leaving with him or going in the bathroom and letting him fuck you with that huge South American cock of his, because you
can’t
do that!”

“Again, I know.”

Her eyes narrow as her hand comes to rest on my shoulder. “Is he cut? Yes or no? I can't believe in twelve years I never asked you that.” She shakes her head and mutters under her breath, “And all this time I thought I was a pervert.”