A Love So Tragic (23 page)

“Shh,” he blows that sound into my ear and my skin prickles. “Five minutes. Give me five minutes.” His fingers sink into me, curling and flexing inside me in ways that cause my knees to buckle. I grab at his zipper, pulling it open before I yank his jeans and boxers over his hips. Nic frantically rips my jeans down to my knees. “You're gonna have to turn around, babe.”

I do as told, my heart pounding in my chest. Every last inch of my skin is tight and warm because this is wrong. This is bad. But damn, it's fucking hot. There’s that pull in my stomach, that fluttery jittery feeling I get whenever he touches me. Excitement and want and need…I hear the foil wrapper tear. Seconds later, Nic shoves my underwear to the side and slams into me, his fingers gripping my hips and bringing me back against him. 

I brace my hands on the wall, drop my chin to my chest, and a low moan slips from my throat.

“You're mine, Peyton. Always have been always will be...” he says before biting my neck. He drives into me, whispering in Spanish that he loves me.

Within minutes, I'm tensing. My head’s still hung, my palms sliding down the wall as I clench around him. Weakness drowns me as the blood rushes to my core. Nic holds me up and thrusts harder into me. Stilling behind me, his head drops to my shoulder.

We take several seconds to catch our breath and then he pulls my jeans back up, spins me around, and slams his lips over mine.

“I love you,” he says as his fingers brush over my neck. 

“Did we really just do that?”

“Uh, yeah, we did.” He smiles as he studies my face. “And you’re gonna need to wait a few minutes before you go back down there. That flush on your face is a dead giveaway that you just got off. And hard.” He smirks, kisses me, then walks to the steps.

I wait in the dark, my mind reeling as I attempt to fix my hair and wipe away the stray lipstick. The entire way down the stairs, all I can envision is Isaac waiting at the bottom, arms crossed, jaw clenched. I imagine the embarrassment as he yells at me, calling me out on my bullshit. I swallow before I hop off the last step, but Isaac’s not waiting. The bar is bustling, people are laughing, and no one pays me any mind. No one knows what I just did, even though I feel like they all do. They don’t.

Jen is at the bar ordering another drink, and
her
eyes are glued on me. She arches a brow as she takes a long sip. I go to walk past her, but she grabs onto my arm, shaking her head.

“Oh, no. Come here,” she says. Her eyes flick over my face, down my body, and she exhales as she reaches out to zip my fly. “Brave, Peyton.
Very
fucking brave...or stupid.” She tips her drink back before snatching her purse from the bar top. “Come on, Hester Prynne.”

When we get outside Isaac is sitting at the table talking with Nic. I swallow.

“Keeps getting better and better,” Jen says, smirking into her drink. “If I were you, I wouldn't say a word.”

“So what do you do at Kohen Pederson, Nic?” I hear Isaac ask.

I can see the smart-ass smirk Isaac's fighting from here. As far as he is concerned, no one else is as accomplished as he is, and he will rub that in Nic’s face all day long. This is a pissing contest and Isaac's already got his dick out and aimed.

“I'm an architect.”

“Oh,” Isaac tilts his beer back and nods. “That's
nice
.”

“Jesus…” Jen mumbles under her breath as we stop behind the table.

Isaac glances up, smiling when he sees me. “There's
my
girl.” He stands and pulls out a chair for me, which is not something he usually does. I take a seat and Jen sits next to me. “Just catching up with Nic here. I don't guess we've really talked since college.”

“Oh, yeah...” I trail off, trying not to choke on my words. A quick glance at Nic. His jaw is tensing. His nostrils flaring. He’s angry. 

“So, Nic,” Isaac continues. “You married yet?”

“No.”

“Well, I'm sure the right girl will come along soon enough.” He flashes his all American-fuck-you smile at Nic. “We can't all have a girl like Peyton.”

Jen coughs and chokes on her drink. My teeth clench. Isaac is doing this to be an asshole, and it makes me mad.

“Oh, well, now,” Nic says, and I can tell by the tone of his voice, by that flickering behind his eyes he's not about to play nice. “We've
both
been that lucky, now, haven’t we, Isaac?”

Isaac's eyes narrow.  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” His fingers draw into fists.

I feel Jen's hand grip my knee.

“You said we can’t all have a girl like Peyton.” He shrugs. “I was just reminding you that we’ve both
had
her.”

I can see Isaac's pulse thrumming in his neck, my own pulse is skittering violently. “Please,” I say. “Please stop it.”

“Do you think I'm a fucking idiot?” Isaac says with a snarl. “I see the way you look at her. You had no business coming to her mother's funeral. If you think for one second, I'm oblivious to the fact that you're still hung up on
my
wife...” He shakes his head. “I really should beat your ass, and if I didn't have a reputation to uphold, I would tear you to pieces.”

“Isaac!” I shout.

He points at me. “Fucking stay out of this.”

“Don't talk to her like that,” Nic says, a slight growl behind his tone.

Isaac’s eye twitches with anger just before his fist slams into the side of Nic's face. It all happens so quickly. The table topples over, chairs fly across the patio, and they are rolling on the ground, throwing punches and cursing.

“Stop! Nic! Isaac. Stop it. Fucking stop!” I yell. Within seconds several guys from around the patio surround us. They grab both Isaac and Nic by the shoulders and hold them apart while security scurries over to escort them out. 

“Let's fucking go, Peyton,” Isaac calls over his shoulder before turning back to say something to Nic.

And now they are shouting at each other again. 

The crowded bar is literally parting to let security drag them through. Everyone is staring, and I turn my gaze to the floor.

“Well, that went rather well, don’t you think?” Jen groans as we walk out of the entrance.

“Fuck off!” Isaac shouts.

I glance up when I get to the curb and see the bouncers still holding onto Isaac. Nic crosses the street, wiping his mouth with his hand. Headlights flash when he unlocks his car, and then the security guards let Isaac go. He immediately comes over to Jenn and me.

“Let’s go. Fucking asshole. I swear to God I would love to beat the absolute piss out of him.”

I don’t want to go with Isaac. But I am his wife.

His adulterous, traitorous wife.

Moths swarm around the yellow porch light and I angrily swat them away. The lock clicks, the door opens, and I stumble into a thick cloud of marijuana smoke.
The fuck?

“Dude!” Matt says. “What happened to your face?” He laughs for a second before his eyes pop open. “Ohh, shit! Isaac beat your ass!”

“Shut the fuck up, man.” 

I toss the keys onto the coffee table, then head to the bathroom, turn the taps on, and stare at my reflection. My lip is busted, one eye is swollen, and there's a cut on my forehead. I haven’t gotten into a fight since I was twenty. I shake my head and splash some water over my face before flipping the light off. When I come back to the living room, Matt is cramming Doritos in his face. He holds the bag out to me and I take a handful. 

“So, is that what happened? Isaac got a hold of you?”

I plop down on the couch. “Yeah.”

“So he knows?”

I turn to tell him to fuck off, and notice his glassy, bloodshot eyes. “When the hell did you start smoking again?”

He shrugs. “Just do it every once in awhile” Orange crumbs fall from his mouth to his shirt. “Now, back to your busted lip. I guess he knows you're fucking his wife?”

“No. Just eat your Doritos.” I hate hearing Peyton referred to as that:
his
wife.

“I mean,” Matt loudly smacks the chips, “what do you think is gonna happen? She's gonna leave him and then you're gonna be
that
guy, or she's gonna stay with him, and then you're gonna be
that
guy.”

He leans over to the ashtray and picks up the joint, placing it to his lips and sucking hard. His cheeks puff out like a chipmunk. His face grows red before he coughs out a huge cloud. Matt offers the joint to me and I shake my head.

“Do you even know why she's doing it?” he says between coughs.

“What? What the hell kind of question is that?”

“I mean, why
is
she doing it? Why is she cheating? There's a reason for everything.”

“Because she fucking loves me.”

“Does she love you, or does she
think
she loves you?”

I shake my head. “You're stoned. Stop trying to be all philosophical.”

“Seriously, Nic,” he leans up, reaching his hand over and placing it on my knee. “Is it because she loves you, or because she loves the idea of you. Is her life just such shit that anything seems better? Are you an escape?” He shrugs before leaning back into his chair. “You've not got shit to lose, she's got everything to lose—or everything she
hates
to lose...”

I pause, dragging my hands down my face because he makes fucking sense. What if Peyton reached out because it's the
idea
of me? And where
is
this going? What's the fucking point? You love someone, you want to spend your life with them, not spend your life trying to get away with some affair, not pretending they’re yours when they’re not.

“I don't know, Matt.”

“This,” he points at my face, “this is going to be your life if you don't figure shit out. You're better than this, Nic. I know you love her, hell, I don't doubt she loves you, and I hate to say it, but that makes it worse. Love makes you do stupid fucking things...”

My phone vibrates and I pull it from my pocket.

Sorry. He was drunk.

And I automatically wonder if she's making excuses for him.

Where is this going? Why is she really doing this? When did I become that guy?

Bright yellows and reds creep across the sky as the sun sets behind the thick tree line. We don't get colors like that in New York City, or maybe we do and I just don't take the time to notice.

Bending over, I grab a handful of gravel and toss the pebbles against the aluminum slide. The rock pings before skidding down the slope. Peyton and me used to come here in high school. We'd sit on this bench and talk, make promises we thought we'd always keep, and I lost count of the times we'd had sex in my truck in this very spot. 

I hear a car turn onto the drive, but I don't look behind me. The engine cuts, the door closes, and the breeze carries the soft scent of her perfume over. 

“Hey,” she says, taking a seat next to me.

She grabs my jaw, turns my face to hers, and lays her soft lips over mine. I kiss her because I can, because, in this moment, we are all that exist. When I pull away, I settle back against the uneven wooden bench, placing my arm around her.

She brushes her finger over my swollen cheek. “I’m so sorry…”

I shrug. “It’s not your fault. I just can’t stand seeing you with him. Him calling you his.”

She nuzzles into my chest and draws in a deep breath. And here we sit, watching the sun sink below the trees. 

She rubs her palm over my chest. “When are you coming back?”

I shrug. “Don't know.”

“I'm going to miss you. I hate this, Nic.”

“Yeah, so do I.”

And we sit in silence again. There are so many things swirling around my head. Things I want to know, need to know; things I don't want to ask. 

“I love you,” she whispers.

And all I can hear is Matt asking if she loves me or the idea of me. “Why are you doing this, Peyton?” I say.

She slowly lifts her head from my shoulder, her blue eyes locking with mine. “What do you mean, 'why'?”

“Why, Peyton? Why are you here with me right now?”

A frown sets on her face. “Because I love you.”

I see in her eyes that she does. I know in my heart she does, but is there a point to this shit?  “Okay.” I nod. “So how long are we going to keep doing this?”