Addictive Collision (8 page)

“Well, once I have a hot, passionate night of pure lovemaking, I’m sure I’ll appreciate it more than I ever thought possible.”

“Exactly! I say it’s about time you go for the deep-dish, stuffed crust and all.”

I smiled and gave her a fist-bump. “I just have to wait for that special guy to come along. I’ve waited this long, so I don’t see why it would hurt to wait a little longer. Besides, I should probably be divorced before I officially date anybody.”

Alexis smiled. “Maybe...or maybe not.”

I
dialed Forrest’s phone number, and he picked up on the first ring.

“Hi, Megan,” he happily said.

“Hey, Forrest. What’s up?”

“It’s Foster.”

“Foster? I, uh...I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I have sloppy handwriting.”

“Great, so we have at least one thing in common.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You misread my name as well.”

“I did?”

“My name is Morgan, Morgan Tyler.”

“Oh. I’m such an idiot,” he said. “Why didn’t you correct me the other day?”

“Because...well, it really was no big deal.”

“Anyway, I’m glad you called.”

“I’m afraid I have bad news. I’m not gonna be able to go out with you on Wednesday. It’s just... I know it’s so cliché to say that it’s not you and it’s me, but I really am going through a rough patch right now, and it wouldn’t be fair to you to lead you on.”

“It’s strictly as friends, right? And if you’ve got some things going on...well, I’m a great listener.”

“Listen, I’ve got twin girls also,” I said, just putting it out there.

“Really? Well, that’s something else we have in common. I’ve got two girls myself. Shelia is seven, and Becky is eight.”

“Wow! My girls are around the same age.”

We made more small talk for a while, and I was amazed how much we really did have in common and at how easily he made me laugh.

Finally, I said, “Let’s make a date in the future, when things calm down here.”

“Sure. I’d love that,” he said, sounding disappointed and hopeful at the same time.

***

T
he next morning, I dropped the kids off at school, then went to work. I settled down in my desk chair and began to tackle the Leaning Tower of Pisa that was my in-box.

Suddenly, rescuing me from a horribly messy spreadsheet, a familiar voice called my name.

I looked up to see my mailman, waiting for me to sign for a handful of packages. My heart raced as I met his gaze. “Hi, Foster,” I said.

“Hey, Morgan,” he answered, shooting me his perfect, gleaming grin. “I’m glad we finally know our real names.”

I laughed, but he stared so deeply into my eyes that I soon had to look away. My stomach fluttered, and I couldn’t believe I was reacting like some silly schoolgirl with a crush. I was surrounded by college guys constantly, but not one of them had ever shot me with electricity the way this guy did every time I saw him or even heard his voice. He was, most definitely, a Ferrari among Volkswagens. I couldn’t deny how ridiculously handsome he looked.
Am I crazy to blow off somebody this hot?
I wondered, then wished I hadn’t thought of blowing at all.

I quickly reached for the packages, anxious to free myself from the tractor beam of his piercing blue eyes. I wasn’t sure I had the wherewithal to turn him down in person, especially not when he was looking at me like that. When his eyes locked on mine, there was an explosive spark between us, one neither of us could deny.

Finally, when my boss walked over to my desk, I fumbled to sign my name.

“Thanks,” Foster said. “Have a great day.”

I smiled as he walked off.

W
hen I went to my mother’s house to break the news about my doomed marriage, she was devastated and didn’t take it well at all. She rubbed my back to reassure me everything was going to be okay, but I couldn’t make the promises she wanted to hear, and that tore my heart in two; I hated the feeling of letting her down.

“I can’t believe you’d ever think of breaking up your beautiful family,” she said.

“I’m so lonely, Mom. There is not one sign of love, physical or emotional. He won’t touch me. I’m frustrated, hurt, rejected, and humiliated, completely devastated by his lack of interest.” I blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, but I can’t live like this anymore. This partnership, or whatever it is, is over. I’m not even sure what to call it. I know it will be hard to be on my own, but that’s going to be better than the misery I’ve been feeling for so long. Our love is stalled, and it’s going nowhere.”

“Morgan, it’s childish to break up a marriage and a happy home just because things have cooled down in the bedroom,” she admonished.

“But that’s just it, Mom. It’s not a happy home at all. You can’t even begin to understand the frustration, shame, and hurt I’ve been going through. I’m depressed. I have panic attacks, and I won’t even start on the self-loathing.”

“I think you just need to pay that counselor another visit.”

“No more therapy, Mom. It’s too late, and it won’t do any good. It’s just...over. I’ve tried, and nothing works. Tom basically admitted the same thing. Do you know how it makes me feel to know that the man I promised my life to doesn’t want to make love to me?”

“You have to hang in there. Marriage can be a tough road, honey, and all of them go through potholes now and then.”

“This isn’t a pothole, Mom. It’s the Grand Canyon, and there’s no coming back on the other side. I’m tired of crying myself to sleep every night. I’ve never felt so neglected in all my life, and it’s slowly killing me, turning me into someone I’m not. Do you expect me to live in some lie, some false fairytale, drowning in unhappiness? Is that what you want me to do?”

“Marriage isn’t just about sex, Morgan. It’s about trust, friendship, faithfulness, forgiveness, and sticking it out through thick and thin, through all the hard times, till death do you part.”

“I know all that, but Tom has already checked out. He’s left the building.”

“Sex is not a requirement for relationship satisfaction.”

“I know! Geesh, Mom. I’m not that shallow.”

“It is only one form of intimacy,” she droned on, speaking the obvious. “It’s the heart that needs love.”

“Exactly, and he shows me none of that. There is no other form of intimacy between us either. We’re just friends and nothing more. I miss hugging, kissing, and falling asleep in each other’s arms. I miss that spark, our bond, our connection.”

“So, are you saying that if everything else was fantastic and he held you and spent time with you and loved you, but there was still no sex—”

“Yes. That’s what I’m saying, Mom. I could be happy with Tom if he tried to connect with me in some way, but he doesn’t. Our cold bed is just a symptom of a much bigger problem.”

“So what is that problem?”

“He’s just not attracted to me that way. He has no desire to hold my hand or kiss me. Mom, he moved to a different bedroom. He won’t even sleep in the same bed as me. Things were deteriorating more and more every day. We don’t even talk anymore unless it concerns errands or schedules or the kids.”

“He loves those girls, Morgan. He isn’t abusive, he doesn’t do drugs, and he’s a hard worker.”

“I don’t think I love him anymore.”

“Just promise me you’ll try to work this out. You can’t give up just because you’re libido isn’t falling in line with his. Remember...for better or worse.”

“Divorce happens, Mom.”

“Yes, and for most families, it’s hell—especially for the kids.”

I signed, knowing she was right, at least to some degree. “I don’t want to hurt them. I guess I could talk to Tom and see if I can move back in. I’ll give it one more shot.”

“That’s all I’m asking, sweetheart.”

We talked for another hour, and then I drove to the lake, where I could be by myself for a while and watch the glorious sunset. As Mother Nature presented me with her own brilliant display of reds, oranges, and violets, tears streamed down my face. I knew I had to somehow rise above my own emotional turmoil and be the better person. My mother had reminded me of our wedding vows, for better or worse, and I was sure the best move would be to keep my family intact, to stay together for the sake of my daughters. The intensity of our feelings had certainly changed over time, but Tom really was still my best friend, and part of me would always love him. For the sake of my children, I would have to sacrifice my own happiness and stay in my unhappy marriage. Divorce would be far too costly, painful, and difficult on everyone, and I was sure the best thing I could do would be to put in the hard work to make it work.

If we could really make a concerted, joint effort to reconnect, it would be worth its weight in gold for our marriage and our children. Tom was always so busy with work, and I was busy with my job, our kids, and the classes I was taking. We were exhausted, overburdened by all of our responsibilities, and Tom’s job was rather stressful. Because our lives were so very hectic, I was sure what we needed was a real timeout, some time out for ourselves. We had neglected our relationship for the sake of getting things done, and quality time had taken a back seat to everything else. I knew it would take better communication, genuine effort, and lots of love to save our marriage, but the most important factor was to have friendship at the foundation, and we definitely had that. I hoped that would be the glue that would ultimately pull us back together and hold us there, that we could somehow fall in love again. I wasn’t feeling it yet, but I owed it to my kids to try.

I
started the car and drove to the house, rehearsing my pleas in my rearview mirror, like an actress going over her lines. I was ready to pour out my heart, to put it all on the line.

At the house, I unlocked the door with the key I still had, and I called Tom’s name.

There was no answer.

I assumed he’d gone to bed early, so I decided it would be best to come back the next day. I reached for a piece of paper from the printer and scribbled a note, telling him to call me. When I went upstairs to leave the note in a place where I knew he’d find it, I heard the shower running.

Oh. He’s awake.

“Tom?” I called. I then knocked on the bathroom door, but there was no answer. When I heard laughing, I creaked the door open, only to find the room filled with blinding steam. “Tom...” I said, hesitantly opening the shower door.

Sheer horror washed over me, and I screamed in shock. I had expected to find my naked husband, covered in water and soapsuds. What I hadn’t expected to see was another naked man, Adrian, the student he tutored. I had always suspected that Tom was having an affair with Adrian, but once I’d discovered that Adrian was, in fact, a guy, those suspicions had quickly vanished. Tom had even called me a jealous maniac for suggesting such a thing, yet there he was, dripping wet, their bodies within inches of one another.

“Morgan!” he shouted. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I ran down the stairs, struggling to breathe. My mind was spinning out of control, and I was consumed by hurt and rage. It was a whole new kind of betrayal, not just some affair with a random coed, one of the giggling, wiggling girls who followed him around like a groupie at a rock concert. This was a guy, another man, and that threw me into a wicked mix of devastation, shame, guilt, shock, disbelief, and confusion all at once.

Our marriage was now irretrievably broken.

I felt blindsided, as if someone had sucker-punched me right in the gut.
How could I not have picked up on something like that?
Tom had promised me that he wasn’t screwing another woman, and he was telling the truth, but I’d really seen none of the signs of homosexual tendencies. Tom was the kind of guy every woman dreamt of: manly, sweet, reliable, romantic, caring, supportive, and smart. He was basically even honest. He was everything every dating book would suggest in a Mr. Right checklist, a real knight in shining armor. But he was also gay.

As I calmed down and pondered it a bit, I began to realize that there had been a few red flags—or pink flags, as the case may have been. He was always on the computer, late at night and first thing in the morning, claiming he had work to catch up on. He was very metrosexual, particular about his appearance, and he demanded that our home be spotless at all times. His morning routine in the bathroom lasted far longer than that of any man I’d ever known. He hated sports and was not at all athletic, yet had a membership to the gym. And, perhaps most telling of all, he had far too many young male friends and no desire to touch his horny wife.

“Morgan...” he said, wrapping a robe tightly around him as he hurried down the stairs after me.

“You’re gay? My gosh, Tom!” I said, aghast, staring into the lying eyes of the man who had once been my world. His actions felt like a slap in the face, and I was just dumbfounded.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I-I never meant to hurt you.”

My hands shook. “You told me you weren’t cheating on me.”

He tied his robe. “No, I told you I wasn’t seeing any other women.”

“Were you
ever
attracted to me?” I shouted at him. “My gosh, we have two kids together, Tom!”

“I was attracted to you...at first. I just... I guess I was confused about my sexuality.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when you finally figured it out?”

“Because I didn’t want to tell anyone.”

“So you just kept me around as your what? Your beard, don’t they call it? You used your wife and kids to camouflage it, to pretend to be something you’re not, just because you’re embarrassed of the truth? Gosh, Tom. How sick can you be, using us like that? How could you? I trusted you, loved you. You’re the only man I’ve ever slept with.”

I slid off my wedding ring and threw it at him. 

“If I could take it all back, I would,” he said.

“Did you ever love me?”

“You know I did,” he said. “I still do, in a way.”

“Did you ever really want all the things we worked so hard to build, like our family and our home? Or was it all a farce?”