Fractured Affections (The Affections Series Book 1) (3 page)

He makes his way past me and takes a seat on the couch. I don’t even know what to say, and my discomfort starts to take over. I turn to exit the room, so I can call Dalton, when I feel his hand wrap around my upper arm.

“Come on, Rea, surely we can sit and talk while we wait for Dalton to return home.” Striker tugs slightly on my arm and guides me to the couch, pulling me down next to him. My thoughts are all jumbled amongst each other. I feel a lot of things while looking at Striker. All at once, I’m hit with a weight of emotions that I can no longer hold in. My bottom lip begins to tremble and tears fill my eyes. As the first tear breaks free and begins to roll down my cheek, I dart up from the couch, grab my phone from the floor, and take off for the stairs. Climbing them at a fast pace, I continue moving until I reach my master bathroom and slam the door.

Leaning back against the door, my legs give way. I slowly slide down until my bottom hits the floor. After pulling my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around my legs, I bury my face and try to calm myself down. How could I react like that in front of him? I should have never sat down to talk. The lack of warning really did a number on my emotions. How embarrassing. I haven’t seen him in eleven years, and I break down in tears within the first five minutes. I never want to leave this bathroom. The last thing I would ever want is for anyone, including Striker, to question my love for Dalton.

Dalton has to know why Striker is here. As I slide my finger across the screen to unlock my phone, I notice that I have seven missed calls. I check my call log and see that every one of them was from Dalton. My hand shakes while trying to press the call button. The first ring only makes it halfway through before he answers.

“Reagan! Are you there? Why weren’t you answering my calls?” he says in a rush.

“Dalton, did you know Striker was coming here?” It is a simple question, but the answer that I might hear scares me. If he knew and didn’t warn me, that hurts. I rest my head back against the door and wait for his response.

He exhales a long breathe before responding. “Reagan, I know this will upset you, but I asked him to come here. I need us to sit down and discuss some things tonight, just the two of us. I know you were caught off guard, and that it feels like I kept this from you, but that was not my intention. Things just happened so fast. I was hoping to make it home before he showed up today.”

I can’t even say anything to him. Why would he ask him here without asking how I feel about it first? It must be important for Dalton to ask Striker to come into our lives like this. His presence can change the entire dynamic of our little family.

Striker is a topic that Dalton and I have wrestled with over the years. What I can’t figure out is the lack of communication from my husband. He has always been open with me about things. I lock down my anger toward him and say, “Okay, Dalt, I will get my shit together and head back downstairs. I cannot, however, sit with Striker and chitchat like we are still best friends. I can’t believe this was sprung on me with no warning. You knew how this would affect me. How long will it be until you come home? As soon as possible would be appreciated.”

“My sweet Rea,” Dalton whispers into the phone, “please don’t be pissed at me about this. I know how hurt you must be. I don’t even like to think about how I am part of the cause. You know, I would never do anything intentionally to hurt you. Listen, just go tell Striker that I will be home shortly and hand him the remote. I’m pretty sure he can entertain himself until I get there.”

“Alright, but I will not wait long after you get home to hear an explanation for this. I just completely embarrassed myself in front of him. I don’t even know if I can be in the same room as him. I should have had time to prepare myself before having to face him, Dalton,” I reply.

“Okay, Rea, I love you, and I will be home soon,” Dalton says.

I just hang up with no reply. I have to pick my ass up, dry my tears, and face Striker. I feel the anxiety and pressure building in my chest. I’m trying to count to ten slowly, like I learned to do in therapy years ago, but it does not seem to be helping at all. So I pace back and forth in the bathroom, for a few more minutes, before taking a deep breath and yanking open the bathroom door. I take nice steady steps toward my old “friend.”

As I make my way back into the living room, I catch sight of Striker leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his face buried in his hands. I clear my throat to make him aware of my presence, still unable to speak. He slowly raises his eyes to mine. There is so much pain. He seems like a shell of the man that he was years ago.

I’ve never forgiven him for leaving and blamed him for so much, but I never once stopped to think of his reasons for leaving. Now looking at him, I feel like there is more to the story than the one I created in my own mind.

“I’m sorry, Reagan. I thought you knew I was coming. I didn’t mean to upset you. I can wait outside until Dalton comes home, if you’re uncomfortable with my being here,” Striker says to me in a somber voice.

It actually makes me feel a little guilty. What is wrong with me? It has been eleven years. There is no reason at all for me to react this way. It’s just Striker, a childhood friend and someone that I haven’t had any type of relationship with, for a long time now. These feelings of betrayal and abandonment are only stirring up inside me because that was the way I felt the last time I saw him. I love Dalton, now. Dalton is my world and has been.

“It’s okay. I don’t know what my problem is. It has been a long time without seeing you, and I was just caught off guard. Please make yourself at home. The remote is on the table. I will just be in the kitchen getting things ready for dinner, so I can start cooking once the boys are home.”

My words come out very dry, with no emotion in them whatsoever. I’m no good at this, trying to hide my emotions. I guess that is why I always try to escape them. Some people like to face situations head on. I like to run and hide, to push things under the rug and act like they didn’t happen, until enough time passes and feelings toward the situation dissipate. I shut down when things are really bad. It has been a trait of mine that I loathe. That I’m not ever strong enough to stand up for things I want or what I believe in. I fight hard with myself, now that I have the kids. I don’t want them to ever feel like they aren’t worth the fight. I want them to be strong like their father.

I take one last deep breath and turn toward the kitchen. “Striker, please let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks. I will be out of your hair before you know it. Whatever Dalton called me here for, will probably only take a few days. I hate to stay around if it makes you uncomfortable. This is your home.” He finishes the last sentence through clenched teeth. I choose to walk out of the room with no response.

Obviously this is hard for him too, which I don’t understand. He was the one who wanted a different life when he left town. He wanted better for himself, and I can’t blame him for that. What I have always blamed him for was leaving and taking a piece of me with him, for leaving me without so much as a goodbye. He got what he wanted, so why does he seem so uncomfortable sitting in my living room.

I walk slowly into the kitchen and open the fridge. God, what am I going to make? I sweep my eyes over the shelves that hold a minimal amount of food. We planned on eating out tonight, but I need something to occupy my mind while Striker sits in my living room. Gah! Striker is sitting in my living room. I need to get out of here. I quickly walk through the house and gather my purse, while slipping on some flip-flops. I exit through the garage door while yelling out, “Striker, I have to run to the grocery store, help yourself to anything you need.”

Unlocking my car, I slide into the driver’s seat, breathing a little easier now that I am out of the house. I blow a slow breath through my lips and place the car in reverse. As I exit the driveway, I try to focus on my shopping trip. I guess I need to make enough to feed Striker, too. Yeah, that won’t be awkward at all. I will have to introduce the boys to him. This whole situation makes me uncomfortable.

STOP! I can’t continue to worry myself, until I find out what the hell is going on. Okay, focus. I got this.

I pull into the grocery store parking lot and decide to buy stuff to make fajitas. The boys will be thrilled. We can have a Mexican night, and it won’t seem so weird if I hammer back some margaritas to survive this mess. I check my watch to make sure I will have enough time to walk next door to the liquor store. I have a half an hour before I need to be finished and heading to the school.

All of the groceries are packed away in the trunk, and I’m headed to pick up the kids. Shit, I forgot to call Riley back. There is no way I can meet her tonight. I could always invite her over for dinner, but I am just not ready to share this situation with anyone yet. Riley will also try to take Striker home with her. I don’t think we need to add anymore drama to this situation. As if she can read my thoughts, her name flashes across the screen in my car as the ringing echoes through my speakers. I press the answer button on the steering wheel.

“Hello.”

“Well, what did he say? Is he able to watch the kids, so we can have a drink tonight?”Riley has so much hope in her voice.

“Ri, I’m sorry but I can’t tonight. I know you really wanted to get together, but we had an out of town visitor show up unexpectedly, and I need to be there tonight. Maybe another night soon, alright?”

“Oh, okay. No that’s fine. Call me when you have some free time. I’ll talk to you later, I’m almost at the school to get Ki,” she says.

I know she is disappointed. I wish she didn’t rely on me so much some times. Right now, I can’t even begin to entertain the idea of satisfying her needs.

“Ri, how about sometime this weekend? Ri? Ri?” Damn it, she already hung up. Well, this day just keeps getting better.

I think I just need to get back into mom mode. I almost have the boys, which is good. They demand so much of my time, I won’t be able to worry about anything else. My spirit lifts a little bit, knowing that I’m a mile away from the school. I turn up the radio and sing along to the country station playing through the car. As I round the corner I see the three of them standing there waiting on me, and it all comes back.

This is me, the mother of three amazing boys, who has a husband that loves her, and takes care of our perfect little family. Even though, at times, it can be stressful, I wouldn’t change a thing. Without Dalton, I wouldn’t have this life that I have learned to love.

Chapter Five

Reagan

We pull into our driveway, and I notice Dalton’s work truck right away. I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that he’s home. I don’t see any other cars around except for ours. Maybe Striker left for the evening. That would be a blessing because his presence completely unravels my nerves, and it becomes hard to act like my normal self.

I hear the car doors shut, so I make my way out of the car and follow the boys up the stairs. I’m almost through the door and realize that I forgot to grab the groceries from the trunk.

“Hold up, guys, can someone help me get the groceries from the car?”

The two younger boys groan, but Dylan offers his help and follows me out to the car. I pop the trunk and head around to the rear of the car. Dylan is not far behind and surprises me with his question.

”Everything okay, Mom? You didn’t say much on the ride home. You usually don’t stop talking. You look different too, upset or something. I don’t know, but you always ask us about our day, so I just thought maybe you’re not feeling good or something.”

Leave it to Dylan. He spends too much of his time worrying about other people. He has always been the most sensitive out of all the boys and worries way more about me than he should.

“I’m fine, Dyl, just didn’t get much sleep last night. I guess it’s catching up to me. Thank you for asking though and for the help carrying this stuff in.”

I lean over and place a kiss on his forehead, which brings a slight smile to his face. I slow down my pace and let him climb the steps ahead of me, where Dalton is waiting at the door, holding it open.

“Hey, baby,” he greets me with a soft kiss, “anything else I can grab from the car?”

“No, this is it, but maybe you could join me in the kitchen, so we can talk while we prep everything for dinner.”

He only nods his head and follows me through the house to the kitchen. I place all the bags on the counter and start pulling peppers out to slice. I can feel his hands as they land on my hips, and then his forehead is resting against the back of my head. He hates to upset me, so this action only makes me nervous about what he is going to say.

“Rea, I sent Striker out for a little while, until we can talk, and you know exactly what I need him here for.”

I turn in his arms, so I can look into his eyes. I can see so much sadness in them, which is unusual. I hate to see him look like this; it breaks my resolve. I can’t even be angry at him when I can tell he is already mad enough with himself.

“Dalton, please just tell me what’s going on. Why is he here, after all this time? I can’t help but feel like you are keeping something from me.”

He takes a deep breath and gently wraps his hand around mine. We walk over to the table and take a seat next to each other. Sitting facing one another with our knees touching, Dalton places his hands on my thighs, giving them a slight squeeze.

“Okay, so over the years, we have never really discussed Striker much. You know we talk on occasion, but nothing more than that really. There are things that I haven’t said. Things that I’ve kept to myself. One is that Striker runs a division of my business for me back in our hometown. He took over when we moved out here.”

My face falls, this catches me off guard. I can’t even form a single thought. All of this time, I thought that Striker made a life in the military, and now I am finding out that he has been working for Dalton. He moved back when we left. Why? Was it because of me? Did he only come back because we were gone? After staring at my hands for a moment, I raise my eyes to Dalton’s, and he continues while I try to process everything he tells me.