Then why the hell did I invite her to my place? Why did I offer to cook for her? Why did I let her wear Kate’s backup apron since her favorite is tucked away in our room? Maybe Marcy’s right. Maybe she is intruding. It’s not her fault, though. It’s mine. I should’ve never put her in this position. I’m just as bad as the asshole from her story. Maybe I’m even worse because I laid it all out on the table for her. I explained that I want to use her, but I’m unwilling to give her anything real. Then I practically played house with her by planting her in the middle of a scenario I’ve acted out a thousand times with my wife.
That’s so messed up.
Kate’s gone. And the terrifying part is that I haven’t really thought much about her since Marcy stepped into my house. It’s like she turned on a bright light and made the haunting memories retreat like shadows in the sun.
Then Krista showed up and reminded me why this is a terrible idea even though it finally feels like I can breathe.
With a groan, I end the kiss. “We should probably call it a night.” The feel of her soft skin against the palm of my hand is like heaven, but I pull away from her anyway and hate myself as soon as I do.
“Oh. Uh, yeah. I had a hunch you’d say that.” She releases a dry laugh before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re right. It’s for the best. Thanks for dinner, though. It was probably the best steak I’ve ever had.”
“Probably?” I challenge, scrambling to hold onto the banter I’m slowly growing accustomed to whenever Marcy and I are together.
She shrugs one shoulder with a smirk firmly in place. “Probably. Goodnight, Ben.”
“Goodnight, Marcy.”
Leaning toward me, she drops a soft kiss to my mouth that has me questioning every decision I’ve made in the past two minutes before she pulls away, grabs her purse off the kitchen counter, then heads out the front door while I’m left staring at the heavy oak long after she disappears through it.
9
Marcy
“So, how are the Braxton Hicks?” I ask before pressing the speaker button and setting my phone on my desk.
“They’re a bitch.” Dylan’s laughter softens her response, but I still feel for her. The waiting game must be brutal.
Clicking on Photoshop, I open the images from a recent photo shoot and start editing as I reply, “I believe it. Ben said you could go into labor anytime.”
“That’s what he told us too, but that almost makes it worse. Now I’m just…waiting. Ya know? Grady keeps telling me to enjoy it, and I’m trying to, but I’m also so ready to meet this little nugget.”
“I’m not even related to her, and I’m dying from anticipation. When is your mom coming into town? Will she make it for the delivery?”
“Grady and I decided we wanted to have a little time as a new family before she comes to visit, so we booked her flight for the end of the month.”
“That’ll be good,” I acknowledge while erasing a giant flag pole in the background of the image in front of me. “Is she still on the sober train?”
“Yup. She’s riding that thing like a champ. It’s weird, but totally awesome too.” The relief in Dylan’s voice makes me want to hug her.
“Aww, I’m happy for you. And for her.”
“Me too. Speaking of being happy for each other…. How was your date last night?”
She waits with bated breath as I release an epic sigh of resignation while tweaking the hue and saturation in the image I’m working on.
“That bad?” Dylan mutters with disbelief.
“I don’t even know.” I laugh dryly while analyzing the night for the billionth time since I left.
“Come on, Marcy. You gotta give me more than that.”
“There’s not much to tell. He invited me over for dinner, cooked me steak––”
“Ooo, fancy. Was it good?”
“It was delicious. Then we started making out, but someone knocked on the door and kind of ruined the mood.”
“Who was it?”
Breathing out another sigh, I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut. “It was his wife’s twin sister.”
Silence.
“Yeah…,” I confirm, answering her silent question.
“Holy shit, Marcy.”
“I know.”
“So was she like…mad that you were there?”
“No. That’s the weird part. She was super friendly and welcoming. It was Ben who acted all weird after she left. And then he kissed me, told me we should call it a night, and I left.”
“That’s it?”
“Yup.”
“And have you heard from him since?”
“Nope. Something spooked him. I told him about an experience I had a few years ago when I went home with a random guy, and his wife walked in on us, but I had no idea he was married––”
“You don’t need to defend yourself to me. And how the hell is that your fault?”
“It’s not. And he knows that. He sounded super accepting when I brought it up. Then we kissed. Then he pulled away and basically asked me to leave.” Frustrated, I close the file I’m working on and grab my phone, turn off the speaker option, press it to my ear, and start pacing. I can’t focus on photography right now. Not when I’m this amped up.
“Would it be weird to message him?” I ask, cringing at the desperation that slips into my voice.
“I dunno? Maybe? Since he asked you to leave….”
Pouting, I plop onto the couch in my family room, then reach for a pillow and hug it against my chest while keeping the phone pressed against my ear.
“I like him, Dylan.”
“I know, sweetie,” Dylan consoles. I can practically hear her pity.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Grady…I saw him at the photo shoot for the firefighter’s calendar before you guys got married. I saw how broken he was. How insecure he felt. And I saw how he looked at you. How did you…?” My face scrunches up as I try to figure out the most delicate way to ask this. “How did you help him heal? How did you convince him to give you a real shot?”
“I thought you only wanted sex…?”
“I thought so too. And I do,” I clarify, though I’m not entirely sure who I’m trying to convince. “But I also hate seeing him in pain. He hides it well. But I can still see it. He misses her.”
“Can you blame him? I heard they were high school sweethearts. That’s what Grady says, anyway. Did you go to high school with them?”
“I moved here during my sophomore year of high school, but they were a few years older than me, so I didn’t really know any of them.”
“Grady says they were a perfect match made in Heaven. Then the car crashed, and his life shifted in a way he’d never expected.”
“Just like Grady’s,” I point out.
“Yeah. I wish there was a clear-cut answer I could give you. But honestly? We moved at his pace, and I played by his rules until I couldn’t. Then we both learned to compromise until he finally realized that our wants and needs aligned.”