I am scared. No, I’m worried. I think it’s a mix of both. I twist the knob and the door creaks. She’s home.
Nervousness tightens my muscles, my steps falter as I push the door to the mansion open. The last time I was here was to cause trouble. Now, I don’t know if peace can reign. If she will allow me into her life.
The house is quiet. If her car wasn’t outside, I would assume nobody was home. I take the stairs two at a time. The anxiety returns when I’m in front of our bedroom. We made so many good memories in this room.
Sweat rolls down my temple and a lump forms in my chest. What if she doesn’t want to see me?
Has she changed her mind about the divorce? We haven’t seen a mediator so technically and legally, we are still a couple. El is my wife and I want her to love me the right way. I want to be the only man for her.
On entering, I spot El curled on the couch with a quilt pulled to her chin. The weather is chilly but not as cold as last week. Her back is to me so she doesn’t see me. Quietly, I shut the door behind me and halt. The room is a mess. Clothes strewn on the bed, boxes open. There’s no single picture of us on the wall.
The room is bare of our memories. She’s leaving.
She is fucking leaving. Without even telling us? Did Joshua know? I didn’t allow her access to our girls. No phone calls, no visitations but she can’t just pack up and leave. Doesn’t she miss them? Is she really moving on with T? I stop myself from marching to the couch to shake her awake. She’s angry. I hurt her.
Forcing one foot in front of the other until I reach the bed, I pick an upturned frame. It’s a picture of me. A flood of memories roll over me. Her muffled moans as she fucked herself with the dildo reverberates in my head. My cock twitches. I haven’t touched a woman in months. I haven’t touched myself in weeks.
The longing for a reconciliation pushes me to pick the other frames. I arrange them back on the wall as best as I remember. Placing a hand on my waist, I stare at the pictured filled wall. We are still married.
El rouses from the couch, she stretches her arms and freezes when her eyes fall on me. I frown. She has lost so much weight. Her collarbone stretches against her skin and her dark circles are worse than mine.
I skip to her and she pulls her legs to her chest, curling into herself to avoid any form of contact with me.
It stings. But it is my fault. I did this. I settle down on the opposite end of the couch, my hands reach out for her and she whimpers. Alright. No touching. But I need answers. My eyes roam her body from head to toe, my frown deepens. Her sweatpants and sweatshirts are too big. Have they always been this big?
She peers at me from hooded eyes, I choose to stick to safer topic. “Where are you going?”
Her voice is barely audible. “Home.”
The clawing in my chest stretches to my throat. Her home is here. With me and the girls and Brianna.
“To visit?” Our gazes collide, her eyes are blank. El shakes her head. Fear builds inside me, she can’t go. I get it. I fucked up but she can’t leave. Her gaze doesn’t waver, she has decided. “You can’t leave, Elna.”
El’s phone vibrates on the couch, she snatches it before I glimpse the caller. What are the odds the caller is the same bastard who put us in this position? El doesn’t pick but her head jerks in a nod at the pop up on her screen. She slides the phone into her purse and folds the quilt on the couch. I shoot to my feet.
“Please.” I stretch my arms to block her path. She looks up. “My Uber is waiting for me. Just let me go.”
It’s my turn to shake my head. “No. Cancel the trip.”
“What else do you want from me?” she yells. I will take all the yelling as long as she stays. Tears make an appearance on her cheeks. “I want to go home. I want my parents, at least they care about me. You already have my babies, what else do you want?”
“Not me,” I reply. El swipes her hand against her nose. “The girls. They want to see you.”
Hurt flashes across her face, she bunches the hem of her shirt. Her head moves left, then right. Her hair falls over her face, she swats them behind her ears but refuses to look up. My fingers itch to touch her.
I miss her.
“I don’t want to see them,” she finally says.
But she sure as hell would love to see T. What kind of mother is okay with staying away from her kids this long? Granted, I kept them from her but she has a chance now. She should snatch this opportunity.
“You don’t have much of a choice here,” I snap.
Without a glance at me, she whispers, “Okay, Brandon.” She fists her hands and her body vibrates gently. I think she’s crying. “Okay.” Her voice pierces right through my heart. “Whatever you want, Sir.”
My heart sinks to my stomach. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. She’s making it hard for us. I came here with the intention of talking. No divorce. I want to be with her. But talking about it feels like a bad idea. She continues crying without making a sound. I kneel in front of my wife, almost afraid to touch her.
“You can move in with me, El.” Everyone is there, we can practise how to be a family again. She starts shaking her head. “Fine. Me and the girls will move in.” Her face scrunches like the idea is unfavourable and I rectify it by adding, “We just have to convince them we are okay. They are not doing very good.”
“Okay.” El squeezes her eyes shut and tears roll down her cheeks. The sight drives stakes into my heart, I pinch myself to stop from touching her. “For the girls,” she says. When her eyelids flutter open, they are heavy with sadness. She hugs herself. “When are they coming? I can make something for them to eat.”
In truth, she looks like she’s the one who needs food. But I don’t comment on that or the slowness with which she moves. Rising to her feet, she staggers and my hands stretch out to steady her. She sidesteps me but my hand rests on her shoulder for fear of her falling. She’s so fragile and skinny. Her angry eyes lower to my hand, then returns to my face and I raise my hands up in surrender. I am not the enemy.
She covers the distance to the bed and shoves clothes into the box. Locking it, she groans as she tries to hoist it down the bed. Without thinking, I pry it off her with the intention of helping but she shoves me.
Standing straight with a reasonable gap between us, she spits out, “I don’t need your help.” She needs help. She needs me. I need her too. But for peace sake, I move out of her way. “When are they coming?”
To be honest, I didn’t think it would be this easy. I didn’t tell the girls for fear of breaking their hearts. El folds her arms under her breasts. I swallow the lump that forms in my throat. She’s so pretty. I love her.
“Tonight.”
El wheels her box to the door and pries it open. “I’ll have everything sorted by then.”
“Where are you going?”
A plastic smile falls on her lips, she pinches her thumb and index finger together with that bored look directed at me as if I asked a foolish question. If she’s not tired of fighting, I am. I will make this work.
“To the guest room.”
In all the months we have been married, we have never slept apart. It’s the unspoken rule. She let me hold her after I told her about Brendan. How can we get back together if we sleep in separate rooms?
The knife in my heart twists, I place a hand over my chest. I can’t live in the same house with her and sleep alone. If this is part of her payback plan to hurt me for taking the girls, it’s working. “Elna. Baby.”
“Don’t.” She raises a finger when I take my first step forward. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.” Then we can talk with our bodies. Our lips. A brief kiss will do. “I’m only staying here for my girls.”
“Our girls,” I correct and cover the distance. I place a hand on the handle of her box, she stiffens but the stubborn minx doesn’t back down. My thumb traces her lips, she tries to slap me but I grab her wrist.
Her mouth parts in a silent gasp, I push my thumb inside. I need her. I need her like I need air to breathe.
“Brandon,” she warns.
The warning goes in through one ear and out the other. My lower body presses to hers so she can feel the effect she has on me. She drives me crazy with need. Amber eyes clash with brown ones, lust tinged with anger shadows her gaze but I focus on only the lust. I kiss a corner of her lips and she moans softly.
My fingers locate the zipper of her sweatshirt, I pull it down to reveal a tank top. I palm her belly, one hand goes over her rising and falling chest to feel her heart. She puts both hands on my chest, maybe to push me away but nothing happens. My head lowers, my lips hover above hers but I don’t kiss her. Yet.
“Brandon...”
I swallow the rest of her protests. My hand slides behind her to pull her closer to me as my tongue slips into her mouth. It has been too long. My tongue touches every corner, tasting and tasting, touching and touching till we are breathing the same air. I pull back to catch my breath and claim her lips once more.
This kiss is more intense and I relax slightly when her fingers slide into my hair. She moans into my lips, painfully tugs on my hair from the roots. I nibble on her lower lip, her leg wraps around my waist.
Without breaking our kiss, I hoist her up and carry her to the bed. Holding her hands above her head, I kiss the skin between her neck and shoulder. She grinds against my groin. Her whimpers and moans inspire me to go further, I tug on the waistband of her pants and a hand slides inside to cup her warmth.
She’s wet.
I shove a finger inside and her teeth sink into her lip. She spreads her legs, willing me to go further and I push another finger into her wetness. Her head falls back as my fingers find a steady rhythm inside her.
Pressing my lips to her neck, I say, “I don’t want you to stay in the guest room.” Each word is punctuated by a kiss but she’s no longer as responsive. My fingers slide out of her and she closes her legs. “Please.”
Her hands drop from my waist and she freezes under me. I dare to look at her face. The anger is back.
“Get off me.”