If I Break THE COMPLETE SERIES Bundle (13 page)

He stands and walks toward me. “I’m sorry,” he says, looking me straight in the eye.

I quickly look away; I hate when he does this. I swear he can see straight through me and read my thoughts. “That’s what you say.”

He rests his hands on my waist. “That’s what I mean,” he says, stepping closer and leaning into me.

I shake my head and step away from him. “Well, how am I supposed to know?” I say quietly to myself as if I’m trying to wake up from a bad dream. “I’m tired of not knowing, Cal!” I say louder.

“Have I ever said anything to you and not meant it?” he reiterates.

Cal has done some pretty mean shit to me. He’ll ignore me, avoid my questions, or leave me without a warning, but he’s not a liar. I’m trying to think, but I get distracted as he starts to run his fingers through my damp hair, massaging my scalp. How am I supposed to think while he’s doing that? I need to think. His lips softly glide across my neck, and he pulls me against his chest. I’m trying to figure out how to respond to this. I’m mad, and I have the right to be. Whatever I want to do, I need to do it fast, before he gets me all the way over to the bed. 
Say something! Say it now!

“W-we can’t,” I tell him breathlessly as the towel drops to the floor.

It’s too late. He lowers me onto the bed. His weight covers me, as do his lips. I need to talk with him, not sleep with him. This always happens when he touches me: the shivers up my spine, the heat between my thighs, then I get lightheaded and forget my thoughts. He’s casting some kind of spell over me. What else could this be?

“C-Cal, stop,” I say so softly that I can barely hear myself as his fingers trail down my body.

“Do you want me to?” He’s beginning to nibble on my ear.

“I don’t know what I want anymore,” I say honestly, trying to catch my breath. I turn my head to the window. It’s still open, and a soft breeze is blowing in.

“This isn’t what you want?” he says huskily before deepening his kiss.

It takes all my strength, but I break it and gently hold his chin. He looks at me, surprised and somewhat curious.

I stare into the eyes that I usually try to avoid. I look into them for answers about what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. The light from the moon beams down on us through my window. I can’t read them. I can’t see what’s behind them; they’re smoke-covered glass. I can’t see anything more than he wants me to.

“I don’t 
know
 anymore, Cal,” I whisper, trying to hold in the hot tears, and I let go of his face.

The wide grin on it softens. He sweeps a piece of stray hair off my forehead and looks into my eyes for what seems like an eternity, but in reality, it’s only a minute.

In an instant, he lifts his body off of me and out of the bed. I maneuver myself to one side and rest my head so I can see what he’s doing. It’s cold, so I slip underneath the covers. Resting my head on my hands, I watch him grab his jacket and get something out of it. I sigh and turn my body so I’m not facing him anymore.

A few minutes later, he’s in bed beside me, his bare skin against mine. Kisses cover my shoulders, and he pulls me toward him. This time, I avoid eye contact. I don’t know what to think or what to feel; I don’t want to get lost in him. I don’t want to keep falling for him, caving in to whatever manipulation this is.

“Lauren,” he beckons quietly.

He takes my hand, bringing it to his face and caressing it. I still don’t answer him. Hot tears sting my cheeks. He hasn’t seen my tears flow like this in a long time; my facade of anger and vindictiveness is usually perfect for camouflaging them. Tonight, I’m too exhausted for any of it. He wipes them from my face and gently kisses my cheek.

“I’m so tired. I can’t. I can’t keep doing this; it-it’s destroying me,” I whimper. My voice is choked up, and I look away from him.

He cups my chin, making me look up at him. “Lauren. I’m here.”

I look away from him. “But how am I…” I can’t finish; my voice caves in.

“I’m 
here,
 gorgeous.” His voice is unrecognizable and almost pleading.

I can’t look away from him after that. His gray eyes are showing that faint hint of green. He squeezes my hand, which is tiny in comparison to his. He brings his other hand into view and shows me what it was he was looking for in his jacket a minute ago. Slowly and deliberately, he slides the wedding band down my ring finger, restoring it to its rightful place. I begin to cry harder because tonight, I’m so confused. I wrap my arms around his neck and he holds me close.

I have a lot of confusion about his love for me, but what I have never been confused about is my love for him. I love Cal. That’s it. There’s nothing I’ve been able to do to stop loving him yet. No matter how angry or how frustrated I get. He knows the exact moment, the exact thing to do to make me fall in love with him all over again.

I close my eyes, feeling at peace in this instant. For this moment, I’ve gone back in time to when I used to lie in his arms, when he made me feel as if it was just the two of us in the world and nothing stood between us.

While I have this moment—this peace—I’ll sleep and worry about the rest tomorrow. I finally feel myself drifting to sleep, wrapped in Cal’s arms. And at least for this night, the couple in the picture that I turned down earlier doesn’t feel so far away.

Why do I stay? It’s a simple question really. Why don’t I just leave? I have no children with him. We’re married, but divorce is so easy and common these days. Why do I care so much?

These questions run through my mind as I stare at the ceiling. The same ceiling I used to look at every night when I was a little girl. The teenaged dreamer is now a woman. I glance at the ring on my finger and it commands my attention, not because of the gorgeous princess-cut yellow diamond, but what it once stood for.

It’s supposed to be a symbol of our love, trust, and commitment to one another. When I made those vows, I knew without a doubt that we both had those things.

I love him, but my trust in him has waned. I sometimes doubt his commitment to me, our commitment to make our marriage work. I’ve taken off this band easily because the things it stands for, I don’t believe in anymore. Still, time after time, I allow it back on.

Why is it that when Cal isn’t with me, I miss him so much it’s worse than physical pain? Why is it when I see his eyes, sometimes I swear I see a side of him he won’t allow me to fully know?

His eyes—I think I fell in love with his eyes. They reveal so little and so much. Sometimes I look into them and they’re vacant, cold, and void. Yet there are moments when there is something kind and warm behind them.

His mystique used to excite me, drawing me in, too intriguing to let go. Now, the fact that my husband is still a mystery to me is frustrating, and it makes me realize his mysteries are just secrets that he won’t trust me with. I grow more resentful of that every day.

I’ve allowed myself to stay because there are times like last night when I’m madly, deeply in love with him all over again. Other times, I feel as though I barely know him at all. I’m afraid I’ve wrapped myself up in him for so long that it would be hard to stand on my own. That realization is sickening, and a part of me blames him for that. I know I let this happen. I’ve allowed this icy exterior to take over and change who I am. It started out as a way to deal with him, to keep from feeling sad, lonely, and insufficient. It started out as a temporary defense mechanism, but now it’s a cornerstone of the woman I’ve become.

It’s morning. I’ve been lying here for a while, not able to sleep, still trying to figure things out. I feel Cal wake up, and the mattress shifts as he sits up. I roll over to look at him. He glances at me, yawns, and begins grabbing his clothing scattered about on the floor.

“Morning,” I say, quietly resting my head on my arm.

He puts on his boxers and shirt, but he doesn’t answer. His brow is furrowed, and he’s moving as if he’s in a hurry for something. He walks to my old closet and shuffles through it impatiently. I sit completely still, trying to figure out what he’s doing in there.

“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to maintain my composure. I don’t want to do this with him today. I’m trying to not be a bitch, but he’s really pushing it.

He finds my suitcase and pulls it out. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

“What? No, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Look, I don’t have time for this shit. Get up and put your clothes on.”

“So that’s it? After everything last night, you wake up with a fucking stick up your ass, throwing out demands. Maybe you don’t get it, but I didn’t come here for an overnight trip.”

“You know what, Lauren? I’m tired of this bullshit. I may have really fucked up a business deal for Dex to come after you and hold your fucking hand. I want to go home and at least sleep in my own bed!” he snarls.

I throw my pillow at him. Jumping out of bed, I grab my robe from the floor and put it on.

“Here we go.” He laughs angrily.

“Why did you come after me? Why did you bring me this?” I thrust my hand in his face, showcasing our ring.

“Yeah, I brought it to you. You’re my wife. Why the hell do you keep taking it off?”

I’m taken aback by his question, and it makes me pause. “Because I miss you, but I’m starting to feel like this is just something to pacify me!”

“But I’m here! That’s what I don’t get! How do you miss me?”

I take a deep breath. I know he’s not the only one to blame in this and decide to take on some of it. “I miss us,” I correct, lowering my tone. “What we used to have. How we used to be. What’s happened to us?” I walk toward him, my eyes pleading, and his brow softens, but he turns away from me.

“What are you saying?” His tone becomes defensive.

“I-I’m not—I’m not going back to Chicago with you,” I say sternly, but my head is down; I can’t look at him as I say it.

I love him, yes. I’m in love with him, no question about it, but it’s a problem when I’m questioning whether I love him more than myself and if he loves me at all.

“You’re not coming home?” he asks as if he didn’t hear me.

“As of now, Cal, we don’t have a home. I don’t think of where we live as a home,” I say angrily.

“Great, now we don’t have a home. I guess the penthouse I’ve worked my ass off to pay for is what, pretend?” he says sarcastically.

“You know what I mean!” I growl at him.

He laughs, shaking his head defensively. “No, I don’t know what you mean. I came here. I spent the night with you. I don’t want to be in fucking Saginaw the next few days I have off. Why are you making this into something it’s not?”

“Because! I don’t want you to think this is just a temper tantrum. I’m serious. If I go back, I’ll be saying what you’re doing—what we’re both doing—is okay. I’ll be saying it’s okay for you to leave me for weeks at a time. It’s okay for me to miss you so much that it’s painful. That I’m fine with not knowing what you’re feeling or thinking ninety percent of the time. I question whether you love me every day.” My voice is starting to crack.

His hardened expression softens, and he walks toward me. “Why? Why do you do that?” He holds the back of his head in both hands and sighs, exasperated. “You know I love you!” He gestures toward me angrily and paces the room. “If you only knew what it took for me to be here with you!” he says, but it seems as if he’s saying it to himself.

“Of course, you’re tearing yourself away from work. How difficult it is to be with your wife—because we’re desperate for the money. I need the Louboutins, and you need those Rolexes and foreign cars!” I shout through my tears, sitting on the bed. “I-I feel like you’ve grown resentful toward me. You used to be—well, I thought you were happy. You were fun. You made me laugh and feel sexy and wanted.” I smile, remembering happier times. “Now, I feel like you’re distant. You’re slipping away from me. The only time I feel connected to you is when we’re having sex. And recently it’s just been that. You don’t make love to me anymore… maybe marriage turned you into this. I never imagined it being like this for us.”

I close my eyes and let out a much needed breath that I feel as though I’ve been holding in forever. The silence in the room after all of the noise seems odd.

He’s sitting on my desk chair, arms folded across his chest, with a range of emotions passing across his face. None of them look remotely sorry or understanding. “I’ve never wanted anything more than our marriage, Lauren. You’re the one thing that belongs to me. The only pure thing I have is us. I used to have a different reason for being. It came from a dark place. My motivation changed when I fell in love with you. You’re my strength and my weakness. 
You’re
 the reason I fight to be here.”