I want to curl my arms around him and hold on forever. I want to weep. I want to be the one to find a way to fix him, to take this away from him. Not just the pain but all of it.
“You need to sleep. I’m here,” I promise again.
Even before I finish saying the words, Leon’s breaths even out. They’re regular, deep. And his face is different. Peaceful. He’s so beautiful that I’m broken all over again. I’ve never seen him look like this before. I keep massaging his temple and forehead for what feels like hours, then I wrap one arm around him and curl up against him. I slip my leg between his, using myself like a human shield, a human blanket, and then I know.
I know that I’ve found the precipice. That defining moment between falling and fallen. And I am so far gone for this man that there is no retrieving myself back.
8
LEON
Ican count the number of times I’ve spent even a fraction of the night with another person, and by count, I mean that it’s an easy tally because the number is zero. I mean, in the cuddling, holding, intimate kind of way in the hours between dark and mostly morning. I’m no saint, and in the past, I’ve had functional relationships with other women who weren’t looking for anything more than a nice dinner and a few hours of mutual pleasure after that with zero strings or expectations tied to it. It worked for me. It was all I could handle since it’s not spending the night. I had no intention of letting anyone in. Ever.
And then…Darby.
Darby, my assistant. Darby, my wife. Darby, the woman who slipped her arms around me on that tiny bed and twined her much smaller body around mine like I was the one who needed to be protected. She’d offered to fight my demons for me, and her voice was thick and heartbroken, but it was also rough with determination. I was lost in a sea of pain, too physically exhausted to make her leave. I didn’t think it was possible, but I fell asleep for a few hours.
I woke up, and it was still dark out, but it was the kind of dark that meant sunrise wasn’t far off. The migraine was gone when I opened my eyes. I felt wrung out and exhausted, but I couldn’t bear the sweetness of Darby’s arm draped around me. She’d stayed, just like she promised.
I slipped out from under her arm and got off the bed. I needed to put space between myself and her soft, warm, curvy body. Not because I craved her and was ashamed of it. I was still too exhausted to worry about physical desire. It was because the minute after my eyes popped open, I was already being assailed by memories.
Staying in that bed would have been giving in to what I wanted—gentle breaths, a soft heartbeat, an arm wrapped snugly around me, a body that fit perfectly up against mine, a presence telling me that I wasn’t alone in the world, and a connection with another person. My heart is as hard as the rest of me, but something that’s broken only heals stronger.
I have almost no friends. I have a mother who I don’t speak to and a sister who I would do anything for. Then, I have my company. That’s pretty much it, and I like to keep it that way. Life is simple and uncomplicated. There are very few weaknesses that way.
Darby? I married her for a reason, and she also married me for a reason, though last night was a big red flag that maybe her reasons aren’t what I initially thought. Maybe it wasn’t just for the money. She was too tender, too caring. She said her heart was broken for me, and I knew it wasn’t just words. She meant it.
The cabin felt too small to contain me, so I walked outside. I was going to stop at the porch, but the lake called me, so I’m here now, sitting on the big rocks down by the beach. They separate sand from the part of the land that extends into the dock. It’s still dark, but barely. The night isn’t so sticky and hot anymore. There’s a bit of a breeze, which cools things down and causes the boat tied up at the dock to rock gently against the tires that buffer it.
I like it out here, even though I thought I wouldn’t. It’s easy out here to take a breath and go inside myself, into the spots where I go when I’m in too much pain. And then after, when I’m so tired that I can’t defend myself anymore.
I guess maybe I’m a little bit too good at going there because all of a sudden, I’m thrown back into my body, and I’m not alone. Darby is on my lap. The pain comes tearing at me like a raging bear, heaving, growling, snarling, flinging spittle, and digging its claws through me. It’s not the pain from yesterday and not a pain in my head. This pain is entirely in my chest, and it is a thousand times worse.
“Darby…” How on earth could I have missed her walking down here and crawling onto my lap? Has she been saying something to me? Trying to pull me out of myself? Have I just been sitting here like a zombie?
Probably yes, because she’s frantic. Her hands are on my face. Wet. They’re coming away wet. Is it raining? No, it’s not raining. “Leon!” Her eyes are wide and fearful. “What hurts? What’s happening? Why are you sitting out here all alone? Why didn’t you wake me up? Are you sick? Leon, you’re…you’re…crying.”
I’m what?
Crying.
I realize she’s right. The wetness on my face hauls my ass straight back to the past. I can’t remember the last time I cried. Literally. It was like the ability to do it was beaten out of me.
“I’m ashamed.” It’s my voice, but it sounds like it’s coming from someone else. Someone who wants this. Someone who needs this more than anything. Someone who has spent a lifetime craving a connection with another person. A broken man underneath polished layers of success. Darby’s peeling back the layers. She’s sitting on my lap, and she’s soothing me with her soft, sweet, gentle hands.
Okay, earth, now would be a great time to open up a huge crack and let me dive straight into it to escape this unique blend of humiliation and mortification, which I suppose, blended together would still basically be the same words, unless you went with humilification or mortihumil.
I find her blue eyes, which are so much bluer than the lake, and I fixate on them. “Why are you ashamed?” she asks me gently. Her finger runs over the seam of my lips. She tastes salty. My salt, my tears. I have held myself together for thirty-two years, but right now, I am splitting down the middle, and all of it is coming out.
She already knows everything. She’s my wife, even if it is a marriage of convenience. I might as well tell her. Talk and do the one thing I’ve spent a lifetime running from. I don’t know what it means to even let down my guard by half, but I want to tell her. I want to let her in. Right now, I’m exhausted. I’m so tired of hiding and running and pretending like I am fine. Always fine. Always impenetrable. Always so rock-solid.
I swallow hard against the thickness in my throat. Are my eyes still leaking? I’m burning with mortification. I can’t believe this is happening. “I’m a grown man, and now you know that someone else made me a victim. I hate that I was helpless.”
“You were a child.”
“Not forever. I was older, and I got bigger. But I still couldn’t stop it. I was weak. I still have so many weaknesses. And I hate it.”
“No.” Her hands flutter over my temples. “That’s not what weakness is. And even if you do have one or two or a thousand, who cares? Who gives a shit? What’s pride? Pride is nothing. Pride is so dumb. It gets you nowhere. Everyone is strong and weak sometimes. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t fucking matter.” She looks like she wants to give me the one thing I’ve had far too little of in my life—affection. But I can’t hope. I can’t believe in that.