Our last night together feels heavy with meaning. If these are the last of my minutes with her, I’m happy to spend them listening to her sleepy sounds and enjoying the warmth of her body curled against mine.
• • •
In the morning, my sense of purpose is renewed. I dress while Brielle is still asleep and slip out of the hotel room. It’s better than having to hear her say good-bye. Last night I took things that weren’t mine to take, we grew closer than we should have, and I don’t want to see the look of regret that’s probably in her eyes this morning. Brielle and I are two different people. I no longer possess that same hopeful optimism that love conquers all.
When I met Tara, she become my entire world. I fell hard and fast, and never doubted for a second that she’d be at my side when we were both old and gray. And for years, things were great.
Wanting to make her my wife, I bought her the best ring money could buy. She deserved it after watching me scrape my way through law school, and living in cheap student housing with me. As we lay curled together at night on our lumpy mattress, I used to whisper to her how I’d give her the world if I could. All my love, promises, and sacrifice weren’t enough for her, though, because one day I came home early and found her fucking my best friend, Troy. He was a good friend, and while it hurt to know he betrayed me, it was her unfaithfulness that destroyed me. I’d been ready to devote my life to her.
After that, Reece proved what a good friend he is by cutting Troy from his life completely. He felt the betrayal almost as deeply as I did. That’s when I began exploring the BDSM lifestyle Reece is so fond of, and felt immediately at home. Control. Discipline. Never getting too close. It was the only type of relationship I saw myself having with a woman. The exchange of power was exactly what I craved.
After Tara left me for another man, I became the other man so I never had to feel that kind of hurt again, so that I could never be left again. I don’t involve my heart, and I won’t ever give myself away completely in these interactions. That’s why I never tell them my name. Because I won’t exist when we’re done.
It’s this mindset that I try to summon as I head off to meet with Chrissy. I push the thoughts of Brielle that plague me as far away as possible. Today is about Chrissy and the future she’s always dreamed of.
On my way out to the suburbs, I sent a text to Brielle.
Hale: Peach, something has come up. I’m sorry for the change in plans, but last night’s session will be our last.
Her response is simple.
Brielle: Okay.
I’m not sure what I was expecting. An argument? Her demanding an explanation? Suddenly I wish I had told her in person so I could see her face, watch her expression change. Would it be relief, indifference, or disappointment I saw reflected in her pretty features? Not knowing is driving me insane.
When I arrive at the address Chrissy sent me, I step out of the car to greet her. She’s standing in the driveway, surveying her surroundings. When she spins to face me, I hiss out a breath. Holy shit.
“Chrissy?” I reach for her. “What the fuck happened?” Lifting her chin with two fingers, I force her eyes to meet mine.
She squeezes her eyes closed and whimpers.
There are fingertip bruises around her throat and a dark mark under one eye that her makeup doesn’t cover. Her lower lip is swollen and red with bite marks.
“Chrissy? Answer me.”
“Don’t,” she pleads with me. She knows I won’t let this drop until the motherfucker who got rough with her pays for his harsh treatment.
I press closer, my thumbs stroking her cheeks as I hold her face near mine. “Goddamn it. Who did this?”
She shakes her head. “It was nothing I didn’t ask for. Come on, the real estate agent’s here. Let’s go inside.”
Her words send me into a frenzy. She asked for this shit?
“Please, Hale,” she begs.
Fuck.
Today is supposed to be a happy day, so I take Chrissy’s hand and turn toward the little bungalow I’m helping her buy, but a loud gasp startles us both.
Brielle.
She’s standing several feet away, watching me interact with Chrissy. Wearing her red coat, she looks so beautiful and fragile, I want to weep. Her eyes have welled with tears, which she works to blink away.
I want to go to her, want to tell her it’s not what it looks like, but the cliché of a lie dies on my lips.
Brielle’s watchful eyes don’t miss a thing. Not the bruises decorating Chrissy’s neck, or the way she has a death grip on my hand. Deep hurt and betrayal is written all over Brielle’s face.
Sensing the tense standoff happening between me and Brielle, Chrissy shifts beside me. “Is everything okay?”