18. Mik

CHAPTER 18

MIK

"We need to talk," Jason whispers from the passenger side of his rental.

The back of the SUV opens, Jase grabs the covered dishes and containers of leftovers, then follows Janel as she staggers inside. I don't react other than a clipped nod as I climb out of the driver's seat. Jason had only had a few beers, but I didn't drink at all, not trusting myself to keep my shit together if I allowed myself to relax at all.

I can feel in my bones what he wants to talk about. It's the same conversation I've been trying to find the strength to have since last night. As soon as I was done panicking that Janel could see us—she couldn't, I looked out the window and checked for myself—I knew I needed to put a stop to this.

It's not just wrong, it's a dangerous game we're playing. The happiness and wellbeing of my family hangs in the balance, but I've been too stupid and too weak to see it until my conversation with Janel yesterday. She's so close to uncovering the truth, and she's been watching us too closely.

I'm positive she didn't buy our bullshit excuse of going for a walk last night. We were disheveled. I was practically limping. There was bark and dirt ground into my t-shirt and cum dripping down the inside of my legs. I avoided her, taking a hurried shower before she could make it up for bed, and then tucking myself in and pretending to be asleep.

This morning, I'd hoped to pull Jason aside and tell him we need to stop, but she was always there. The one time we got a moment alone was when she went to take a shower and get ready to go to her parent's house for our weekly dinner, but I chickened out. I'd spent so much of the day watching him, trying to find a moment, that I'd slipped into my recent routine of hoping he'd touch me or kiss me.

The way I want him borders on desperation, and I'm terrified that's going to come out instead of what I need to say. Instead of doing the right thing and putting an end to this madness, what will slip out of my mouth is a declaration of love and obsession. Then again, there's a good chance my madness might chase him back across the ocean.

How am I ever going to let him go?

Jason might look similar to the younger version of himself, aside from the obvious bulk and subtle signs of aging, but he's a different person than he was then. He's so much more self-assured and confident.

Past Jason touched me tenderly and tentatively, asking for permission and wanting to please me. This Jason takes what he wants and forces my pleasure, wringing it from my body. And while there are moments of tenderness that have bled through here and there, he uses me like an object.

His detachment both hurts and comforts me in turns. I want desperately for him to need me as much as I need him, to love me as much as I've never been able to stop loving him, but I'm also terrified of it and trying to detach myself. He said we could get this out of our systems and go back to pretending nothing ever happened. But I'm not sure I'm capable of it.

Janel nearly falls over trying to take her strappy sandals off, then proceeds to giggle and flirt as I try to put away leftovers. Jason watches her, his jaw clenching visibly. Jase watches Jason, an odd, almost amused expression on his face.

It's not until Janel grabs my arms and places them on her ass that I worry about this escalating. "Dance with me, Mik," she coos, pulling up on her tiptoes to whisper, loudly , in my ear, "Like prom." Her voice drops into a forced husky tone as she slurs, "You remember prom, right?"

Not really, no. Forcing a smile, I spin her slowly under my arm and then direct her towards the stairs. "I think it's time we get you in bed," I say, leading her out of the kitchen before this can get any more awkward.

"Ooh, yes, please."

Oh god, why? She never acts like this around Jase, no matter how drunk she gets. Why do I feel like she's putting on a show?

As we're leaving the room, I hear Jase say, "Could you be more obvious?"

Jason hisses for him to shut up, and I'm painfully curious to know what they're talking about. I remove Janel's hand from my crotch and turn her back to the stairs, smacking her ass just to get her moving, hoping it'll encourage her up the stairs. It works, and I follow her stumbling, giggling form up to our bedroom. Once inside, I close the door and open the dresser, pulling out some pajamas and laying them on the bed. She stands at the end of the bed, watching me, as I pass her by and go into the bathroom, coming out with two aspirin and a glass of water.

"Here, take these. "

"I'm not drunk, Mickey."

"You just called me Mickey," I point out. "You know I hate that. So either you're drunk, or you're being purposefully obnoxious."

The last thing I'm trying to do is shame my wife for getting drunk and having some fun. Hell, I can't even blame her for getting horny once in a while. But her little display downstairs was mortifying, and I'm already gearing up to reject her advances, which always makes me feel guilty. Add to my usual guilt that all of this happened in front of the person I'm sleeping with behind her back, and it makes it a thousand times worse. Plus, our son was right there, witnessing every moment of my obvious discomfort.

"Are you going to change, or do you want to sleep like this?" I say, gesturing to her sundress, one strap hanging suggestively off her shoulder.

Pinning me with an unmistakable look, she starts to peel the dress down her arms. She pushes it over her breasts, down her waist, and it drops to the floor with a whoosh. Her lean, curvy body is dewy with sunscreen and a light sheen of sweat that only adds to her sensual beauty. She's a gorgeous woman, always has been. And I never, ever want her to think that I'm rejecting her because of her looks. I think I've broken down and performed more times because of that than I care to remember, but tonight is not one of those nights.

"Janie, not tonight," I say gently.

She steps up to me, pressing her breasts hard against my chest and running her hands up and into my hair. Pushing herself up on her tiptoes, she tries to direct my mouth down to meet hers, but I press my lips to her cheek instead. She presses her cheek into my kiss, turning her head to direct my lips down her neck, moaning softly.

"Come on, Janel. That's enough," I whisper kindly, but she keeps pressing herself against me, writhing like a cat .

Turning in place, she puts her ass against my crotch and rolls her hips back against me. My body remains still and unmoving, unsure how to extricate myself without hurting her feelings. Then she bends forward, resting her forearms on the edge of the bed and arching her ass into the air. "Is this what you want? Because if that's–"

"Oh my God, Janel. Just stop!" I yell, stumbling away from her.

She whips around, fury and pain contorting her pretty face. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Mik?!"

"You're drunk–"

"You're an idiot if you think I'm drunk enough to act like this to get your attention," she hisses. Then she plops down on the bed, pulling her knees up and burying her face in her hands.

I want to go to her, to comfort her, but I'm afraid. I'm afraid of how many times comforting her has turned into something more; something I can't refuse without digging myself in deeper and hurting her feelings further. So I just stand there and watch her cry, berating myself for being a weak, piece of shit asshole of a husband.

She might not be as drunk as she's been putting on, but she's also not sober. She wouldn't act like this if she weren't inebriated. Now isn't the time for a heart-to-heart. Besides, I'm too angry. Too angry at myself. Too angry at her. Too angry at him.

Too angry at life.

Janel's sobbing ebbs, and then she's snoring softly. With a deep sigh of relief, I gently pick her up and maneuver her onto her pillow, covering her up with the comforter. Just as I'm placing the glass of water and aspirin on her bed-side table, her hand lands on my arm. Her blue eyes are stark against her red-rimmed lids.

"I've never been what you want," she whispers hoarsely.

Her eyes are closed before I can answer her, but I do anyway .

"I'm sorry."

After a shower, I check on Janel again to make sure she's sleeping comfortably. Then I slip downstairs, assuming that I'll find him in the basement. He's sitting on the couch, one knee up, reading. He sets his e-reader down when I walk in.

"I wasn't sure you were going to make it."

"I didn't– We didn't–"

"It doesn't matter. We need to talk."

I sigh heavily. "I know we do."

The silence expands and contracts with every heavy, painful breath. A fog of understanding fills the room, ramping up the tension between us. We both know what needs to be said, but neither of us wants to be the one to say the words.

I open my mouth, and the wrong thing slips out, like I knew it would. But Jason speaks at the same time, cutting my stupidity off at the knees.

"I lo–"

"I have to go."

"Go? Go where?"

"I booked a room. I'm going to stay there until my flight leaves."

"But–"

"I never expected any of this to happen, Mik. I wasn't trying to complicate your life. I think seeing you again chipped away at my sanity a little, and I made the wrong choices. Like I always do. But you, you're the guy that does the right thing, and you need to keep doing that. Go be with your wife, be proud of your son, and live this comfortable little life you've built for yourself, because it's something special, Mik. You made the right choice."

"What are you talking about?" I ask incredulously. Hasn't he been giving me shit about my buttoned-up, boring suburban life since he got here?

The pain in his blue eyes is too similar to the way Janel looked up at me before I left the room tonight. There's a vulnerability there I haven't seen since we were nineteen and I kissed him for the first time.

"The moment I saw you with her, saw the way you were holding her and comforting her, I knew you'd do the right thing. After I thought about it, it made sense. It's not like I could give you the same things she could. I didn't want to complicate things, but I also didn't want to watch it happen. That's why I left, and that's why I'm leaving now."

"Wait." I try to force my brain to process what he's saying, but I don't understand. "Watch what happen?"

"Watch you do the right thing. Watch you choose her. Your family."

"Jason," I say, pulling his arm back when he moves to walk by me. "I never chose. I didn't get the chance. You did that for me when you left."

He stares at me like I've lost my mind, but he's the one that's out of his. His eyes are wild and bloodshot, his jaw and fists clenching intermittently. He's holding something back, the strain so visceral that I could imagine him blocking a massive boulder from crushing everything in its path. I can relate, because I've been doing the same thing. I've been holding back the truth that will crush my family, the life I've been living, everything. The weight of it has been crushing me in the process.

I'm not the good person he thinks I am. Not only was I a willing participant in our infidelity, but the mere idea that he could be holding back the same feelings has me ready to let both boulders roll right over me.

"I never chose, Jason."

His wild eyes widen, and his face pales like he's seen a ghost.

"I would have chosen you."