Scar
The cork pops from the bottle and I pour two glasses. “Congratulations,” I say, grinning as Rita takes her drink. “I knew you’d get it.”
I toast her and pour a long swallow down my throat, stomach a bubbling mess of conflicting emotions. I keep it to myself.
She smiles at me, takes a sip, and leans up against the counter. “You were so confident, but, man, I really thought I screwed it up. I mean, the guy asked about my family, and I actually told him my parents are swingers. On an interview! What is wrong with me!”
“Okay, yes, that’s admittedly not the best thing to say.”
“He must’ve thought it was funny, thank god, because I’m pretty sure I was like one over sharing story away from a sexual harassment law suit.”
“At least you’d have a good lawyer,” I say with a grin.
She sighs, shaking her head at me. But she’s smiling. “Seriously, I thought I blew it. Then Janine called the next day and was, like, they’re offering me the job, and I just…” She trails off, grinning so big I think her face might fall apart.
I love this moment. It feels so good, watching her this happy-but it’s also bittersweet, knowing she’s definitely not coming to Boston with me.
Which is selfish, I know. She should revel in her victory. I know few things feel better than standing in front of a judge and hearing the verdict I wanted. There’s nothing better than winning.
Except for maybe keeping Rita by my side.
Some stupid voice in the back of my head wonders, what would happen if she didn’t get the job? I did everything I could to help that happen, but what if she still didn’t?
Or even worse, what if she turned it down to come with me anyway?
I want her. I still want her. If she told me now that she’s not taking the job because she wants to come with me to Boston, I’d be pissed, I might try to talk her out of it-but I’d bring her.
Because I’m still a selfish piece of shit at the end of the day.
This is better for her. Less dangerous, more fulfilling. She doesn’t need me to be happy.
But lately, I think I need her.
She walks into the living room and collapses on the couch. She sighs, head tilted back, glass to her lips. I hesitate nearby, looking at her long legs in her tight skirt, at her sultry lips pressed together, at the giddy-and-happy look in her eyes. She’s so fucking beautiful, it kills me. I clench my jaw, trying to keep it together.
She smiles at me, head tilted. “What? You’re staring.”
“Just thinking logistics, that’s all.”
“What sort of logistics?” She sighs and stretches, making this gorgeous little groaning sound. My heart reacts, racing against my will.
I sit on the arm. “Like where you’ll live.”
She hesitates. A moment of panic enters her eyes. “I hadn’t considered that. You’re going to sell this place, right?”
“Not necessarily. I was thinking you could stay here.”
She sits up, blinking at me. “Seriously?”
“It’d be good.” I slip off the arm, landing next to her. “It’d keep our fake-long-distance thing looking legit if you’re still in my apartment, and it’d also give you a place to stay. You know, on account of the fire.”
Her lips purse together. “Don’t remind me.”
“I’ll keep paying for everything. Cable, electricity, all the bills. I’ll give you plenty of money to make sure you’re comfortable.”
“I’ve got a job now, remember?” She tilts her head, studying me. “Why are you doing all this?”
“Because you’re still doing me a favor.” I shift closer, unable to help it. My eyes slip to her legs, to her lovely thighs. Fuck, this is dumb. All of this is dumb.
Why can’t I just have what I want? Forget the consequences. Forget what’s best for her.
Take what I want and keep it?
“Seems like I’m getting the better end of that deal.”
“Maybe, but you deserve it. No, don’t argue. You’ll live here while I’m in Boston, at least until we decide it’s time to, you know-” I pause, not willing to say it.
But she whispers, “Time to divorce. We’re going to divorce in a few months, aren’t we?”
“Yes, we are.”
“It’s funny,” she says, not looking like it’s funny at all. “But that sort of makes me sad.”
“I don’t want to make you sad. It’s only the bargain we made.”
“Then what? We divorce and you’re just-gone? Out in Boston?”
“And you have a life to live. Debt-free, with a good job. All the prospects in the world.”
“Perfection.” She leans her head back. I stare at her long neck as she swallows more champagne.
I finish my drink, get up, grab the bottle, and give us both a refill. When I sit, this time my leg’s pressing against hers. Inches closer. Like she’s a magnet and I’m steel, unable to pull away.
“Can I ask you something?” she murmurs, staring at the ceiling. She drinks down half her glass.
“Go ahead.” I follow suit. More bubbly fills my stomach.
“Do you ever do something you know is bad for you? Because it feels good?”
“All the time,” I say, grinning to myself, and raise my drink. “Case in point.”
“Champagne is healthy. How dare you suggest otherwise.”
I shrug, toss it back. Get a refill. She arches an eyebrow, but follows suit. “I try not to indulge myself like that anymore,” I say, watching her still as she stares anywhere but at me. “In my line of work, I need to be disciplined.”
“Lawyer? Disciplined? Big shock.”
“Particularly considering my clientele. I need to be discreet and in control, otherwise the men I work for might start wondering if I can keep their secrets.”
“No getting hammered for you, not in public at least.” She glances at me. “That must be hard.”
“Sometimes,” I say, unable to tear my eyes away. I feel like this is the last time I’ll see her. But she’ll be here in the morning, and the morning after. I could visit her whenever I wanted.
Except I know I won’t. It would hurt too fucking bad, only make things harder.
“I tried to do everything right, but look where that got me. Then you came along.” She laughs bitterly. “Now I don’t know anymore.”
“I decided a long time ago that I can’t be self-indulgent. I’m a naturally selfish person, and I’ll take as much as I can if given the chance, and so I always struggle against my impulses. Even when I want something that feels so good, something I’ve never felt before, even then I have to be careful because of who I am. I destroy everything I touch, Rita. I work for killers and thieves. I can’t let myself give in to my base desires.”
“You don’t ruin everything,” she whispers, eyes closed. She throws back another drink. I do the same and refill our glasses. “Something horrible happened to you a long time ago, but that doesn’t define everything that comes after.”
“Because I don’t let it.” I move closer to her. Heart racing. “Do you want me to say that it’s okay to slip?”
“I don’t know what I want.” Her eyes open and she meets my gaze. “At least, I didn’t think I did. Everything kept going wrong for me, one thing after another, and then you appeared. At first, I thought you were another problem. But you haven’t been, not even close.”
“I’m a problem, all right,” I say, reaching up to brush my knuckle down her chin.
She shivers. “Don’t.”
“I shouldn’t. You’re right.”
“Nothing will change, will it? Even if I kiss you right now. Even if I ask you not to go. You’re going to leave.”
I take a deep breath. I hold it for one beat, two beats, three. My hands tremble when I let it out. “Yes. I am.”
“Then don’t.” She pushes herself up from the couch.
I grab her wrist before she can walk away. I don’t know why. Maybe I’m drunker than I realized. She looks back, surprised as I stand, getting close. She doesn’t pull away this time.
“I want you to understand that if things were different, I wouldn’t go to Boston. Not without you.”
“Are you saying it’s not me, but it’s you?” Her smile is tight. Lips pressed together. “That’s an old one.”
“No, in this case, it’s definitely you. It’s because you deserve better.”
“You keep saying that.” She touches my face with her other hand. “But I don’t think you really understand what that means.”
I hold her there. We’re so close and my chest aches for her. I want this more than I dreamed possible.
I want to tell her to come with me. I want to forget about Boston and stay.
I want my Rita, my wife.
Instead, she shrugs away, places her glass on the counter, and disappears into her room.
I collapse back onto the couch, cursing quietly to myself.