Stitches

The hours seem to stretch on forever and I’m not sure what to do with them. I pour myself into work as a distraction, but I beg off early and head home to Moira anyway.

In a sense I’m glad I got home before Griff. I want a chance to tell Moira about Ashley. Between Griff and the stress of the day, my emotional stores have also been depleted. Moira fills them up as soon as I get home, greeting me with her warm blue eyes so full of love. A weight is pushed right off my broad shoulders as Moira secures her arms around my neck and leans in for a lingering kiss.

I lock my arms around her waist a little tighter than usual and bury my face in her neck, inhaling her scent.

She hugs me and kisses me, holds me close; for what must be the millionth time, I’m so grateful to have her to come home to.

Not knowing where Griff is, though, there’s still a weight on me. I didn’t think he’d figure it out, and if he did, I definitely didn’t think he’d figure it out so fast. Since he knows I have an alibi, he must also know I had help, and if he knows that, he can guess whose help I had. Knowing that, he has to be smart enough not to go to the cops.

I could see the doubts in his eyes, though. That stung a little. I did all this for him, and he looked at me like he didn’t trust me. After all I’ve done, after all I’ve given him, he still found a reason to doubt me.

Asshole.

Moira’s brow furrows and she kneads my shoulders, still securely in my arms, her chest flush with mine. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“There’s something I need to tell you, and I’m not sure how,” I begin.

Her face etched with worry, she asks, “Something bad? Where’s Griff? Is he okay?”

“Yeah, no,” I say quickly, s

haking my head. “Griff’s….” Actually, I guess Griff isn’t okay. I got a little defensive earlier and I probably shouldn’t have, but he was pissing me off. I don’t even know exactly how to help him through this. My instinct is to offer up Moira, to remind him what he has now that Ashley’s out of the way. I could use her to help him through it, but now I’m a little worried what he might say to her.

I didn’t even want Griff to know I had a hand in this, but I damn sure don’t want Moira to find out.

I don’t make a habit of keeping secrets from my wife, but this is one truth she doesn’t need to know. This was an isolated incident, a one-time solution to a very big problem. Regrettably, this was the only end Ashley left me with. Griff tried to pay her off, and she wasn’t even willing to take that. She had no right to try to ruin my life, but because of her blatant greed, she would have. She would have settled for nothing less than total destruction, and our money would have gone straight into Danny Long’s pocket. That asshole wouldn’t bat an eye at what I’d done, so I’ll be damned if I do. I’m not going to let Griff’s Boy Scout bullshit get under my skin.

So I did a bad thing.

People do bad things all the time.

Pushing my fingers through Moira’s carefully styled curls, I smile tenderly and lean in to brush my lips across hers. She must understand I need to get lost in her for a while, because even though I just told her I had news, even though I only started telling it then stopped, she lets me haul her little ass upstairs and fuck my frustrations out.

Afterward, as she lies in my embrace, her hand resting over my heart, all I can think is, I love her so fucking much. I won’t lose her, not for anything. Not even for Griff.

Maybe Moira is the only person in the world I can count on. Maybe Griff would rather hold onto his principles and wallow alone in his unhappiness than get over it and have a life with me.

He’s the reason we were in this mess to begin with. He’s the one who couldn’t just tell me years ago he wanted my fucking girl; instead he went out and made a mess. Created all his own problems, writing legal documents with his fucking heart instead of his head, marrying someone when she wasn’t even the woman he wanted…

Griff got us into a shitty situation and I got us out of it.

Now all our heads are above water, and he wants to bitch about the life raft I employed.

Well, not to be a consequentialist, but yes; in this scenario, the end justified the means.

Thankfully, Griff comes home.

He’s a little drunk and a little ornery, but he shows up. That has to be a good sign.

I broke the news to Moira about Ashley’s “suicide” while we were upstairs in bed together, so as soon as he comes through the door, my big-hearted wife fills up with sympathy. She throws herself at him, wrapping him up in her loving arms; he holds onto her like she’s all he has left in the world.

It hurts a little.

I hear her whisper, “I’m so sorry, Griff.”

Tension knots my shoulders as I await his response, but he doesn’t say anything back. He just holds her.

Moira fusses over him now that he’s here, lavishing affection and attention on him, asking if he’s all right—just generally trying to ferret out what he needs so she can give it to him. He doesn’t talk much. He’s so fucking dramatic. It’s not like he had any love left for the fucking woman; he wanted her gone nearly as badly as I did, he just doesn’t have the balls to make it happen.