Chasing Us (Dark Love 2)

The same night, I slept in the guestroom not wanting to force myself on Charlotte.

When Monday rolled around, I was knee deep in mundane discussions about budget restraints with shooting locations. No matter what I did, my mind wandered to Charlotte. I needed her to know how much I loved her but every text I wrote, came out wrong. For the last hour, I had written, then deleted multiple texts. And then something pulled me, like a magnetic force so great and with just one tap, I finally hit sent.

The second I laid eyes on her inside my boardroom, I’m riddled with worry until she told me she loved me.

It was exactly what I needed to hear.

I look back now and remember how close I was to losing my family. How easy it was to make promises in front of God, your family, and friends, only to forget them in desperate times. Charlotte and I made a pact that day, we would remain true and honest in good times and bad. For the sake of our daughter, we both owe it to our family.

We also agree we need to be honest about what happened when we were apart. This, I know, will not go down well, and there’s a chance Charlotte will not speak to me ever again, but I rely heavily on our faith and trust that somehow, we can push the darkness behind us.

“We said we’d do this,” she reminds me.

“I know,” I respond.

I don’t know what’s worse, telling her that my finger was on Montana’s pussy for a brief second, or what she is going to tell me about Julian. My insecurity and anger are mixed into a bag of fucked- up emotions, drying my throat as we sit across from each other ready to unleash.

“Are you ready?” she sounds nervous.

“Yes.”

We sit in a hotel room, Charlotte’s idea of not tainting our house with any bad conversations or memories. We left Amelia with my mom because both of us have no idea how this is going to go down. I’m hoping what she is about to tell me isn’t so bad, and we can just be done with it so I can spend the night inside her.

“You first,” she says

“No, you.”

“Rock, paper, scissors.” She holds out her hand, and we shake until we both get scissors. How ironic, I think. Stabbed in the heart, it’s an omen. On our second attempt, she beat me.

Fuck.

Charlotte sits still, crossed-legged at one end of the bed staring at me. I think about complimenting her on her choice of blouse which will look nice on the floor but decide against it.

“You’re doing that lawyer thing you do in court. It’s freaking me out and turning me on.”

“It’s my coping mechanism because somehow, I don’t think I’m going to like what I hear and don’t try turning on the charm.”

I take a deep breath, and with my eyes never leaving hers, I tell her everything that happened the night with Montana. When I finally finish, I wait in silence for her reaction. I expect her fist in my face, not for her to hurt me with words.

“I’ll tell you what happened with Julian. He reminded me of how good we were together. He asked me to leave you, and I thought about it. I remembered how once upon a time my body craved him and gave into him, and there he stood, right next to me, offering to love me the way I deserved to be loved, and I thought about it, Lex. I thought about giving myself to him that night.”

The stabs are sharp, each one of them cutting through the scars that are finally healing, ripping them open. My body tenses, my adrenaline spikes, and my throat goes dry unable to say what I need to say.

How the fuck can she want another man!

I don’t know what’s worse, my physical indiscretion or her emotional one. They are on par. We were both hurting because of what we did to each other. It didn’t make it better that she didn’t touch him, it fucking hurt like motherfucking hell that she had a moment of wanting him for the rest of her life.

“It’s done, Lex. Now, tell me how strong our marriage is?” Her eyes fixate on mine. I can see she is praying we can get through this and restore all faith in humanity. We’ve gotten this far, defeated the odds, and our love should be able to stand any test of time.

“You’re a bitch for wanting him.”

“You’re a cunt for touching her.”

“I hate that word,” I grit.

“Used sparingly, for occasions like this,” she rebuts.

Emotionally exhausted, I want the book closed on this. We’ve lost so much time, torn apart by grief over the last fe