For Lucy

We kiss deeper and harder, sharing soft moans and vibrating groans. Holding her ass in my hands with it barely touching the edge of the counter, I move her over my erection. Had I known aerating would turn into dry humping, I wouldn’t have worn denim. It’s like wearing ten condoms at once. But I’m so neglected in this area, it doesn’t matter. I’m fully clothed and seconds away from an orgasm.

“Emmett … Jesus … Emmett …” she tears her mouth away from mine and bites my shoulder, working her pelvis overtime against me, nails digging into my back.

I’m close, but getting no help from the counter or the cabinet six inches away from her back, so I carry her to the sofa. With her still wrapped around me, I lay her down and pistol my hips at such a desperate pace my heart might explode before I release. When I do orgasm, just seconds after she does, I wonder how we got to this point. Twelve years of marriage and no dry humping—until now. At the moment, it’s all so backward.

“This …” she says out of breath “… is getting complicated.”

All two hundred pounds of me is limp on top of her, my face pressed to her neck. I should get up before she can’t breathe.

“And I don’t need complicated,” she adds just before I peel my body away from hers, getting no farther than on my knees beside the sofa.

I rest my hands on my thighs, catching my breath as she sits and straightens her shirt before combing her hair with her fingers. It’s not complicated to me. Never has been. She’s my wife, even if she decided to abolish the legal part of our marriage. I love her, even on the days she hates me. And this—what just happened—is who we are, have been, and always will be. It’s the reason she lost her first job as a realtor. It’s the reason she got pregnant before we were married, and it’s the reason Josh will never have all of her, no matter how much she thinks she loves him.

And here’s the thing … I feel sorry for her. I really do. I know she feels some degree of love toward Josh. He was there when she needed something in her life that made her feel alive again. Losing a child feels like you’re dying every single second of every single day, but you don’t actually die. You live. And that’s so much worse.

“I have to tell him this time.” Her face contorts into something painful to look at. “He needs to know that I’m messed-up right now. That his proposal jumbled my thoughts, and since then I’ve been out of control and impulsive.”

“You make me sound like an STD you picked up while on a bender.”

“Emmett …” She shakes her head.

“Can I be there? When you tell him? I’m dying to hear the words dry humping come out of your mouth.”

Her cheeks turn bright red. “I’m not saying that.” She gives me a shove and marches into the kitchen, pulling the banana bread out of the toaster oven.

I’m so fucking stuck. I can’t really dive into this subject without bringing up the tragic reason we separated in the first place. And I can’t do that … I can’t even say Austin’s name around her yet.

She hands me a plate with two slices of banana bread on it and butter oozing off the edges of the crust. “Lucy … her accident really messed with my head. I can’t even look at her without thinking ‘what if?’ What if the car that hit us would have been going a little bit faster? What if it would have hit her door at a slightly different angle?” She leans against the counter, resting her hands on either side. “Do you ever think that? What if?”

She’s no longer talking about Lucy.

“No. I don’t.”

Tatum frowns.

“What-if’s go nowhere but to crazy town. They answer nothing. They solve nothing. They fix nothing. At least when they’re referencing the past.”

“So … you have no regrets?” She narrows her eyes.

“Of course I have regrets. I bet I do at least one thing a day that I regret.”

Her gaze shifts to the sofa.

“I don’t regret that,” I say.

Her eyes make a quick redirection to me. “You don’t have to explain yourself to anyone.”

“Neither do you.”

She scoffs. “You don’t want to know why I just allowed that to happen?”

Chewing the last bite of the banana bread, I shrug a single shoulder. “In all our years together, did I ever ask why after we had sex?”

“We didn’t just have sex.” Her hands shift from the counter to crossing over her chest.

“Sorry … do I want to know why you were so eager to dry hump me?” I scratch my chin. “Hmm … nope. I’m a guy. Not everything in life requires an explanation.”