Hot Summer Nights (Lucas Brothers)

11

Maggie

“I’m still not sure this is wise, Bryant,” I whisper with a sigh, as I slide into the bed, wearing nothing more than his t-shirt.

Bryant immediately pulls me back into his body, spooning me and I close my eyes at the sweetness I feel, the happiness that floods me.

“You think too much, Maggie May,” he murmurs against my neck, kissing me there, while giving my body a squeeze.

“I’m giving up telling you not to call me that anymore,” I mutter, burrowing deeper into the pillow as Bryant stretches and turns the bedside light out, before bringing his arm back around me.

“It’s probably for the best. You need to get some sleep, honey. You looked way too tired tonight. What if I drive you to work? I can call your mom over to spend the morning with Terry—”

“Absolutely not,” I mutter, rolling over to my back to look at him. “Terry is expecting time with you tomorrow. I’m a grown woman, Bryant. I’ll be fine after a night’s rest. I can take care of myself you know.”

“I do know that, but I’d like to think you need me, too, at least occasionally.”

I frown, because even if I don’t say it—can’t bring myself to say it in any meaningful way even now—I need Bryant all of the time.

Despite our unorthodox relationship—most of which I try to keep hidden from my family—Bryant and I do have kind of a partnership going on. We may not live together, but when he’s in town, more often than not, we get together, and it doesn’t always involve sex. It has become comfortable. I guess I never really reflected on it until I was faced with everything changing.

“I do need you, but I won’t tomorrow,” I assure him, finally turning away, not wanting him to read the emotions on my face.

That’s also another lie. I need Bryant more right now than I ever have before. He’s so strong and I’m anything but. My family is full of strong, independent people. They take after my mother who—although infuriating—is the strongest person I’ve ever met in my life. I’ve always envied my family, even as I acknowledged that I was completely different from them. I may be like my mother, but not in the ways that count. I’m not strong. I’m weak.

“What are you thinking, Maggie?” Bryant asks.

“That I’m sorry,” I murmur, feeling unshed tears sting my eyes.

“What for, honey?”

“You’ve deserved better. I know this isn’t how you wanted your life to turn out. You won’t believe me, but it’s not what I wanted either,” I whisper, glad that he’s behind me and can’t see my face.

“We’ve not had that bad of a life, have we, honey? I happen to love the fact we still love one another after all of this time, and we have an amazing son to show for it.”

“How do you know I love you?” I whisper with a smile.

“You do tell me sometimes, but mostly, it’s because I know you, Maggie. You don’t think I’d wait around all this time if I didn’t, do you?”

“You don’t know everything, Bryant. I don’t even think I do.” In response, he kisses my shoulder. My eyes close as I think about the gentle way he deals with me—has always handled me, at least since our divorce. Maybe he can sense how fragile I am.

“Do you regret it was me, Bryant?” I ask so quiet that I cringe because even my voice betrays how fragile I am.

“What do you mean, honey?”

“Do you regret falling in love with me?”

I feel Bryant move behind me, and then his hands are on me, and he’s pulling me, forcing me to turn onto my back again. Our gazes lock, and all I can think when I see him is that he truly has the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen. His hand comes up to slide against the side of my neck, his thumb stretching to slide against the corner of my lip.

“You need to listen to me, Maggie. Since the moment I saw you, you were it for me. I’m still here because this life with you is better than any I could envision without you.”

“That’s not exactly true though, is it? If it were, you wouldn’t be leaving Mason.”

“Maggie, do you think we can live like this indefinitely? Separate homes? Going for weeks without seeing one another because our schedules are so different? What’s going to happen when we’re seventy? Or hell, what about when we’re ninety? I don’t want to be separated from you. I want to be with you.”

“Then, you don’t remember what a huge failure I was as your wife, Bryant.”

“Honey, I was kind of a failure as a husband, too. But we’ve grown. We are older now and hopefully, wiser.”

“You were never a failure. I am the one that failed us,” I murmur.