Fractured Affections (The Affections Series Book 1) (11 page)

I slowly get up from the bed and head down to the kitchen. All the boys’ rooms are quiet and the lights are out. I didn’t even get to say goodnight, but I’m thankful that I didn’t have to contend with bedtime today. It’s weird that none of them tried to wake me up.

When I get downstairs, the light to the kitchen is on. I round the corner to see Striker sitting at the island, with his head hanging in his hands. I quietly approach and rest my hand on his back. “Everything alright?”

He lifts his head to look at me over his shoulder. “Hey, Rea, how’s the hand? You feeling okay?”

“Pretty good, hand throbs a little but nothing too crazy. This splint is more annoying than anything. I just came down to get some more pain medicine and maybe something to eat.”

He rises from his seat. “Well, go ahead and have a seat, I’ll make you something.”

“That’s okay, I can-“

“Sit down, Reagan,” he says, cutting me off with authority in his voice.

I do as I’m told but am not happy about it. “I’ve been sleeping for hours, I feel pretty good. I don’t need-”

“Shut up, Rea, and just sit there. Here take these.” He hands me two pills and a glass of water.

“Thanks,” I say with slight sarcasm because of the way he is speaking to me. Placing the pills on my tongue quiets the rude response floating through my head. What’s his problem?

“Anything special you want?”

I look up to him and shake my head no. He is shirtless again, and I can get a better look at the tattoo on his chest. While he leans down on the counter, I slowly run my eyes over the intricate details and notice a heart over his left pec that is being torn apart. It’s not broken down the middle but broken unevenly. The small part of the heart is being pulled away by two black birds, while the larger part is being pulled away by a beautiful butterfly. Underneath it reads, “Taken or lost your heart still bleeds the pain”

He notices me staring and stands to walk away toward the fridge. “Is there anything special you want?”

His question pulls me from my thoughts. “Ah, anything is fine really. How did the evening go with the boys?”

He starts to move around the kitchen. “It was good. Dylan is such a great kid; he helped me with the younger boys, since he knew what they were used to. Then I sat with him to play a video game, while the others watched a movie before bed. It was nice to have the one on one time with him. I enjoy talking with him.”

I swallow the huge lump in my throat as I think of him and Dylan hanging out together and sit quietly while he finishes speaking.

“Um, your friend stopped by. She wanted to check on you and make sure you didn’t need anything and brought some brownies.” He points toward the brownies sitting on the counter.

“What? She was here?” I’m slightly panicked by this. She wasn’t supposed to stop by until tomorrow, and I missed her visit. Shit, I hope she didn’t act all crazy like usual. “How did that go?”

Striker’s shoulders tense while he works on my grilled cheese. I can feel anxiety creeping up my chest.

“Well, it was interesting, to say the least.”

“Why what did she do?”

He places my sandwich on a plate and walks over to me and takes a seat at my side. ”Well, um I… I mean…she.”

“Striker, what the hell happened?” I ask with apprehension.

“I don’t really know how to start this conversation, especially with you.” He leans forward in his stool, resting his elbows on the counter and covers his face with his hands.

“It’s okay for you to be honest with me. Trust me, I know how my best friend is. She rushes into bed with men, and half the time doesn’t even get a name. God, this last guy, some of the things she was telling me were-“

My words stop abruptly when Striker whips his head around to face me. “Were what? Did she tell you details? Cause that is…I don’t even know what that is or…”

He lets his forehead fall until it rests on the cool counter. I can’t figure out what he is trying to say. The longer he sits there without saying a word, the tighter my chest feels, like a coil wound tight, causing it to burn.

“Striker, please just tell me what she did.”

He gets up and starts to walk down the hall to the office. “I don’t think I can and it wasn’t her, Rea. Don’t blame her. It was me.”

I stare at the empty hall, trying to make out what he’s saying. I have no idea what has him so bothered, and how it could possibly be his fault. Riley is usually completely out of control, so I’m sure she did something to make him uncomfortable. I should follow him and coax him to spill everything. What if I can’t handle what he will say? Deciding to stay rooted to my spot, I continue to stare ahead.

Eventually, I turn to my food and finish my sandwich. I need to get back to bed and just enjoy the quiet that felt so good before I stepped foot into this kitchen. I place my plate in the sink and grab some water from the fridge. I drink slowly, relieving the dryness in my throat and stand there for a bit. As I stand here, I keep replaying our conversation over and over in my head. If I try to go to bed without answers, I will only lay there awake, fearing the worst.

I make my way down the hall and enter the office, where I find Striker laying back on the couch, throwing a baseball into the air, letting it fall back into his hand. He doesn’t hear me enter at first. I can tell he is deep in thought. A look of regret covers his handsome face. I make it halfway across the room before he notices I’m there.

“Scoot over,” I say and swat at his feet, so I can take a seat next to him.

“Come on, Striker. I need to know what happened. I’m coming up with all kinds of crazy ideas in my head. I can’t do that to myself all night. I need my rest, and if my mind is trying to figure out what you are being so secretive about, then I won’t get any sleep.”

I reach over and place my hand on his knee. “You can tell me. I can always talk to Ri and smooth things over, if I need to. It can’t be that bad.”

Striker leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees and begins to pick at his nails as he speaks. “When I first got here, things were really rough on me. I still had this idea in my head, that I missed out on what we could have had for all these years. I was angry and lonely. I hadn’t quite figured out that I feel more at peace just spending time with you and the boys, even if it’s only in a platonic way.”

He twists in his seat to face me. I try to remain focused on his words but my medicine is beginning to kick in. I mirror his movements, so I can see his face as he speaks.

“Okay, but what does that have to do with Riley?”

“Everything. I used to spend my nights in a bar, drinking myself into a fucked up stupor, after spending my days watching you with Dalton, you raising your children together.” He looks away from me again before continuing. His grief is evident. “I came to town a day early, and stayed one night in a hotel. I was so fucked up about seeing you again that next day. So I went out got shitted up and invited a nameless woman back to my room, but she insisted that we head back to her place. She was all over me in the bar and never once hesitated to leave with me. When we got back to her place we ah….”

Striker meets my eyes again and takes a hard swallow. I’m trying not to jump to conclusions, but one can only assume what went on after leaving a bar with some random person. My throat feels scratchy and dry as I try to swallow. I’m just staring at him, unable to form words. I know when he continues that these next words will be ones I wish I never heard, but I have to hear him say it. I’ve never thought about him with other women, but I can’t be stupid enough to think that he never found pleasure in someone else after he left. I’m married. There is no more us and never will be. The thought of him making love to someone else is causing my stomach to churn and twist into knots. The feel of bile rising in the back of my throat is causing me to slightly panic, but I swallow it down so he can finish what he has to say.

I swallow a few times and breathe slowly, trying to calm the storm brewing in my stomach. “Go on, Striker. Please stop insinuating things and tell me what the hell happened with Riley.”

His nostrils flair, he takes in a deep breath and abruptly stands from the couch. While his back is facing me he begins to speak again. “If I was having a rough day, I could count on going to that bar, getting drunk, and fucking my aggression out with this woman. She would beg me for it. There were times, I was so drunk and hurt, that my anger would escalate to something I’ve never experienced before. I thought I was releasing that pent up aggression on her, but when I woke up the next day, I always felt just as empty as before it happened.”

My lip starts to tremble but I try to hold it together. The painkillers I took moments ago are really kicking, helping to keep my emotions at bay, but I know the look of horror that is present on my face. I can feel the jealously ripping old wounds open as he speaks. Striker kneels down in front of me, so that our eyes are at the same level and places his hands on my knees.

“I never got her name. I never cared. Hell, I never cared about any other woman. All of the women, over the years, were just meaningless fucks to me. Then tonight when your friend stopped by, I still didn’t know her name, however, I knew her.”

There it is. The words I was afraid he would speak. Striker slept with my best friend. The feel of a single tear sliding down my cheek increases the anxiety taking root in my chest. I need to get out of this room. It’s becoming small and I can’t breathe.

I jump to my feet and rush toward the door. What makes this whole situation worse?  My response to him is uncalled for. I have no right to be jealous. When I reach the door, I rush down the hall and up the stairs to my room.

I sink down on my bed and curl into a ball, holding my bandaged hand to my chest. I try to concentrate on the throbbing pain coming from my recent surgery, instead of the pain crushing down on my chest. My breathing is becoming labored. This is turning into one of the worst anxiety attacks I’ve had in years. The walls are closing around me and there is no escape.

It takes me a moment to realize that someone is lifting me up and placing me in their lap. “Okay, I’ll call you back. Thanks, man.” I feel warm moist lips press to my forehead, and someone is stroking my hair slowly rocking us side to side.

“Shhhhhhhh, Rea I’m sorry. I’m sorry, my Alma,” the voice continues to speak in hushed tones.

Back and forth. Back and forth. In and out. In and out. I repeat these words over and over again, talking myself into breathing.  I don’t know how long it takes, but I slowly begin to rise above the drowning pain.

“Come on, Rea, focus. Talk to me, say something, anything.” More whispering in my ear, and I think Dalton is here. Until I raise my head slightly, still resting against his solid chest, and it’s not Dalton looking back at me.  I can still feel his fingers sweeping through my hair. His touch is so gentle and loving. I’ve missed staring into these eyes. I’ve missed this man holding me. I feel it all in this moment. I’ve missed him so much. My hand reaches up and I rest it against his stubble-covered cheek.

“Rea?”

I can’t bring myself to speak. I just stare into his honey brown eyes and realize that he never stopped loving me either. The love I feel pounding away in my chest is reflected back at me. Suddenly, he breaks the contact, shattering the moment. I slowly sit up and pull away from him. I feel raw and exposed. How do I handle him knowing that I never stopped loving him?

“Reagan?” Striker speaks my name again with vigilance.

“Sorry,” I whisper, pulling completely away from him. I turn on the bed so that my back is facing him and rest my feet on the floor. “Could you please leave, Striker, I need to be alone.”

I feel the bed shift, and then Striker is sitting next to me, neither of us looking at the other. I know he felt it too. “Reagan, please talk to me.”

“I don’t know if I can right now,” I respond still staring at the floor.

“Listen, if you don’t want to talk right now, I understand. Get some rest; it’s late anyway. We can talk after the boys are at school. It can wait but we do need to talk.” Striker stands and walks away. When he reaches my door, he stops and barely looks over his shoulder to speak.

“Call Dalton, he’s worried. I had to call him to see how to help you.” Then he’s gone.

I silently cry for a good fifteen minutes, before I’m able to get myself together enough to call Dalt. I feel like I have betrayed him with just one embrace; one look of desire that lasted for just a moment, but long enough to break free all the emotions that I have kept buried for so many years. My panic attack clouded my mind so deeply that I allowed my pieced together wall to crumble and fall. I pick my phone up with a shaky hand and dial my husband.

“Hello, you doing okay, baby?”

“Yes.”

“Striker said he was able to calm you down, but I still worried because you didn’t call right away.”

“No, I’m fine. He did help me catch my breath. I can’t believe that happened.” I sniff quietly into the phone.

“You still crying? You sure everything is okay? Can you talk about it?” he asks with concern.

“I kinda just want to go to bed. My pain meds are making me sleepy and that attack just took it out of me. I want to be up for the boys in the morning.”

“Well, can I say something before you go?”

“Of course, you know you can.” I lie back on my bed, close my eyes and wait for him to speak.

“Well, baby, I called Striker after your panic attack. I hadn’t heard from you and I wanted to make sure he had things under control, and he told me what happened. What triggered it.”

What the hell. “He what?”

“I guess we were way late on warning him about Riley, huh?” I can hear his smile through his carefree tone.

“Is that all he said? I know it shouldn’t bother me. I’m so embarrassed.” Tears threaten to spill from my eyes, but I try desperately to hold them in.

“There is nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s me and it’s Striker that know. It’s just us, Rea. We both care about you. He was pissed when I called. This is hard on the both of you. He was your first love, and she is your best friend. Who wouldn’t have been affected by that?