KEPT: A Second Chance Fairy Tale (41 page)

“I lied to you,” I confess, “but not without reason.”

“God.” She rolls her eyes. They come to mine, and I can pointedly grasp the distaste she has is unwavering. “I slept with you! I gave myself to you, Michael. And you’re–”

“Alone again,” I admit. I fill the air around us with my truth rather than hers. It somehow hurts less. “As long as I had you in my life every day, being alone was a place I never thought I’d be again.”

Lucy

Why, God? Why?

Before Michael opened the door to his penthouse, I was certain I was ready to face him. I promised myself I’d take heed in Shannan’s advice and push forward with my anger, not have him witness my hurt. Yet the moment I saw him again, for the first time since Saturday night, I folded. The swell of heartache in the wake of all that’s happened threatened to drown me in a sea of forgiveness.

Do I really think I can forgive him?

Lying to someone you claim to care about, even by omission, is certain destruction. No matter his reasoning, Michael has kept so much from me. Secrets and betrayals that weren’t his to keep. My marriage to Gabe should never have been his concern.

“Lucy,” he whispers as I still stand by the door, debating whether to leave or turn around and listen to anything else he may have to say. Unlike Gabe, Michael is here, alive, and can answer anything I have to ask.

That, combined with his broken statement of being alone, forces my decision to turn and face him.

Michael’s eyes are haunted. Maybe they’re filled with the guilt he carries. Maybe it’s the fact he truly does care about me, and by doing all he’s done to cause me pain, his way of balancing all the wrong is to truly let me go.

I don’t know if I want him to let me go.

“How many times did you want to tell me?”

Michael pauses, looks up to find me still standing at the door, and a brief glimpse of hope flashes through his eyes. Guilt hits my chest when I can’t see anything left of us to hope for.

“Not always,” he voices as an admission. “I wasn’t expecting you, Lucy. By the time I felt you change me, I realized you’d never forgive me once you found out all there was. It was selfish, but I didn’t want you to know about Gabe and Victoria–”

Cutting him off, I insist, “Don’t say her name.”

Michael nods once, keeping his focus to the floor. His hands run through his thick, dark hair with added irritation.

“Did you give me the job because you felt sorry for me?”

“No, Lucy. I didn’t want to hire you at all,” he says, still not looking at me.

The truth of his answer hurts, but I finally understand the reasons why my presence in his life seemed so unwanted.

“If it weren’t for my husband, would you still be with your wife?”

“Yes. My marriage was empty, but I loved my son. I would’ve done anything to keep his family together.”

The silence lingers for a few moments before Michael lowers himself to the floor. He sits quietly, as though watching and waiting for my decision to stay or go.

I haven’t decided.

“Sit, Lucy,” he instructs, gesturing to the space next to him.

Once I’m sitting at his side, our legs stretched in front of us and our backs against the wall, I ask, “If we had met under different circumstances, do you think I’d have been someone you noticed?”

I don’t know what makes me ask this, other than reaching for any reason Gabe’s death had to be what brought us together. Because, still, I hate it has.

“No doubt. When you’re anywhere near me, I notice. I don’t have to be looking at you to feel you close. I would’ve…”

Reaching over, he grabs my hand. The physical connection intensifies the emotional one. My eyes start to water and his fingers, laced with mine, become blurry.

When I start to pull back, Michael strengthens his grasp. “Let me touch you,” he whispers painfully.

Leaning the back of my head against the wall, I look up. Tears drop from the corners of my eyes. “I don’t think I want to know you anymore.”

His reply is immediate. “I don’t want to let you go.”

I sigh and turn my head the other way.

“You have to forgive me, Lucy,” he whispers his voice cracking as he does. Then he whispers to himself, “She has to forgive me.”

Forgiveness isn’t the end of all things.

A person can forgive the mistakes of others, but what they had done to warrant it doesn’t go away. It may disappear into an abyss of forgiveness, but nothing is ever forgotten.

I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to look at Michael again without knowing where we started, what tragedy our relationship was born from. The heartbreak in recognizing this makes it enough to walk away.

“I should go,” I say, leaving out my hope to stay away forever.

Michael’s hand squeezes mine so hard, it hurts. “Please, don’t…” After I stay quiet to let him finish, his words come as a confession. “I hate this. I should’ve done things differently.”

“You should’ve told me about everything. Gabe, Victoria, all of it.”

“Yes,” he replies, running his finger over the top of my hand, “but I should’ve shared more of
me
with you.” He shakes his head. “Not just what happened in the past, but more of who I am. I should’ve given you as much of that person as I could have. Maybe then…” He stops again.

I swallow the pain in my throat and wait.

Choking through his words, he questions, “When you leave, you’re not coming back, are you?”

“No,” I tell him honestly.

As I start to stand, he reaches out to grab me, first pinning me in place, then bringing me back down. My knees hit the carpet at the same time he sits up and positions himself the same way. His eyes are shining with both tears and anger as he touches his forehead to mine. With his face so close, I smell the alcohol on his breath.

“You have to forgive me,” he repeats again. This time, it’s not a plea, but a demand.

My eyes close, blocking out his words.

“Lucy…” he whispers.

I feel his hand lightly graze my chest. Soon after, I feel his fingers as they lift my shirt at each side. The expanse of his hand moves to my back, and using this as leverage, Michael draws me closer, chest to chest. Then his lips touch mine.

God help me, I hate him.

God help me, I love him.

It’s a precarious balance of determination and will, which both calms and confuses me.

His tongue probes my bottom lip, pleading for me to grant entry.

Still so incensed, I push on his chest and pull back. “No.”

As I knew he would, Michael doesn’t allow my denial. His hands frame my face before he forces his lips to mine again.

“No,” I refuse, although now voiced as a plea.

Desperation covers us both…mine to get away, his to make me stay.

His thumb traces my bottom lip as his eyes shine with all that’s left – loss.

“I hurt you,” he voices. “I never wanted that, Lucy. You have to believe me.”

“I don’t know what’s true,” I reply softly. “You’re not good for me.”

“I am,” he returns with certainty. I feel his lips on my neck as I stay still, frozen, so scared to touch him.

Michael’s hands move to my waist, his thumbs gently caressing the base of my chest on both sides. In an attempt to shut him out, I close my eyes, leaving me to battle all other senses. The familiar scent of him. The soft sounds of his lips peppering kisses here and there. His touch, which speaks for him as he begs for acceptance.

Michael grasps the back of my neck, and it takes no more convincing. When his lips crash to mine, my mouth falls open, relishing in the warmth of his. The message in this kiss is desperate, hungry, but also filled with his own anger.

Bracing his hands at my side, holding my body flush against his, Michael lowers us to the floor. He doesn’t give a moment’s reprieve before his knee forces my thighs apart. He doesn’t stop to ask or hesitate as he unbuttons my jeans, unzipping them with the same furious effort.

Pushing on his chest is useless. It’s a weak attempt at best. I’m consumed by him, by being together after I was so sure we’d never be again. Visions of Michael’s body positioned over mine, pinning me in place as he made love to me not long ago, hold me prisoner beneath him now.

When he frees my mouth, my neck strains as I look at the ceiling and release a moan once he thrusts his finger inside. His strokes are deep and unforgiving. His thumb aids to hold me captive, unable to move away from his touch, truly not wanting to ever be free of it.

This is why I have to stay.

This is why I have to walk away.

The internal battle rages on as every fiber of my being ignites from the spark of fire only he’s ever held.

“Give me this, Lucy,” he insistently states, caressing my clit gently, but not enough to create the friction I know he’s capable of. “I already miss you,” he hisses, thrusting his finger again and again, adding a second and building momentum, then taking it away as he slows the assault.

My fingernails dig into his back. My arms hold him with urgency, as though this isn’t our fucked-up version of goodbye.

“Let me feel you.”

But it is.

“Don’t fucking leave me.”

We both know it.

“Let me have you, Lucy.”

I surrender.

“This doesn’t change anything.” I give him permission, but not leaving anything open to interpretation.

I close my eyes and brace for what’s to come. This is the last time I’ll claim Michael as mine. Every moment with him has created a framed memory. Every whisper, touch, laugh, and word… I’ll have those even when I won’t have this.

Michael makes fast work of removing my clothes, first my jeans, then my shirt. I’m lying naked under him as he grabs his shirt from behind and lifts it off in one quick effort. My mind memorizes his face and body, mentally calculating how long it’ll take to forget what being with him feels like.

I want to forget.

I don’t want to forget.

The power of these recollections will ruin me for all others. I know this, and he must, as well.

“Your sadness is suffocating me,” he says quietly, positioning himself outside of me, but not pushing forward. “I can’t breathe.”

With my hands on his face, I hold his gaze as he finally surrenders to what I already have.

Goodbye.

Michael’s body begins to rock in and out with fevered movement. Nothing of this is graceful. He’s taking what he’ll need to remember. His hands explore my body, each calculated push of skin and pull of flesh imprinting itself within me.

This is going to hurt us both.

It’s not only the sadness which is so suffocating, but the devastation, as well.

“I love you, Lucy,” he murmurs in my ear, pulling out and sliding back in. “This isn’t over.”

It is.

With labored breath, he forces out, “You love me.”

It’s too late.

“Say it,” he seethes, grabbing my hair by the nape of the neck and pulling with the skill and determination I’ve come to crave.

The gesture sends shivers down my spine as the tension in my legs starts to burn. My stomach warms and my core tightens, sensing my body’s close release.

“Michael,” I cry as it hits me first, him following only seconds after.

“No,” he denies, then shudders, pushing inside for the last time, holding me captive beneath him.

Moments pass with his face resting against my neck. My arms have yet to release him, and his body has yet to try to break free. Knowing the sound of our breaths mingling is our last, I remember another place and time when we were together without the threat of others, both alive and dead.

The room quiets, the frustration ebbs, leaving only our breaking hearts to be lost in serenade.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he mutters with no small degree of despair.

I don’t have anything left inside to help him. And after all that’s happened between us, it’s not my place to help find what he’s lost because it’s me. I’m what he’s lost.

But I’m not walking away so unscathed by heartbreak, either.

Michael

I
T’S BEEN ALMOST THREE HOURS
since Lucy left my apartment, but I haven’t moved from the floor where she had laid beneath me. I fear if I move, I’ll forget the look on her face as I came inside her for what seems to be the last time.