TATE pulled into the driveway of their house that was in an exclusive gated community in a suburb of Houston. He glanced sideways at Chessy, something he’d been doing all the way home despite her short directive to just drive and they’d talk later.
The evidence of tears—more tears than just from the restaurant, which meant she’d been crying on the way home—ravaged her delicate features. It was like being sucker punched and having no idea how to respond to the attack.
He was absolutely useless when Chessy cried. He hated to see her unhappy and he’d move heaven and earth to fix whatever was making her unhappy.
But hell, apparently it was him who was making her unhappy. What the hell did he do about that? He was utterly baffled by Chessy’s outburst. For one horrible moment he’d thought she was telling him she wanted a divorce.
He hadn’t been able to breathe for the terror gripping him. The thought of being without Chessy? It didn’t bear thinking about.
“Come inside so we can talk, baby,” he said in a low voice that was almost pleading. Hell, it was pleading. He was damn near begging.
She stared ahead, her gaze fixed on the windshield, never wavering. It was like looking at an ice sculpture.
“Chessy,” he prompted. “Please come inside with me. There’s a lot I don’t understand right now. I need my girl to talk to me so I can fix this.”
Slowly she turned, her eyes swamped with so much hurt that an invisible hand clutched Tate by the throat and squeezed until he could barely breathe. Where had things gone wrong? How could he not have seen this coming?
Yes, he’d noticed that she’d been different in the past year, but she’d never given him any hint that she was unhappy or that he wasn’t satisfying her. She always had a bright smile, warm with love for him. She was always understanding when he was called away for business when they were together. Her difference had been a moment’s puzzlement quickly swept aside by her sunny smile and sweet disposition.
Had it all been a lie? Or was he just completely blind to his wife’s dissatisfaction?
“Do you want to fix it?” she asked in a challenging tone. “Seriously, Tate. Do you even care? Do you want to fix what’s wrong or do you just want things to continue on like normal? You leaving get-togethers with our friends. You receiving phone calls at all hours of the evening—after work, mind you. We can’t even make love for that damn phone going off, and you’re so tied to it that one would think if you actually let it go for an hour that the world would end.”
Tate sucked in his breath at the bitterness in her voice. The hurt crowding into her face and bleeding over into her impassioned statement. Or rather her question. Did he want to fix it? Of course he did. But first he had to know what the hell he was supposed to fix.
He reached across the seat to take her hand, half afraid—okay a lot afraid—that she’d recoil, that she would refuse to let him touch her. She went rigid but didn’t yank her hand away. He gently pried her fingers apart with his thumb and then laced their hands before lifting hers to his mouth as he leaned over.
“Listen to me, baby. I love you. You mean the world to me. Always have. Do I want to fix things? Damn right, I do. But first I have to know what I’m up against. And that means that we have to go inside and you have to talk to me. Will you do that, please?”
His words felt all wrong. His entire demeanor since the night had ended in shambles had not been him. Nor was it indicative of his relationship with Chessy. She was his. In every way that counted. She’d gifted him with her absolute submission, and as her Dominant—and the man who loved her with all his heart—his responsibility was to cherish her, protect her gift, ensure her happiness.
He felt like a complete failure. He hadn’t been dominant tonight. Chessy had been in control, dishing out commands to him when he was usually the one giving her instructions. It was the way their relationship worked. Always had.
And yet tonight? Hell, thinking back, it went way beyond just tonight. When was the last time he’d truly exerted his dominance? He used to control every aspect of Chessy’s life. It may seem extreme to someone on the outside looking in, but it was what worked for them. He wanted her submission and she wanted his dominance. She’d never shied away from his control. Never protested. Never gave any sign she was anything but happy with their agreement.
But when had he last demonstrated that dominance?
It was a sad testament that he couldn’t even remember. Couldn’t point to a time or moment over the last year when he’d acted as her Dominant.
The pieces were coming together in his mind, and he didn’t like what he was seeing. He hated the idea that he’d failed Chessy. Miserably. She was unhappy, and his girl was always happy. She lit up a room like a million rays of sunshine. She had such a tender, loving heart and she spread that love to everyone she encountered.
People were always at ease with Chessy. It was why he’d made certain to bring her to dinners with prospective and current clients because she made others relax, be more open. She was like a magnet, drawing people to her effervescent personality. Later he’d worried that keeping up with his pace was too much for her, and he never wanted her to feel the pressures of his job. That was his to bear. Never hers. So he’d told her he wanted her to back off. Spend time with her friends instead of always planning a social gathering.
And now the light had gone out in her beautiful eyes. All because of him and his dismal failure to provide for her needs.
He tightened his grip on Chessy’s hand, waiting for her response. She was taking way too long to respond, her brow wrinkled as if she was waging some kind of internal war. God, whatever it was, let him come out the victor and let her acquiesce to his plea to talk this out.
“I’ll talk,” Chessy finally said.
But her tone was fatalistic. Like she’d already decided the outcome after they discussed their relationship and why she was so unhappy. Had she lost that much faith in him? The idea devastated him.
“But it has to be in neutral territory,” she added. “We have no business having sex with this wall between us. I don’t want our physical attraction to hinder our discussion.” Her gaze swept downward, sorrow creasing her face and tugging her lips into a sad frown. “That’s assuming you even still want me,” she said in a tone tinged with grief. “It’s been so long since you’ve instigated any sort of sex that the reasonable conclusion is you no longer desire me or find me attractive.”
Tate damn near swallowed his tongue as protests immediately formed on his lips. Goddamn it but there was so much wrong with her statements that he didn’t even know where to begin.
They never used the word sex when it came to their lovemaking. Never. Sex was for people not emotionally involved to the degree Chessy and Tate were. At least that was his thinking on the matter.
And not want her? He was flabbergasted. What could he have possibly done to plant such a ridiculous notion in her head? She was the most beautiful woman in the world to him. Other women? Simply didn’t exist. How could he want for more when he had a gorgeous, loving, generous, tenderhearted submissive wife he came home to every day?
Okay, so maybe they hadn’t made love in a while. A long while. He winced inwardly again as he pondered and tried to remember the last time they had truly made love.
There had been hasty sessions. No buildup. No extended foreplay. Totally selfish on his part because he’d had sex with her and then he was off to work or to a meeting with a client.
Yes, he’d just used the word sex to describe their lovemaking. Because, well, what he’d done lately amounted to just that. Selfish sex. Not seeing properly to her needs. Not exerting his dominance. Something she didn’t just want but needed. Yet another dismal example to mark on his growing list of failures.
“We’ll talk wherever you want,” he said around the knot in his throat. He was ceding power to her. A complete reversal of roles. He didn’t like it one bit, and by the look on Chessy’s face, neither did she.
But what was he supposed to do in this situation? It would make him a flaming asshole if he whipped out his dominance and forced her submission and then used his dominance to manipulate her.
The hell with that. He wanted her to have complete and utter control in this situation. He didn’t want her to feel threatened by anything. He was laying himself open and putting himself at her feet if that’s what it took to pull out everything she needed to say. It was apparent their relationship was in real trouble, and that Chessy had been unhappy for quite some time.
That gutted him.
“Let’s go in then,” he said in a neutral tone even though his heart was flayed open and fear—an alien sensation—gripped his entire body. He’d hit the panic button the moment his gaze had met Chessy’s at the restaurant and he’d seen the utter devastation in her eyes. He’d known then that he’d pushed her too far. And what woman could blame her? On a night when his attention should have been focused solely on her and celebrating another year of marriage, he’d bailed to court a prospective client.
And he now realized just how that situation had to have looked to her. Him smiling and wining a beautiful woman just yards away from where his wife waited for him to show for their anniversary dinner. Food cold, her giving up, all because time had slipped away from him and the urgency of sealing the deal with a client had taken over his priorities. Yeah, he’d fucked up and now he had to work fast to pick up the pieces. Because it wasn’t just tonight, though he realized it was likely the last straw for her. Her unhappiness extended for a lengthy period of time and he’d been blind to it all. Or perhaps a small part of him had known and he hadn’t wanted to admit it because to do so would be admitting he’d failed her.
She didn’t wait for him to come around and open her door. She simply pushed it open and quickly got out and started for the house, then hastily unlocked the door without looking back. But she wasn’t fast enough that he didn’t see the tears streaking down her cheeks.
Fuck.
He hurried after her, worried she’d give up on talking to him and shut him out completely. A part of him was terrified that she would go in and pack her stuff. Or his. She had to know he’d never let her move out. This was her house, her security. If anyone ever had to leave, it would be him, and God, he didn’t even want to think about that happening.
Whatever was wrong between him and Chessy he would fix or die trying. She was his world. How could she not know that?
Because you haven’t proved that to her lately, dumbass.
He shook off the self-chiding and walked into the sprawling living room with twenty-foot ceilings, and to his relief he saw Chessy standing at the liquor cabinet, her stance rigid as she poured a glass of … what the hell was she pouring? Chessy wasn’t much of a drinker. She had wine with the girls and at get-togethers. It was something she and Kylie shared. Neither ever drank much. Kylie came from an abusive background with an alcoholic, misogynist father, but Chessy came from a much different background. Neglected. Not physically abused, but her childhood had shaped her, had given her insecurity about her place in the world. And he’d vowed never to make her feel like her parents had. Now he had to face the very real prospect that he’d broken that vow.
Chessy threw back the drink, swallowing in a big gulp, and then promptly coughed and sputtered. Tate was behind her in an instant, her perfume wafting tantalizingly in his nostrils.
The dress she’d chosen to wear was meant to seduce. She’d known, had he showed up for dinner, that he wouldn’t have been able to keep his eyes off her. That he would have hurried them through their dinner so he could take her home and peel that delectable dress off her body and then take over as a Dominant to his submissive.
She’d made a lot of plans for their anniversary it would seem. He’d caught a glance of the open master bedroom on his way to the living room and all the equipment he used and had chosen by his own hand was lying neatly on the bed for his perusal. To pick and choose the instruments he would use this night. Until Tate had to fuck it all up by allowing what was supposed to be a very special night for his girl go completely down the drain. How the hell would he make this up to her?
When she heaved and coughed again, her eyes, already watering, kept watering as she tried to correct which pipe her drink had gone down.
Tate instantly began patting her back and then rubbing smooth circles around her back, massaging. “You okay, Chessy? What the hell were you drinking anyway?”
She shrugged. “I just grabbed the first bottle I saw and went with it.”
Tate reached around her and grabbed the bottle at the very front where she’d carelessly shoved it back in.
“Jesus, Chessy, you don’t need to hit the hard stuff in order to talk to me. Remember me? Your husband, but more than that, your best friend? When have you ever had to ply yourself with alcohol just to talk to me? Is it so bad?”
She burped and then covered her mouth. It amused Tate though. Chessy was the epitome of polite and discreet. She would have been mortified to ever burp in a public place. He just thought they were cute. Little “Chess burps” he called them since they weren’t a complete blowing-out-the-windows kind.
“Because what I have to say isn’t good,” she said in a tone that told him the healthy dose of alcohol was already working its way down her body and loosening her tongue. Or at least he hoped so. But at the same time, what she said registered with him and froze his insides. Completely paralyzed him and his tongue seemed dry and swollen, impacting his ability to even speak.
Because what I have to say isn’t good.
The words rang in his ears, like a continuous video feed endlessly cycling, repeating itself until he nearly shook his head to make it stop.
“Come and sit down on the sofa with me, Chessy. You don’t need to be standing and pacing after downing that alcohol. We can work this out, baby. You have to know I love my girl more than anything in the world. Whatever it is, I swear we can work it out.”
His impassioned words seem to hit her, and she stood, absorbing them. He could see the wheels turning in her mind, the uncertainty in her eyes, and worse, doubt. Doubt clouded her beautiful eyes, and that hurt him because he was used to her having complete faith in him. In their marriage and relationship.
This was new territory for Tate and he didn’t like it one bit. In all other aspects of his life, he was decisive, take charge, take no prisoners. And until tonight, he would have believed that he was still Chessy’s Dominant and that he was taking care of her needs.
“Chessy?” he prompted softly, reaching to touch her arm.
She flinched and visibly recoiled and he swore under his breath. When had she gotten to the point of not being able to bear his touch? Was he hurting her so badly that she couldn’t be in the same room with him?
She turned, wobbling unsteadily as she headed for the sofa. He wouldn’t even allow himself relief over that small victory because he knew he still had a veritable mountain to climb once they settled onto the sofa and Chessy poured her heart out.
If she would.
She sank onto the couch, her entire body sagging as a weary look entered her eyes. She looked defeated.
He went to her, sitting beside her. It killed him to maintain any distance but he was afraid of her rejection if he so much as touched her.
“Talk to me, baby,” he encouraged softly. “Please. Give me a chance to fix this.”
Her eyes watered and tears gathered rapidly as she finally turned her gaze to meet his.
“I’m not sure it can be fixed,” she said, her voice choked with emotion. “I used to think it could be. I was certain everything would be all right. I told myself to just be patient. Let things ride out and everything would go back to normal when you were secure in your business. But I’m tired of waiting, Tate. I’m tired of faking a smile and saying ‘it’s okay’ every time you have to dump me for a client when I’m bleeding on the inside. I’ve pretended for so long that it’s become second nature and I can’t do it anymore. I just can’t.”
The utter despair in her voice flayed open his heart. He caught his breath, unsure of even what to say to her. This wasn’t a simple fix. Not something that could be worked out in one night or even two. Their relationship was in deep trouble, and he was only just now recognizing the magnitude of all he’d done to her over the past years.
“My friends look at me with pity,” she continued on, her gaze falling away from his.
She stared forward, so much pain in her features that it was a physical hurt for him to witness.
“They know I’m terrible at faking happiness. They see through me and they know I’m unhappy. They know the situation with you is bad. Even Dash and Jensen are giving me pep talks, for God’s sake. It’s humiliating. And I don’t know how to fix it. Now I don’t even know if I can.”
“Chessy, baby, don’t say that. Nothing is unfixable. We can overcome this together, I swear it.”
She yanked her head so that her eyes were boring straight into his. “You dumped me for a prospective client on our anniversary. I sat there for an hour over cold food after you promised me you’d be there, that you’d only be twenty minutes late, and you lied,” she said accusingly.
Tate reared back with a frown. “What did I lie to you about?”
Her gaze was full of scorn and rising fury.
“You just don’t get it, do you?” she raged. “You call me from work and say you were detained and that you’d be there in twenty minutes. You never said a damn word about meeting a client—a gorgeous female client who was all over you—at the same restaurant where your wife was sitting alone, waiting for her husband. You lied to me. Lies of omission are still lies. You tried to hide from me that you were entertaining a potential client on my goddamn anniversary and you stood there in the bar with her, smiling and laughing, while I was just a few yards away realizing that I’d been stood up by my husband on our anniversary. A day that used to mean something to you. And now? I have no idea where I stand with you, Tate.”
“How long have you felt this way?” he asked softly, cutting to the heart of the matter.
He had to back up, before the debacle of tonight, and figure out where he’d gone wrong.
She sighed, a heavy sigh of weariness and defeat. “Forever? Or at least it seems that way. I can remember the way it used to be and I guess that’s what upsets me the most. I know what we’re capable of, but in the last two years, you’ve drifted further and further away from me, and while I used to be at the top of your list of priorities, I doubt I even rate in the top five at this point. You certainly don’t act as though I have any priority in your life.”
She turned to look at him, stark fear in her eyes. Dread, as though she were preparing herself for what she was going to say next.
She huffed out her breath and squared her shoulders before lifting her gaze to lock with his.
“Are you cheating on me, Tate? Is that what all the ‘business calls’ have been about? Is that where you’re spending your time instead of with me?”
He was so flabbergasted by her question that momentarily all he was able to do was stare openmouthed at her. Then, he’d had enough. This could go on no longer. Sitting there while she tortured herself was killing him inch by inch. He was dying on the inside at her pain and agony. The hell he’d let her suffer under such misapprehensions any longer.
And then her next words stopped him cold, panic hitting him like a freight train. She lifted her head, all the life gone from her eyes. They were dull, defeated, like she was through fighting a fight he hadn’t realized she was waging. Tears burned hot and jagged at the corners of his eyes, his jaw locked like iron, her words tiny darts right through his heart.
“I want out, Tate. I can’t take this anymore.”