CHESSY clamped her hand over her mouth in horror as she blurted out the damning words and registered the shock and devastation in Tate’s eyes as they hit him with the force of a punch in the face.
Damn it, she hadn’t meant it how it came out! It sounded like she was asking for a divorce. One minute she was focusing on how to fix things—Tate was focusing on how to fix the problem—and she’d jumped from simply laying out her frustration to telling him she wanted out.
“You want a divorce?” Tate asked hoarsely, his eyes shiny with moisture. “God, Chessy, are you so desperately unhappy that you won’t even give me a chance to fix what’s wrong between us? I fucked up. I readily admit that. But you can’t just quit on us like that. Unless …”
He drifted off, pain intensifying in his expression as though whatever he was thinking was the absolute worst and that he couldn’t bear to put it into words.
He ran a hand raggedly through his hair and then down his face, wiping at his eyes.
“Unless you no longer love me, no longer want me,” he ended in a whisper.
“That wasn’t what I meant,” Chessy said in a desperate voice.
God, this was such a complete disaster. Nothing was going the way she’d planned. But then nothing in the last two years had gone according to her plan.
“Then what did you mean?” Tate asked cautiously as he stared directly at her.
Her hands fluttered in front of her as she lifted them and then let them fall uselessly into her lap. She bit into her bottom lip, closing her eyes as she tried to sort through her frayed emotions. Her nerves were shot. The alcohol was making her fuzzy. And all she wanted to do was go to bed and bury her head underneath her pillow.
She wanted to call a redo of the entire day. Hell, the entire last two years.
“Chessy?”
She opened her eyes, trying to hold back more tears. She refused to be accused of manipulating him with the one thing he hated most: her tears of upset.
“I just meant that I wanted out of our current situation. I hate it!”
Her hands trembled against her thighs and she pressed her fingertips into her flesh, against the material of the sexy dress she’d worn for her husband tonight. A dress that had decidedly gone unnoticed. It had been a monumental waste of money.
Tate gently reached into her lap and tugged at both her hands until he pulled her upright from her position on the couch and forced her into closer proximity to him. His gaze was serious, his eyes grave and earnest as he stared at her.
“I love you, Chessy. I don’t know how much you believe that right now, but I love you. I always have. That hasn’t changed. It never will. But I need to know if you still love me, if I’ve killed your love for me with my neglect.”
She closed her eyes again. Shouldn’t she feel relieved by his impassioned declaration? Isn’t this what she wanted? Affirmation that he did love her? Still wanted her?
But he’d neatly dodged the question of his fidelity, perhaps because there had been so much else addressed in her hysteria. She’d seen the shock in his eyes when she’d blurted that she wanted out, that she couldn’t take it anymore.
Perhaps it had been swept aside in everything else that had been said, and she was too afraid to push him for an answer.
“I’ve always loved you,” she said wearily. “But loving someone isn’t enough when you aren’t getting one hundred percent from them any longer. I feel as though I’ve been doing all the giving, making all the concessions, and that may sound selfish, but it’s the way I feel. It may not be fair, but it’s how I feel so there’s nothing to be done about it.”
“Baby,” he said gently. “I can fix this. You just have to give me the chance. I never want to be without you. I’m sorry if I haven’t made you feel that way lately.”
“I’m too tired and strung out to have this discussion tonight,” she said, her shoulders sagging. “I just want to go to bed. We can’t have this conversation when I’m not on equal footing, and anything I say right now is likely to be all twisted up because I’m so upset, and that does neither of us any good.”
She saw the frustration, the beginnings of a raw edge of temper, but he held it back, not reacting to her firm dictate. Or perhaps he saw how truly close to the edge she was and didn’t want to push her right over.
He dropped his hands from hers and turned halfway from her, his gaze directed forward so his profile was presented.
“If that’s what you want,” he said in a low voice. “But we’re going to talk tomorrow, Chessy. No more putting this off. It’s been put off long enough and I realize that’s my fault.”
She got up from the couch before he could do or say anything to change her mind and headed for their bedroom to collect her things.
Tate watched his wife exit the living room in the direction of their bedroom. He breathed a sigh of relief. At least he could hold her tonight if nothing else. But damn it, he wasn’t ready to call it quits for the night. There was so much left unsaid, unresolved. He wasn’t the type to delay anything. And spending an entire night with his future hanging precariously on the edge of destruction? Not ideal.
But he couldn’t afford to push Chessy. She was clearly at her wits end. His fuck-up on their anniversary had pushed her too far. Finally too far. He was damn lucky she hadn’t left his dumb ass already.
He hauled himself off the couch, mentally preparing for the night ahead. He hoped like hell that Chessy didn’t close herself off to him, lie rigidly in bed or, even worse, cry herself to sleep. His heart would be cut to ribbons.
When he got to their bedroom door, he nearly bumped into her as she came out holding a pair of pajamas and her toiletries. He frowned, dread creeping up his spine.
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
She lifted her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his, a defiant look in her eyes. At least she wasn’t crying. A small victory at best.
“I’m sleeping in the guest room tonight,” she said quietly. “I need some time alone. To get my thoughts together before we get into this tomorrow.”
It was like a fist to his gut. As she shoved past him and walked toward the guest room at the far end of the hallway, his breath left him and he couldn’t squeeze air back into his lungs to save his life.
He stood there staring helplessly at her, knowing he should go after her and at the same time recognizing she’d given him an ultimatum of sorts. Hands off. Give her space.
Numbly, he walked into their bedroom, knowing he’d never sleep tonight. How could he when Chessy was sleeping down the hall from him and their marriage was in serious jeopardy?
They’d never slept apart. Not when they were in the same house. He’d gone on very few out-of-town business trips, most of them in the last couple of years, and that was the only time they’d damn well slept apart. Even then he’d always called her and they had talked on the phone way beyond bedtime. Because he’d missed her, missed having her in his bed, and he’d given up precious hours of sleep when he needed to be alert and aware the following morning for important meetings. Didn’t that count for something?
A small part of him registered that he should be angry. That he’d made countless sacrifices to ensure that the woman he loved more than life had the world at her feet. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to be anything but remorseful when he took in the extent of Chessy’s unhappiness.
Chessy who usually lit up a room when she walked in. Chessy who had a smile that could knock a man to his knees a mile away. Chessy who’d always been nothing but sweet and understanding, smiling, eyes bright and supportive. Had he given her the same support she’d given him? The same understanding?
The answer to those questions bleakly registered a resounding “no” with him. He knew he’d fucked up and there was no way he could turn this back on her because she’d been nothing but loving and supportive of him even amid his neglect of her needs and wants.
He clenched the back of his neck and rubbed absently as he paced helplessly around their bedroom. He couldn’t make himself shower or get ready for bed. All he could see was an empty bed, one she should be in, her scent enveloping him as he slept.
She was his security blanket. The only solid thing in his world where everything else was uncertain. He’d taken her for granted, had shit on her repeatedly over the last two years, and he’d never realized the extent of his neglect. Until now.
He’d done what he’d vowed never to do: Made her feel unwanted. Invisible. Just as her parents had done. Self-loathing ate at him, digging a yawning chasm in his heart and soul.
How could he possibly imagine a future without her? He was scared shitless. Fear like he’d never experienced gripped him by the balls and had a stranglehold on his throat.
Never, never would he forget the look in her eyes when he’d glanced up from his potential client—hell, what was her name even? He couldn’t remember. All he could see running in an endless cycle was Chessy’s stricken, devastated look when she’d seen him in the bar with another woman. On their anniversary night when Chessy had been forced to leave after cold food had gone wasted and she’d withstood the humiliation of being stood up. On their anniversary.
God, she’d asked if he was cheating on her, and he’d never even given her an answer. And even he had to admit how bad it looked for him. To have been with another woman in the same restaurant where his wife waited. What kind of flaming bastard did it make him to have pulled a stunt like that? At the time he’d thought it was the best way to have his cake and eat it too. Court a prospective client over drinks for fifteen minutes and then walk a few yards farther into the restaurant where his beautiful wife waited and then they’d kick off their anniversary weekend and have two whole days to love and celebrate another year.
Was she even now lying in bed in the guest room worrying and dying a little with each breath over the thought that he’d been unfaithful to her? He couldn’t stand the idea of her thinking it a minute longer. He wanted to charge down there, confront her now and get everything out of the way so they both slept easier tonight.
But that was his selfish, inconsiderate side rearing its ugly head, and it was clear he’d been selfish for far too long in their relationship. She’d asked for time and, goddamn it, no matter how it ate at him, no matter that he wouldn’t sleep a single minute, he’d give her the time she asked for. But in the morning? Things were going to be sorted out.
Then again, he knew this wasn’t something to be resolved with one simple conversation or a few hours of heart-to-heart communication. It would take time and effort on his part to win back her trust—and her love. The two went hand in hand in his book. All solid marriages enjoyed both. Love and trust. One couldn’t exist without the other. She hadn’t really answered his question as to whether she still loved him. All she’d said was that she’d always loved him. Past tense.
That scared the holy hell out of him.
He couldn’t imagine his life without Chessy. He loved her with his heart and soul. But he hadn’t shown her his love in a very long time, and actions spoke far louder than words, a token “I love you” from time to time. He’d taken advantage of her love and he’d put her second, maybe even third or fourth on his priorities, a fact that shamed him to his soul and a mistake that would likely haunt him for the rest of his life.