Chapter 3

Rhys

 

The bell rang after my sixth period American History class.

“See you all after break!” I called to my students as they headed for the door, but I doubted any of them heard me. They’d been collectively twitching and fidgeting as the clock neared three, ready to bolt for the buses because now they had a week off for mid-winter break. Now they were free, off to relax, maybe go snowboarding, or do whatever it was they did for fun when they had a week off in mid-February.

Hopefully their week would be more fun than mine promised to be.

Swearing under my breath, I pressed an elbow into my desk chair’s armrest and rubbed my forehead. I wondered how long I could loiter around the school before going home tonight. There had to be something I could do to occupy a couple of hours. Usually I’d be here later anyway because of basketball practice, but there were no practices or games until after break. I had nothing to keep me here tonight except my lack of desire to go home.

I still had to pack, but that would take me all of half an hour. The house was clean. We’d picked up our tuxes from the rental place and our suits from the dry cleaner. Various prescriptions had been refilled. Reservations had been made. There really wasn’t much that needed my attention once I got home, so I didn’t need to rush out of here.

Would anyone notice if I just hung out at my desk and played on my phone for a couple of hours? I supposed I could grade homework. There was a stack in my briefcase, not to mention newly submitted papers in my inbox, and I had first, third, and fourth period World History quizzes. I’d kind of planned on saving those for the trip, though. I had three nights each way where I’d be alone in hotel rooms, and grading would keep me from imploding with boredom.

Now if I could just figure out what to do in the car to stave off the tense silence. I’d probably be driving most of the way, so it wasn’t like I could grade papers, but…

I shifted my attention to my laptop. I could always put together a road trip playlist. Derek and I did generally agree on music, and it would fill in where conversation wasn’t happening. Plus making a playlist would give me something to do for the next few hours. Or I could download some audiobooks. We had similar taste there too, so if I loaded up my phone with maybe a dozen of them, there had to be one in there that we could agree on.

Or hell, maybe he’d reject anything I offered just out of spite, and we’d spend the whole damned trip in tense, miserable silence. Could I really blame him?

Fresh guilt piled on, and I rubbed my forehead as I sighed into the stillness of my classroom. It was a damn shame I couldn’t go back in time and tell myself that no matter how shitty I’d felt that fateful night, the temporary relief wouldn’t be worth it. Yeah, I’d felt low as fuck, and even though Derek and I had been through rough patches before, it had seemed insurmountable in the moment. They always did, and we’d always gotten through them, and we would’ve gotten through that one if I hadn’t decided to stop for a drink instead of going home. If I hadn’t let that stranger buy me a drink. If I’d taken one of a million different opportunities that night to say no and go home to my husband.

But I hadn’t, and now he was working on being my ex-husband, and I had no one to blame but myself.

My classroom door opened, and I looked up as Ryan, a friend from the English department, came in. I sat back in my chair. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Just thought I’d come in and chat for a minute.” He shut the door behind him and flashed me quick smile. “Since I’m not going to see you for a week.”

I laughed but didn’t really feel it. “You have big plans for break?”

“As little as possible.” He shrugged and came across the room. Leaning against one of the desks, he loosened his tie. Today’s tie was bright blue with little cartoon pigs all over it. Ryan hated the school’s shirt-and-tie dress code, so he always made sure to wear the most ridiculous—but still within regulation—ties he could find. At the end of every year, his students would gift him even wilder designs. The sheer volume of ties in his closet had to be driving his husband up a wall by now.

Ryan cocked his head. “So what about you? Ready for your baby girl’s big day?”

“I think so. I’ve, um…” I scratched the back of my neck. “Haven’t really had much time to think about that part to be honest.”

“You’re about to go to your daughter’s wedding, and you haven’t had much time to think about the part about your daughter’s wedding?”

I shot him a pointed look. “Come on. You know what’s been on my mind.”

“What’s—oh. Right.” He slouched a bit. “Are you telling me that in three months, you two haven’t been able to come to some kind of ceasefire long enough to go to the wedding?”

“Well, we’re going. But ceasefire? Not so much.”

“Oh my God.” He rolled his eyes. “Rhys, do you want to be miserable all week or something?”

“Of course not. But I’m going on a road trip with the man who hates me for fucking up our marriage, so being miserable doesn’t really seem optional, you know?”

“Uh, yeah, it kind of is.”

I eyed him, hoping the expression came across as enlighten me, then.

Ryan hoisted himself all the way onto the desk and rested his hands on the edge. “Look, just because you’re divorcing doesn’t mean things have to be miserable. I mean, my parents split up after my dad cheated on my mom, and once they’d actually filed the papers and started going through the motions, they pretty much stopped fighting.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. My mom told me years later she was still pissed at him, but like, they were done. There was no reason to keep punishing him while they sorted everything out.”

“Tell that to my ex,” I muttered.

“It’s a two-way street, hon.”

I lifted an eyebrow.

He sighed. “Talk to him. Apologize—again—for what you did, and tell him you just want to get through the next week. Same as him. You’re not asking him to take you back or to not have feelings about what happened. You’re just saying, hey, we’re going to be joined at the hip for a week. Can we just drop all this bullshit and be civil to each other until it’s over?”

“I don’t know if he’ll go for it,” I said. “It’s been five months and he still can’t stand to look at me.” Scowling, I shook my head. “You’d think if we could magically get along, we’d have figured it out by now.”

“You’d be surprised. I bet it hasn’t even occurred to him to just drop it. And I’d bet even more that it’s draining him as much as it’s draining you. Couldn’t hurt to throw it out there.”

I mulled it over, and the more I thought about it… hell, maybe he was on to something. It wasn’t like I had much to lose by broaching the subject. What was I going to do? Make things more uncomfortable between us? I didn’t think that was possible at this point.

So I nodded. “Okay. I’ll talk to him tonight. We’ll see how it goes.”

Ryan smiled sympathetically. “Good luck.”

 

***

 

It had been four months, three weeks, and six days since I’d told Derek I’d cheated on him, which meant that for the last four months, three weeks, and six days, the mere thought of approaching him about anything made me want to hyperventilate.

It didn’t matter that I wasn’t dropping some kind of bomb on him this time. Ever since “Derek, there’s something I need to tell you…” he hadn’t been able to look at me without his eyes reminding me how deeply I’d hurt him. As if my conscience had let me go a day without thinking about it.

And whenever I approached him, I had the same sick feeling of dread as I’d had that day, even if I was just coming to ask if he needed me to pick something up at the grocery store or if he could take the cats in for their boosters. I never knew when he was going to give me calm, monosyllabic answers, or we’d have some stilted version of a normal conversation, or when he’d blow up at me. The blowups were fewer and farther between now—Ryan was probably right that the hostility was as exhausting for Derek as it had been for me—but the approach still wasn’t something I looked forward to.

Outside his bedroom—the bedroom we’d once shared—I steeled myself. Shoulders back. Deep breath. I can do this.

Then I knocked gently. There was some movement on the other side, though my heartbeat drowned out most of it, and then the door opened.

I tried—really tried—not to notice that Derek was only wearing a pair of low-slung sweatpants. I hadn’t come in here to drool over his lean, powerful body. I’d come in here to talk. Talk about…uh…

He lowered his chin and raised his eyebrows.

Face heating up, I cleared my throat. “Listen, do you have a minute?”

He studied me like he was seriously considering telling me he didn’t, but then he stood aside, letting the door open the rest of the way, and gestured for me to come in.

It felt weird, stepping into our old bedroom. Not much had changed. My dresser was gone and the nightstand on my side was bare. Otherwise, everything was the same.

Apparently I’d caught Derek in the middle of packing. He had some folded stacks of clothes on the bed alongside a garment bag and a small open suitcase.

 Chico poked his head up from inside the suitcase.

I laughed nervously. “Looks like you have help.”

Derek managed a faint smile as he scratched under Chico’s chin. “He’s always helpful.”

Chico purred loud enough I could hear him from halfway across the room. At least the cats were getting less edgy about being in the room with both of us. Shame they couldn’t speak, or maybe one of them could tell me their secret.

Derek pulled his attention from the cat and turned to me. “So, what’s on your mind?”

Right. Right. Something on my mind. A reason I’d come in here.

He went back to taking clothes out of his dresser, but I could tell his focus was on me.

I folded my arms loosely because I didn’t know what else to do with my hands. “I wanted to talk about the trip.”

“I figured.” Even as he neatly stacked some shirts beside the suitcase, his guard was up. I could feel it. He returned to the dresser and started searching through another drawer.

“I was thinking…” I shifted my weight. “We’re stuck together in the car for four days. Each way.”

“Mmhmm,” he said over his shoulder.

I chewed my lip as I fought back my nerves. “What would you say about putting all this, um, tension on hold until we get back?”

That got his attention. Derek turned around, dark eyebrows pulling together, and he eyed me like I’d lost my mind. “Put it on hold? How the hell would we do that?”

“Just…” I shrugged. “Go back to the way things were before it all went to shit. Not pretend we’re getting back together. Just…” I wracked my brain, thinking back to everything Ryan had said in the classroom. “I know you’re pissed at me for what I did. I’m sure you hate me, and I don’t blame you at all. But this…where we can’t even be in the same room without our hackles going up? When we can’t talk without both of us obviously being on guard? I mean, it’s exhausting, you know?”

“It is, yeah.” His tone was cold. “Actions have consequences.”

It took all I had not to snap back at him. I was here to defuse things, not ignite another battle. Injecting extra calm into my voice, I said, “I know they do. That’s why we’re getting a divorce. But what do either of us gain by gnashing our teeth the whole way to Portland and back?”

He pressed his lips together. “Do you actually think it’s that easy?”

“No. But if we both put in the effort…” I shrugged tightly. “I mean, it’s your call. We can drive the whole way in miserable silence, or we can at least drop some of this enough to maybe pass the time with conversation.”

His forehead creased as he stared at me incredulously. “Conversation about what?”

“Anything. I don’t care. We can listen to a book or music most of the way if it’s easier, but what about if one of us wants to stop? Or if we sit down to eat somewhere?” I released a long breath. “I’m not asking you to talk to me like I’m your BFF. But just…like a stranger on a bus, you know? Shoot the shit to pass the time so we don’t get stir crazy.” I showed my palms. “I promise I haven’t forgotten and I won’t forget that I fucked up and that we’re done. I’m just suggesting a truce until we get back from the wedding.”

Derek held my gaze. “That sounds a lot easier said than done.”

“I’m pretty sure it will be. I’ll put in the effort if you will.”

His features hardened for a second, and I thought he might tell me where I could stick my effort. But then, little by little, the tension in his face and posture eased. He turned his attention back to his luggage as he said, “Okay. I’m game for trying anything if it means making this trip more bearable.”

Relief made my knees weak. “That’s all I want.”

He nodded. He paused to scoop Chico out of the suitcase and set him down on the bed. As he brushed away some cat hair, he added, “What time do you want to leave tomorrow?”

“Um.” I unfolded and refolded my arms. “I don’t know. Should we leave before or after rush hour?”

“Doesn’t matter to me.” He put a stack of shirts into his suitcase. “Should take us about seven hours to get to our first hotel, and our rooms won’t be ready until four anyway, so there’s no point in leaving at the crack of dawn.”

“Okay. Maybe…ten?” At least then we wouldn’t be stuck in the worst of Chicago’s morning commute.

“Sure. Ten works.”

We exchanged glances. Neither of us smiled, but there was just a skoch less animosity than there’d been recently. It was a step in the right direction. I’d take it.

“Sounds good. I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

“See you in the morning.”

I hovered there for a moment, wondering if I should say something else, but decided that this was a fairly positive note to end our conversation on. We’d see how things went tomorrow when the rubber quite literally met the road.

So, I started to leave.

“Rhys.”

I stopped in the doorway and turned around.

Derek was still focused on arranging things in his suitcase, and his voice was quiet as he said, “Just so you know, I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?”

“No.” He swallowed, then turned to me, resting his hands on the sides of the suitcase. “I can’t trust you. I still want us to go our separate ways. But…” He shook his head and barely whispered, “I don’t hate you.”

“Oh.” I held his gaze, but I had no idea what to say.

Derek broke eye contact first, and the moment was over. I mumbled, “See you in the morning,” and continued out of the room.

Safely in my own bedroom across the hall, I leaned against the door and closed my eyes. It should have been a relief to know he didn’t actually hate me.

So why did I feel even guiltier now?