Page 14 of The Edge Of Us

I slipped into bed beside her, wrapped an arm around her waist, and let the exhaustion pull me under.

Tomorrow would come with its battles. But for tonight, I would hold onto this moment. This small, fragile piece of peace.

And pray that it lasted.

Chapter 9

Allen

The first time it happened, I blamed the alcohol. But the truth? I had been craving the escape long before that night.

The bar had become my second home, a place where I could breathe without the weight of my collapsing world suffocating me. At home, Corinne was a ghost of herself, a shell of the woman I had married, and I was drowning in the wreckage.Every night was a warzone—her screams, her paranoia, her vacant stares that made it seem like she didn’t even recognize me. Our son, Kyle, had become my tether to reality, the one thing keeping me from unraveling entirely.

But I was unraveling. I just hadn’t admitted it yet.

Natasha had been there from the start, quietly stepping in where Corinne could no longer stand. She managed Luxe Beauty, she took over Corinne’s social media, she made sure the world didn’t see the cracks in our perfectly curated life. She was my wife’s best friend. But at some point, she had become mine, too.

I didn’t realize how much I looked forward to seeing her until the nights at the bar became our unspoken tradition. She was always there, sliding into the seat next to me, ordering whatever drink I was having. We talked about everything but the mess waiting for me at home. And God, it felt good to just talk. To have someone listen.

“Allen,” she said one night, her voice softer than usual, “you look exhausted.”

I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. “That’s because I am.”

Her eyes studied me, and for the first time in months, I felt seen.

It wasn’t like I had planned to kiss her. One moment we were sitting there, laughing about something stupid, and the next, I turned to find her staring at me in a way no one had in a long time. Not with pity. Not with concern. Just… understanding. And maybe something more.

Then my lips were on hers.

It was quick. A mistake. A lapse in judgment. But for those few seconds, I had felt something I hadn’t felt in so long—relief. Comfort. Warmth.

I pulled away first, my breath uneven. “Natasha, I—I shouldn’t have—”

“I know,” she whispered, her fingers touching her lips. “I know.”

I apologized. Over and over again. And she nodded, telling me it was fine, that it was just a mistake, that she understood.

But it wasn’t fine. And it wasn’t just a mistake.

Because the next time we met, I kissed her again.

And then, one night, she kissed me first.

I wish I could say I stopped it. That I pulled away, went home, and fought for my marriage like I should have. But the truth is, I let it happen. Because with Natasha, I didn’t feel like a failure. I didn’t feel like a man watching his wife spiral into something unrecognizable. I didn’t feel like I was losing my mind trying to hold everything together.

I just felt like a man.

It started slowly. A kiss here, a touch there. But soon, it became more. I started finding excuses to meet her outside the bar. Coffee in the mornings. Texts that had nothing to do with Corinne. Late-night drives where we just sat in my car, staring at the city lights, pretending we weren’t crossing a line.

And then we crossed it completely.

The first time we slept together, I told myself it would be the last. That it was a mistake, that I had betrayed Corinne in the worst possible way. That I was a terrible husband.

But then it happened again.

And again.

And soon, I wasn’t looking for reasons to stop. I was looking for reasons to keep going.

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