Page 35 of Fault Lines
“I want you! All of you,” I pleaded. “And I want you to want only me. Why can’t you do that?”
His voice went soft, heartbreakingly gentle. “Livi, you already have my heart. No one else even comes close. It’s just physical. Nothing more.”
“But it means more to me,” I whispered.
He shook his head. “You agreed to this, remember? You can’t switch the rules now.”
“I want to go back. I can’t sit here, picturing you out there, with her—or them. I can’t do it,” I said.
“So you don’t want us?” he pressed, something like fear flickering in his voice.
“That’s the whole point! Of course I want us. That’s why I’m fighting.”
“Then you have to let me do this.”
I stared at him, shocked. “Is that a threat?”
His hands went to his hips as he exhaled hard. “You already said yes. We’re not going back. That’s final. Just one night a week, Livi. You can share me for one damn night. I’m just doing what you said was okay, so you need to follow through.”
“Would you divorce me if I say no now?” The words hung heavy, dangerous.
He was silent so long I thought he’d walk out right then.
But when he finally spoke, it was with that same tired, hollow voice. “I don’t want to lose you. But I can’t go back to the way things were. I hated it. I’m sorry this hurts you, Livi. But for now, that’s how it has to be. At least for a while.”
I nodded, because there was nothing left to say. I climbed the stairs, didn’t bother with pajamas, just collapsed in bed and stared at the wall.
He took a shower. I heard the pipes shudder, the dull thud of water slapping tile. Washing her off him. It was all so mechanical; I was left to either accept it, or leave. The second option made my chest ache. How do you breathe without your soul?
Why did loving someone have to mean loving all their sharp edges?
I was still tangled in those thoughts, almost asleep, when he slipped into bed and folded himself against my back. He curved himself around me like a shield, as if that could fix what he’d broken.
His mouth grazed my neck, gentle. “You’re not going to leave me. I know we love each other too much. This isn’t forever—I’ll stop eventually. Please, Livi. Just give me time.”
I wondered, there in the hush, if he realized he was carving pieces off me each time he didn’t walk through the front door. If, by the time he finished, there’d be anything left to give him at all.
Chapter Twelve
The next few weeks sort of wove together; nothing changed between us and nothing changed in me. Cam was still gone every Thursday and I was still keeping my job a secret. It became a routine—the kind that loops in endless circles. We spent time together in the evenings if he wasn’t working late or out somewhere, and our weekends were mostly quiet, just the two of us. We were intimate more often now, which you’d think would feel good, but every time, thoughts of the other woman would wedge themselves in. Like a shadow at the edge of every touch.
I found myself doubting things I’d never doubted before. Was he happier with her? Did he enjoy her more? She had to be prettier or else why would he need her? Was she curvier? Did she have fuller breasts? The questions swam in my mind, each one tugging me under a little further.
Friday morning, I woke up after another long, tear-soaked night; the circles under my eyes proof that hiding pain doesn’t always work. Cam must have picked up on it anyway, even though he only whispered apologies into my neck after his ritual post-lover’s-shower. I ignored him, faking sleep, but the truth was I lay awake, letting silent tears soak my pillow. And the next morning, I put on my best act, pretending to be okay while Cam wrapped me in all his usual affection before heading out the door.
The second the apartment was empty, I got dressed for the bookstore. If I couldn’t have Cam exclusively, at least I had this. My job, my own little slice of something. No offense to Rachel—I loved her—but the bookstore really was my favorite thing, right after pretending I had all of Cam to myself.
I walked in, ready for coffee #2. I’d gotten pretty good at operating the espresso machines, though Nate still teased me about it all the time.
He was already behind the counter, organizing the register. He grinned as I came in: “Morning sunshine!” He’d started calling me that, and I never really figured out why, but I liked that he did.
“How’s it going?” I said, setting my purse below the counter.
“Good, good,” he replied. “It’s just you and me today. Pops is home sick again.”
“Oh no,” I frowned, instantly worried. Mr. Porter had been getting sick a lot lately; I’d told him to see a doctor, but he was stubborn. “He really should get checked,” I said.
“Yeah, I keep telling him,” Nate sighed. “But he’s impossible. Stubborn old goat.”
