Page 14 of Necessary Roughness

“Fuck…” I growl under my breath as I think back to when I walked away from her on campus. Has this whole thing been a huge misunderstanding? How would that be possible though? I saw her fucking boyfriend right there. Why would he walk over to her and lie like that? Just to piss me off.

No. I don’t buy it.

But then why would she write an article like this? Just to try and convince me that she did nothing wrong? Is she really just a fame-seeking gold-digger and using her article to get back on my good side?

I want to believe that, because it would make things so much easier, but deep down, I’m not sure that I do. I still want Natalie. I know that. I don’t know if I should, but I’m not Spock; I can’t just turn off my emotions. I don’t know what the fuck to do at this point. For the first time in my life, I don’t know where the goal is. I don’t know what to do. Maybe it’s better to just do nothing and forget the whole thing—pretend like it never happened.

Epilogue

Natalie

One year later…

Yeah, I’m dead.

At least that’s how I feel as I hold Rob in my arms while he breastfeeds, staring at my laptop screen, waiting for a call from my editor to come in. It’s a video call, but he’s the only one who’s going to have his webcam on.

I’m exhausted. I haven’t fully slept in three days; this latest article on the health care crisis among the Boston working class has been eating up all my spare time, and Rob has been keeping me

super busy. He hasn’t been feeling too well lately and has been very hungry. He’s an absolute blessing, don’t get me wrong, but Momma needs her rest. I’m just praying this call goes quickly so I can try and put him down and catch a nap before dinner.

My laptop beeps and I answer.

“Ted?”

“Hey, Natalie. Oh, your video’s off,” he replies. He’s sitting at his desk with his ugly yellow shirt on and staring at his computer like an old man should, not an editor who uses it daily.

“I’ve got my hands full with Rob,” I reply.

“Oh, I see. Well, I’ll try to make this quick. I loved the piece. I have a few notes that I included in an e-mail I’m sending to you now, but I’d love to punch up the story about the woman who lost her clothing shop. Do you have any more with her?”

“I don’t,” I reply, realizing my workload just went up. “But I can get it.”

“Can you? Because I think the article would be much stronger with it.”

“Sure, Ted,” I say, hiding the fatigue in my voice. “I’ll get on it.”

“Great! I’ll let you go,” he says with a smile. “Say hi to the little guy for me!”

“I will,” I say. I smile, even though he can’t see me, and end the call. Then, under my breath, I curse. “Fuck…”

“Hey, what kind of language is that to use around your baby boy?”

I turn and see the door swing open and my beautiful husband walk into the house. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see him—but then again, that’s always how I feel when he comes home.

He walks right up to me, kisses his son on the head, then kisses me on the lips.

“How’s my baby boy?” he asks.

“Hungry!” I reply. “Hopefully sleepy soon.”

“I sure hope so.” He grins. “Because I’m anything but.”

He reaches around and runs his fingers up my thigh, causing a shiver to run through my body. Smiling, I slap his hand away.

“Not while I’m holding him!”

“Of course not,” he chuckles. “Go put him to bed and we can have some time together.”

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