Forgiveness

Present Day

Mark

It would be heaven to kiss her.

She glances at the window as she delicately presses a napkin against her lips. Her face is bathed in afternoon sunlight, making her golden-brown eyes sparkle.

Why didn’t I kiss her every day when I had the chance? Why did I only do it in those rare moments when I wanted to show her I owned her?

As if sensing my gaze on her, she looks at me suddenly. I don’t even make an effort to hide my longing, which I know must be all over my face, because her eyes grow remote.

She’s resurrecting the wall between us.

I deserve it. The only reason we’re even having lunch together right now is because I blackmailed her.

“This is delicious,” she says, glancing down at her broccoli cheddar soup. “You’ve become an excellent chef since you moved out.”

I smile slyly. “I had a lot of motivation.”

When she flutters her eyelids, I chuckle.

It was a cheap trick locking her into spending time with me for six months after I moved out of the house, but I was desperate.

I knew Whitney wanted our Tahoe cabin. She’s extremely sentimental when it comes to the kids, and we’ve spent almost every Christmas there since Cole was born.

Thankfully, it’s exclusively mine in the eyes of the law since it’s been in the Walker family for generations. Whitney can’t take it unless I give it to her.

Which I have, under one condition…

Six months of weekly lunches with me and one Christmas Ball at the end of it, at which time I’m planning to ask her out on a real date.

Just one date. Not an end to our separation. Not even a relationship. Just one date.

A modest request considering in my darkest moments, I’ve thought about kidnapping her, taking her away to a remote cabin and showering her with affection until she understands that my twisted obsession with her will never lead to cruelty again. I’ve learned my lesson.

Her mouth tightens. “I don’t like it when you look at me like that.”

I grin. “How am I looking at you?”

She narrows her eyes playfully. “Like you’re scheming.”

I lean forward, setting my elbows on the table. “As a matter of fact, I was thinking about kidnapping you.”

She rolls her eyes. “You really would, too. If you could get away with it, you’d do it. You have no conscience.”

“Of course I would. I’d take really good care of you. It would be a vacation for you, really.”

She snorts, shaking her head, and I grin back at her. I love this easiness between us. I worked hard to achieve it.

She was disdainful of my trick at first, but as she witnessed my brokenness in the weeks after our separation, she softened considerably. My wife is an angel, and she can’t stand it when people are in pain.

Even if the person in pain is the bastard who cheated on her for fifteen years.

Yet, even after all that I’ve done, I truly believe that over the last five and a half months, I’ve made progress in winning back her heart. I’ve been devoted to showing her how much I love and need her. How I’ll worship her from now and for the rest of her life, because there’s no other way. I can’t survive without her, and she can see it. I’ve probably lost ten pounds since I moved out of this house, and I was already lean. Every morning, my eyes are puffy from using whiskey as a sleeping pill. I look and feel like walking death.

Even if she takes me back out of pity, I don’t care. I’ll make it worth her while by devoting my life to making her happy.

The Christmas Ball is two weeks away. It’s now crunch time. I can’t be coy any longer, or else I might spook her when I ask for my date.

Before I leave here today, I have to at least drop a hint about my intentions.

Oh God, I just hope she doesn’t shoot me down. I’m not sure if I’d be able to take it. I’ve become achingly fragile since I moved out of this house.

“Are you okay?” Whitney asks. “You look pale.”

I laugh humorlessly. “I look like this all the time now. Looking like shit is my post-separation makeover.”

Meanwhile, she looks as beautiful as ever. Even now, with her hair in a knot on her head and no makeup, she looks like an angel. Anyone in their right mind would want this woman.

I’m so lucky she’s shy and skittish. She’d never in a million years start dating right after separating from her husband of twenty-three years, which is why I gave myself six months.

But six months is the bare minimum. She probably has divorced men in our circle falling all over themselves trying to get a date. Eventually, she’ll give in to someone out of the goodness of her heart.

I have to get my date before that happens.

She shakes her head, frowning as her gaze drifts over my body. “You look especially pale.”

I’m startled when she stands up and walks over to my side of the table. Before I get the chance to process what’s going on, she sets her hand on my forehead, and the warmth of it spills over my whole body like a tropical rain. That little brow of hers is furrowed in concern.

It’s blissful agony having her this close. Having her take care of me like she always used to.

After removing her hand, she purses her lips. “You don’t feel feverish, but I think you should have a routine checkup.”

I nod. “I’ll do that.”

She narrows her eyes on my face before turning around and walking back to her seat. “You’d better not be humoring me.”

“I wasn’t humoring you when I said I’d get therapy, was I?”

Her expression softens. “I guess that’s true.”

She sounds surprised. Is it just now occurring to her how uncharacteristic it is of me to seek therapy, even at her urging?

I hope so. I need her to know that her every thought and desire matter to me, that they always did, but now I will heed them. I can’t make up for all that I’ve done, but I can show her through my actions that from now on, it will be different. I will be different.

“How is therapy going?” she asks, spooning around the remainder of her broccoli soup.

I smile faintly. “I hate my therapist, but I figure that’s probably normal.”

She frowns as she sets the spoon on the table, as if to give me her full attention. It’s the same scolding look she gives either me or the kids when we’ve disappointed her, and oh God, it’s so sweet and soft and characteristically Whitney. I wish I could capture it in one of the mason jars I used to scoop up tadpoles in as a kid. I wish I could keep her warmth stored with me all the time.

“That’s not normal at all,” she says. “Trust is essential if you’re going to make progress.”

I shrug. “Maybe hate is too strong of a word.”

“If you feel anything close to dislike, you should look for someone else. You need to find someone you feel easy with.”

“How can I feel easy with anyone when I know they’re all going to tell me the one thing I don’t want to hear?”

“And what is that?” she asks, but she looks like she already knows.

“That I need to accept your decision to get divorced.”

She shoots me a prim little frown and looks away, and I can’t help but smile. Even though she does this often—blow off my attempts to steer the conversation toward reconciliation—I still feel her softening.

She’s going to take me up on my date. I can feel it.

“I thought maybe I could help you with your Westmont application when we’re done eating,” I say.

She smiles sweetly, and my stomach flips. During one of our lunches a few weeks ago, she mentioned that she wanted to go back to college, but she had no idea how to go about doing it. She felt overwhelmed. I assured her that I would help her with anything she needed. These last five months, I’ve gone out of my way to show her that I want her to be okay without me, that I’m no longer afraid of her breaking out of her shell and no longer needing me.

Even though it secretly terrifies me. Selflessness does not come easy to a selfish bastard like me.

“Cole offered to help me with it,” she says, “and the process is fresher in his memory, but that’s kind of you. It’s mostly just the technology part of it that’s hard for me. I’ve already written my application essay…” She smiles. “It’s about the difficulty of becoming a single woman in my forties.”

Her words are like a knife in my chest, but I manage a smile. “I’m proud of you, Whit. You have an inner strength I’ll never have, and it shows. Look at you. You’ve been taking care of Maddy and Mason, while they’ve been practically taking care of me on the weekends. You’re getting your education and planning your new career. You’re beautiful as hell. Look at me.” I smile deprecatingly. “I look like I’ve aged twenty years since I moved out.”

Her smile fades. “No, you don’t. You’re a little pale, but you’re still handsome as ever.”

My breath catches. The air grows thick with something… Does she miss me physically? I ache for her warmth every moment of the day, but during these last five months, she’s never so much as hinted at—

I flinch when her phone rings. She glances down at the screen, and her whole expression changes. “I need to get this,” she says, her cheeks growing pink.

A prickle of foreboding spreads over my skin as she steps away from the table and heads to the living room. When I hear the slider door open, my heart stops.

She doesn’t want me to hear this call.

Oh God, it’s a man. It has to be a man.

After leaping out of my seat, I rush to the front door and walk outside. I creep around the side of the house. If I’m quiet enough, she won’t know. Even if I don’t get back inside on time, I can tell her I went to my car to get something. Just as I reach the edge of the back patio, I start to make out her voice. When the words grow clear, I halt my step. I don’t even breathe as I strain to hear what she says.

“Oh, you know,” she says. “Just the usual divorce stuff.” She laughs, and the blood rushing through my veins turns to ice.

I know that laugh. It’s been years since I’ve heard it, but I know it.

It’s the laughter I used to hear in bed with her.

The laughter of a lover.

The silence that follows tells me the caller is now speaking, and I want to get closer, but I’m right at the corner of the house. If I move, I’ll be within sight.

“That sounds good. I’d much rather… I’d like it if we did something low-key. Could we do coffee again?”

Her voice fades from my ears, and the world around me blurs and buzzes.

Coffee.

Again.

She has a date. And it isn’t the first.

The next thing I know, I’m sitting at the table again. How did I get here? I don’t even remember the walk. The world is as fuzzy and far away as a dream.

She’s already dating.

How could this be happening?

The slider door opens, and I take a spoonful of my now-cold soup, straining for nonchalance. I nearly gag when I try to swallow.

“Everything okay?” she asks, her tone wary.

She knows. She knows I was eavesdropping, and it somehow doesn’t matter. Nothing is as I thought it was.

I haven’t made progress with her. This whole time, she was only humoring me. Her soft heart made her tread lightly because she didn’t want to crush me.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly.

She takes her seat across from me, but I can’t look at her yet. I don’t want to see her expression. I don’t want to see the ghost of a smile left after talking to the man who might be her future. I don’t want to see those cheeks still flushed from when he made her laugh.

I want to haul her over my shoulder and carry her upstairs into our bedroom. I want to show her with my cock who still owns her. Who will always own her.

Except I don’t own her. In my stupidity, I’d assumed she’d never leave, and I let my rage and agony consume me.

This is the consequence. I’ll be watching her move on. Watch another man take my place.

“I have to go,” I say, nearly jumping from my seat. My thigh knocks the table, making my bowl clatter. “I’m not feeling well.”

She frowns, and I catch a flash of pity in her eyes. “Is there anything I can get for you?”

I’m only able to shake my head. I’m afraid my voice might break if I speak.