Bait (Wake, #1)(106)
This life. This was what I was fighting for.
The only difference was this time she was the one who had to do all the fighting. Maybe she was reminding herself how much she loved the cheesecake, too.
In those two weeks, we thrived. I hadn't seen her bite at her nails once. She was my Blake, and it suited her so well.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
THE NEW SLEEPING ARRANGEMENT with Casey suited me fine.
Waking up with his arms around me felt like the way waking up should be. The most horrific part was realizing that all along he was right. It would be too hard to wake up with him not there.
I had promised Grant I would come home for a weekend and it seemed that Casey’s and my time was on fast forward right to that day. Both Casey and I knew it was coming. I'd told him the night before over dinner, that even though I didn't want to leave, I had to.
He got quiet for a while, but he didn't fight me. Maybe we were all fought-out by then.
“I hate it,” he said. “I hate you going back to him. Every cell in my body says no.”
“It won't be for long.”
He leaned forward and ran his hands over his head, and I noticed how much it had grown in only the past few weeks. He was frustrated and I physically watched as he denied himself telling me not to go.
“I'll be back on Monday.”
He looked out into the setting sun. “Monday then.”
The next day he said he was going to go for a bike ride while I waited for the cab. He didn't want to watch me leave.
I left a note for him in the bed that we’d shared for fourteen nights in a row. I also left my ships.
As I sat in the porch swing waiting on the car, a little silver, hybrid pulled into the drive next to Casey's black Lexus RX.
It was Morgan. Just what I needed. She didn't like me much, Audrey had alluded to that fact.
“Hello, Morgan,” I said politely as I watched the yellow cab turn down the lane and begin that way. I stood to ready the bag I was taking back with me for the weekend.
“Hi, Blake. Is Casey here?”
I started down the sidewalk, knowing that one of us would have to step aside. Even though I was years older than her—she was inches above me, tall like her brothers—we both stopped feet apart, at an impasse.
“He's on a bike ride.”
“Does he know you’re leaving?” she asked as she noticed the cab pulling up behind hers.
“God, yes. He knows I'm leaving. It's only for a few days.”
She smiled, but it lacked authenticity. “Good. He seems a little better on the phone. I came to see if he wanted to go get some lunch, since I got out of class early.”
“I'm sure he would like that. He won’t be long. You should wait for him.” I smiled and tried to show her what a real one looked like. He always talked about how Morgan was a sweet girl, but to me she seemed a little short.
“I think I will,” she said and stepped to the side so I could pass with my small suitcase that I was rolling behind me.
“Thanks,” I said as I walked toward the taxi. “Morgan?”
She turned back to me and popped her hip and tilted her pretty blonde head. “Blake.”
“When Casey is hurting, I'm hurting too. I just want you to know that.”
“Good, then stop hurting yourself and come back.” Then she gave me a genuine smile. “Please.”
There she was. There was the sweet sister Casey had told me about.
When I got home, I was surprised to find that Grant was already there. Quite surprised really.
Go figure, on the day I was initiating the demise of my marriage, by speaking my mind and being honest with him and myself, he’d be there like a perfect husband.
That's how I’d decided to go about it anyway. Honesty was supposed to be the best policy, or some shit like that. I was going to be truthful. See what happened.
There he sat, in our house, the house he gave me that never was a home. It isn’t a home if you don’t feel like yourself when you’re in it.
“Hi there, you,” he said when I walked in and dropped my bag.
“Hi. I didn’t think you’d be here,” I said quietly.
“I haven’t seen you in two weeks. Of course, I’d be here. I missed you.” He smiled at me and I forced a smile back, acknowledging inwardly that it probably looked like Morgan’s.
I hadn’t called much, but he didn’t either. I could only guess he’d been busy and assumed I had been, too.
The San Francisco office was busy, there were many projects in the planning stages, but honestly I could have done most of the work I added to my plate from Seattle.
I’d only been in that house, with him, for minutes and I already felt drained.
He was home. Like he should have been.
That night went slowly and also faster than I’d hoped. I was staring bedtime in the face. I tried to fake being asleep on the couch while we were watching something on CNN. On another night it would have naturally put me to sleep. But on that night, my adrenaline was off the charts and my heart raced like a frightened bunny.
Still, I closed my eyes and laid my head back like I would if I really was tired. And deep down I was tired. Just not the sleepy kind. I was tired of pretending. Tired of all of it.