What He Left Behind(66)
He rests his chin on my shoulder and wraps his arms around my waist. “Let me know?”
“I will. Definitely.”
Neither of us speaks, and he doesn’t let me go. It’s way too early in the morning for awkward silence, but there it is.
After a while, Ian finally says, “Listen, um…” He breaks eye contact but nuzzles the side of my neck, as if he wants to avoid my gaze but still maintain this affectionate embrace. “Maybe it’s just as well that Michael’s back on his own two feet now.”
Of course it is. It’s great that he’s confident enough to pursue something with another man. But I don’t think that’s what Ian’s getting at.
I reach back and rest my hand in his short hair. “Why’s that?”
“Because I’m starting to think this isn’t healthy anymore.” He kisses the back of my shoulder. “For you. It’s eating you alive.”
I lower my hand and sigh.
Ian keeps his eyes down. “If he does need more of this, we need to think about how long we let it continue. Before you start doing more damage to yourself than—”
“I’ll be fine.” I gently free myself and turn around. “Really. I will.”
He scowls and rests his hand on the back of my neck. “I want to believe that, but I know you.” He draws me in for a soft kiss. “You’re the kind of person who’d get yourself killed pulling someone out of a burning building.”
“I’m not saving him from a burning building.”
“Not literally, but you are going to be collateral damage if you’re not careful.”
“Then what do you think I should do?” I wrap my arms around his waist. “What should we do?”
“Well, last night will be a test of how far he’s really come. Maybe he’s ready to move on, and that’s great. But if he’s not…” Ian chews his lip. “That’s where things could get tricky. Because I want us both to see this through for his sake, but I also want to put a stop to it for yours. Except if he still needs us after last night, then that’s the worst possible time for us to call time on it, and…” Ian shakes his head. “How am I supposed to tell a wounded man he can’t have more of what helps him?”
My heart falls into the pit of my stomach. Pulling my husband close, I whisper, “I don’t know. I have no idea what we’re supposed to do now.”
“Talk to him. See how last night went.” Ian kisses my forehead. “Then we’ll all figure out where to go from there.”
I nod, not sure what else to say. I can’t explain my feelings to Ian. Not until I sort them out in my own head, anyway.
Ian glances at his watch. “Damn. I have to go.” He cups my neck in both hands and presses his lips to mine. “We’ll talk over dinner tonight. Okay?”
I nod. “Okay.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He leaves the bathroom, and I listen as his footsteps continue down the stairs and across the hardwood foyer. When the door shuts, I release my breath. As the garage door rumbles open beneath my feet, I lean over the counter, holding on to its cool faux marble edge for balance.
I need to get my head together. I have no business feeling like this. Michael went on a date last night, and there is nothing in the world I want more than to hear that it was perfect. I hope like hell that I get a text from him before lunch. Something like, Can’t make it. Long night. ;)
I hope and pray he spent the night with Dr. Klein, and the two of them are still lying there and enjoying each other’s company. He wasted enough of his life with a man who caused him to call in sick too many times because of ER visits. He deserves nothing less than someone who makes him call in sick because they can’t get enough of each other.
And somehow, for the sake of my friendship, my marriage, and my own sanity, I have got to get rid of this sudden jealous bone.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“So how did it go?”
Across the booth at our usual restaurant, Michael doesn’t answer. He’s not looking me in the eye, and he’s not touching the food that showed up a couple of minutes ago.
My pulse ratchets up—it’s a struggle not to prod him, and at the same time, I’m afraid to hear the truth. With everything Michael’s been through, I hope to God it was only a disappointing first date. Maybe Dr. Klein was less attractive without the stethoscope around his neck, or he had some heinous political views, or he turned out to be estranged from his toothbrush. Maybe he ordered veal at dinner—that would be a one-way ticket to Nopeville in Michael’s book.
I nibble on a fry, mostly because I need to do something besides sit here and stare him down. He seems uncomfortable enough without my scrutiny.
Then, releasing a breath, Michael pushes his untouched plate away. “Well, the date went fine. I had a pretty good time, and I think he did too.” A smile tries to work its way onto his lips. “Ben’s an awesome guy.”
“You don’t sound happy, though.” My chest tightens—please, please, don’t let him say it went that kind of wrong.
Michael’s eyes lose focus. “It seemed like it was going okay. We had dinner, and then we went to a comedy club. After that, he took me back to my car.” He releases a long breath. “And he kissed me.”