Page 49 of Loving at 40

“My husband’s name was Ryan.” The explanation is little concession, and I don’t know why I even spoke his name. Something in my brain must have triggered at the wet warmth of Archer’s skin. Ryan would sometimes rub up against me all sweaty and gross after a run, and I’d always tease him, pushing him away. However, I was pulling Archer closer, which confuses me about calling out my deceased husband’s name.

“I don’t know . . . I didn’t mean—”

“Whatever, babe.” I don’t get to finish my sentence, defending how I wasn’t thinking of Ryan. I’m very aware that Archer was the man in my arms, making me wet and pressing up against me, ready to take me against these kitchen cabinets. But I don’t get to explain myself before he’s spinning away from me, entering the bathroom and slamming the door.

I hang my head a second before tipping it back and blinking at the ceiling. Tears fill my eyes, and I don’t know if it’s from the mention of my husband or the fact I’m so turned on by another man who left me here feeling ridiculously embarrassed and totally rejected.

Then again, I imagine how Archer feels. Who protects his heart? My own is torn in two, but both halves belong to Archer McCaryn.

19

[Archer]

Fuck that shit. I jerk off in the shower, taking out my anger on my dick while picturing Jenna on her knees, taking my punishment for calling out her husband’s name. Dead husband, I remind myself. With my forehead pressed to the tile, I take a deep breath, blinking at the stars dancing before me after the vigorous rubbing.

I have to remember Jenna isn’t Viviana. She isn’t playing a game by calling out someone else’s name. She isn’t acting coy like it was a slip. Her eyes expressed her own horror at his name crossing her lips, but it has left me wondering.

Has she thought of him when we’re kissing in my bed?

The thought makes me sick, and I flip to my back, tapping my head on the steam-moist tile. I don’t want to believe it, though it’s a strong possibility. Maybe she’s still missing her man and using me to recall things they did together.

Why would she consider me deserving of her love? You’re a despicable human being.

I hate how much Viviana’s words still sting or how often they seem to return whenever I’m with Jenna. Maybe I’m just as bad as her, thinking of my past relationship. Then again, different scars for different hearts. Jenna’s thinking of her husband, and while my anger still simmers at an old lover. I get it. She loved him. That’s the difference between Vi and me, and Jenna and Ryan.

Ryan. His name on her lips was like a shot to my leg. I can’t fault her for loving someone before me. I don’t even blame her really for wanting to get lost. But I really wish it’d been my name on her lips instead. Because the instant she said his name, I was out. Old triggers returned, restoring memories of Viviana’s games, and I reacted.

Maybe I overreacted.

Turning off the shower, I step out of the tub, swipe the towel down my body, and wrap it around my waist. Not caring that droplets cling to my skin and my chest is on display, I open the door, hoping to seek out Jenna and . . . ask her to explain, talk about what happened. Just what do I want?

It doesn’t seem to matter as I find the apartment empty. She had twenty minutes to be alone, and I’d taken her time.

If only I could have a sliver of her heart.

Last night, she asked me who protected my heart, and all I want is Jenna to take mine.

+ + +

Knowing Jenna went to River and Zack’s, I head there, seeking her out when I should just walk away. Why am I chasing this woman? She wants us to keep what we’re doing to ourselves. She doesn’t want anyone to know, especially her girls, but I’m finding it harder and harder to contain my feelings. Even though I’ve tried to stay away from her, I can’t. As for her calling out her late husband’s name . . . well, I need to accept it was a fluke. Something triggered her, and I’ll just need to learn what I did.

With this thought on my mind, I enter Zack’s backyard, and my heart stops with what I see.

Jenna was my sole focus, so it was simply by chance I looked up. Or maybe something made the hackles on my neck rise, pulling my gaze toward the tree house.

Three things happen at once.

I touch Jenna’s forearm, cover her mouth with my other hand, and as calmly as I can, I call out to Rosie.

“Whatcha doing, princess?” Little Rosie is standing on the edge of a narrow beam extended from the tree fort platform. Underneath her is a swing and her tiny toes grip the edge of the board that isn’t any larger than her feet. All the while, her thumb rests in her mouth.

Time stands still as three more things happen at once.

Not wanting Jenna to startle Rosie, I warn her not to scream.

However, I hadn’t warned River, who shrieks.

At the same time, Oliver’s little head pops up from within the tree fort, and he yells Rosie’s name while pushing his brother aside, who happens to be standing inside the fort as well, watching the little princess balance on a thin board.