Damn him. Damn us both.
I can’t quit him.
Chapter Sixteen
Tucker gets home just minutes after I do, which is later than usual. I have to be honest; I was stalling for time, wandering the city in search of clarity. Or maybe just a small reprieve from my marital woes. And nothing soothes the soul better than a little retail therapy.
“You went shopping,” he remarks, eyeing the bags strewn about the bed. There’re a lot of them—Saks, Bloomingdale’s, Barneys. Plus I had to replace the pajama set from La Perla that I ruined the night before.
“Yeah.” I make busy work of arranging my new garments in our closet, which is almost as large as the little love nest we had years back. I smile at the memory. Ikea furniture, a bathroom the size of a coat closet, and a kitchen that was barely large enough for us both to fit in at the same time. But we were happy. Happy and in love.
“I made us a reservation at Nobu for tonight. Thought you might like a change of pace,” he says from behind me, his voice tentative. He’s feeling me out, studying my movements, searching the tiny lines in my face that tense together when I’m agitated and smooth when I’m amenable. I turn my back fully to refuse him those little clues. I shut him out, shut him down, just as he did me last night. If he wants to make this right, he’s going to have to do it the old-fashioned way.
“Bunny . . .” I turn to shoot him a terse look that says, Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare try to butter me up with that name. It will not work. He clears his throat and starts again. “Heidi, what I said last night . . . I didn’t mean to hurt you or make you feel defective or deviant. You know how much I adore you.”
I turn back to my rack of clothing, refusing to let him see the flash of pain that goes along with the knot in my throat. “But you don’t take it back. You don’t regret saying it, you’re just remorseful that it hurt me.”
“Of course, I regret saying that, baby.” He steps in closer to me, so close that I can smell his cologne and feel the heat of his body caress my back. “I don’t want to hurt you. That’s the last thing I want.”
I shake my head, not to refute his claims, but to try to shake away the frustrated tears collecting in my eyes. I’m not upset at his words. I’m upset that no matter how much he may claim to love me, I’ll always feel like a charity case in his eyes. The little monster he tamed and domesticated. He walks on eggshells to avoid disturbing the wildness in me that simmers right at the surface.
“Tuck . . . I don’t want to fight anymore. But I don’t want to have to lie about who I am and what I want.”
He places a hand on my shoulder and I lean in to his touch, starved for affection . . . acceptance. “Then let’s not. Let me take you to dinner. Let’s just be Heidi and Tucker tonight. Let’s laugh and joke about my feeble attempt at using chopsticks and drink too much sake. And maybe . . . maybe we can try again. Just you and me.”
I turn around, my breast brushing his chest. “Really?”
“Yes. If that’s what you need me to be, then I can try. For you.”
I hug him tight to my body, so tight that every cell within me fuses to his. His embrace is warm and comforting, and he kisses me on the top of my head.
“Let me grab a shower,” he says after a few moments, pulling away, taking that warmth with him. “Long day today.”
“Everything ok?” I ask, flipping through the racks. I stop on something sexy and appealing. Perfect to start tonight’s mood off right.
“Yeah. Patient in the hospital. Rough few days but I think we’re out of the woods now.” Translation: One of his patients has gone off the deep end and OD’d, either intentionally or accidentally, prescribed or street pharmaceuticals.
“Will they be ok?” I’m genuinely concerned. Tucker takes on a lot of entertainers and society types, most of them young. Last year, one of his patients—a teenage, rising starlet—overdosed on Klonopin and washed it down with her dad’s collection of aged scotch. All of it. The doctors did what they could, but her mind had given up, soon after her body did. It killed Tucker, and he carried a bit of the blame with him for months afterward. He knew the girl was suffering inside, and he put his all into helping her fight her demons. In the end, they were just too strong to combat.
Tucker sighs, and I turn around just as he sinks onto the edge of the bed. Now that I am just really seeing him for the first time in days, I find that he looks exhausted. His eyes are sunken in, his usually meticulous hair too long and a little disheveled, and he probably hasn’t eaten real food in days. God, have I really been that much of a selfish brat to see that my husband is suffering? That he just needed me to put my own bullshit aside for once and just be a wife?
I hang my sexy outfit back on the rack, putting it on ice and step out of the closet, going straight to the bed. Without a word, I climb up behind him and begin to massage his shoulders, which feel as hard and unyielding as boulders.
“Hey, you. Let’s skip Nobu tonight and just stay in and hang out,” I suggest.
He lifts his head a fraction, but not enough to deter my kneading. “Are you sure? You love that place.”
“I know, I know, but we can always go some other time. Besides, I’ve really been craving pizza. Angelo’s?”
Even with his head turned, I know he’s smiling. “I’ll call it in.” He turns to face me, his eyes just a shade brighter. His smiling lips press against mine for just a split second before he’s on his feet, instantly reenergized by the word pizza. “Thanks, baby. I owe you one.”
After calling in to place an order for a large pepperoni, sausage, and mushroom, Tucker takes a quick shower and dresses in a pair of comfy, flannel pants and nothing else. His body is magnificent, the muscles tight and toned without even a hint of aging. Even the ridges leading to the waistband of his pants form a perfect V before disappearing under the nuisance of fabric. I’m a lucky woman—the luckiest. A gorgeous man adores me, worships the very ground I walk on, and has for a decade. Never once has he made me feel less than beautiful or confident in my skin. And he’s never, ever made me feel guilty or ashamed for wanting a less than noble career, even though I know he hates it.
We’ve had a good marriage—a solid marriage. Up until now, neither one of us has had to question our fidelity. And other than his desire for children—that mostly stems from his overbearing, southern belle mother—Tucker has always appeared to be happy with our life.
Maybe that’s what all this is about. He gave me something, now it’s time for me to give him something. I mean, I’m not opposed to motherhood. I just don’t see the need for it. He’s aware of my circumstances; he knows I could never conceive on my own. And while IVF is definitely an option, it’s not 100 percent guaranteed. Hell, it’s not even 50 percent guaranteed. And I can’t say I’m comfortable with those odds.
In any case, Tucker hasn’t brought it up within the last few weeks, so maybe his sudden interest in my sexual deviance hasn’t been sparked by his need for fatherhood. He’s getting older, and forty will be knocking at his door in a couple years. And we’re both incredibly busy with work. So maybe he feels that ship has sailed for us?
“What?” he asks, breaking me from the reverie of my thoughts.
I smile and shake my head. “Just looking at you. I honestly think you get more handsome every day, if that’s even possible.”
“Oh, it is, baby,” he jibes, slinking over to the bed, where I’m perched. “Just wait a few more years. You won’t be able to keep your hands off me.”
“I can barely keep my hands off you now.”