Taking It All, Page 3

  “We’ll talk wherever you want,” he said around the knot in his throat. He was ceding power to her. A complete reversal of roles. He didn’t like it one bit, and by the look on Chessy’s face, neither did she.

  But what was he supposed to do in this situation? It would make him a flaming asshole if he whipped out his dominance and forced her submission and then used his dominance to manipulate her.

  The hell with that. He wanted her to have complete and utter control in this situation. He didn’t want her to feel threatened by anything. He was laying himself open and putting himself at her feet if that’s what it took to pull out everything she needed to say. It was apparent their relationship was in real trouble, and that Chessy had been unhappy for quite some time.

  That gutted him.

  “Let’s go in then,” he said in a neutral tone even though his heart was flayed open and fear—an alien sensation—gripped his entire body. He’d hit the panic button the moment his gaze had met Chessy’s at the restaurant and he’d seen the utter devastation in her eyes. He’d known then that he’d pushed her too far. And what woman could blame her? On a night when his attention should have been focused solely on her and celebrating another year of marriage, he’d bailed to court a prospective client.

  And he now realized just how that situation had to have looked to her. Him smiling and wining a beautiful woman just yards away from where his wife waited for him to show for their anniversary dinner. Food cold, her giving up, all because time had slipped away from him and the urgency of sealing the deal with a client had taken over his priorities. Yeah, he’d fucked up and now he had to work fast to pick up the pieces. Because it wasn’t just tonight, though he realized it was likely the last straw for her. Her unhappiness extended for a lengthy period of time and he’d been blind to it all. Or perhaps a small part of him had known and he hadn’t wanted to admit it because to do so would be admitting he’d failed her.

  She didn’t wait for him to come around and open her door. She simply pushed it open and quickly got out and started for the house, then hastily unlocked the door without looking back. But she wasn’t fast enough that he didn’t see the tears streaking down her cheeks.

  Fuck.

  He hurried after her, worried she’d give up on talking to him and shut him out completely. A part of him was terrified that she would go in and pack her stuff. Or his. She had to know he’d never let her move out. This was her house, her security. If anyone ever had to leave, it would be him, and God, he didn’t even want to think about that happening.

  Whatever was wrong between him and Chessy he would fix or die trying. She was his world. How could she not know that?

  Because you haven’t proved that to her lately, dumbass.

  He shook off the self-chiding and walked into the sprawling living room with twenty-foot ceilings, and to his relief he saw Chessy standing at the liquor cabinet, her stance rigid as she poured a glass of . . . what the hell was she pouring? Chessy wasn’t much of a drinker. She had wine with the girls and at get-togethers. It was something she and Kylie shared. Neither ever drank much. Kylie came from an abusive background with an alcoholic, misogynist father, but Chessy came from a much different background. Neglected. Not physically abused, but her childhood had shaped her, had given her insecurity about her place in the world. And he’d vowed never to make her feel like her parents had. Now he had to face the very real prospect that he’d broken that vow.

  Chessy threw back the drink, swallowing in a big gulp, and then promptly coughed and sputtered. Tate was behind her in an instant, her perfume wafting tantalizingly in his nostrils.

  The dress she’d chosen to wear was meant to seduce. She’d known, had he showed up for dinner, that he wouldn’t have been able to keep his eyes off her. That he would have hurried them through their dinner so he could take her home and peel that delectable dress off her body and then take over as a Dominant to his submissive.

  She’d made a lot of plans for their anniversary it would seem. He’d caught a glance of the open master bedroom on his way to the living room and all the equipment he used and had chosen by his own hand was lying neatly on the bed for his perusal. To pick and choose the instruments he would use this night. Until Tate had to fuck it all up by allowing what was supposed to be a very special night for his girl go completely down the drain. How the hell would he make this up to her?

  When she heaved and coughed again, her eyes, already watering, kept watering as she tried to correct which pipe her drink had gone down.

  Tate instantly began patting her back and then rubbing smooth circles around her back, massaging. “You okay, Chessy? What the hell were you drinking anyway?”

  She shrugged. “I just grabbed the first bottle I saw and went with it.”

  Tate reached around her and grabbed the bottle at the very front where she’d carelessly shoved it back in.

  “Jesus, Chessy, you don’t need to hit the hard stuff in order to talk to me. Remember me? Your husband, but more than that, your best friend? When have you ever had to ply yourself with alcohol just to talk to me? Is it so bad?”

  She burped and then covered her mouth. It amused Tate though. Chessy was the epitome of polite and discreet. She would have been mortified to ever burp in a public place. He just thought they were cute. Little “Chess burps” he called them since they weren’t a complete blowing-out-the-windows kind.

  “Because what I have to say isn’t good,” she said in a tone that told him the healthy dose of alcohol was already working its way down her body and loosening her tongue. Or at least he hoped so. But at the same time, what she said registered with him and froze his insides. Completely paralyzed him and his tongue seemed dry and swollen, impacting his ability to even speak.

  Because what I have to say isn’t good.

  The words rang in his ears, like a continuous video feed endlessly cycling, repeating itself until he nearly shook his head to make it stop.

  “Come and sit down on the sofa with me, Chessy. You don’t need to be standing and pacing after downing that alcohol. We can work this out, baby. You have to know I love my girl more than anything in the world. Whatever it is, I swear we can work it out.”

  His impassioned words seem to hit her, and she stood, absorbing them. He could see the wheels turning in her mind, the uncertainty in her eyes, and worse, doubt. Doubt clouded her beautiful eyes, and that hurt him because he was used to her having complete faith in him. In their marriage and relationship.

  This was new territory for Tate and he didn’t like it one bit. In all other aspects of his life, he was decisive, take charge, take no prisoners. And until tonight, he would have believed that he was still Chessy’s Dominant and that he was taking care of her needs.

  “Chessy?” he prompted softly, reaching to touch her arm.

  She flinched and visibly recoiled and he swore under his breath. When had she gotten to the point of not being able to bear his touch? Was he hurting her so badly that she couldn’t be in the same room with him?

  She turned, wobbling unsteadily as she headed for the sofa. He wouldn’t even allow himself relief over that small victory because he knew he still had a veritable mountain to climb once they settled onto the sofa and Chessy poured her heart out.

  If she would.

  She sank onto the couch, her entire body sagging as a weary look entered her eyes. She looked defeated.

  He went to her, sitting beside her. It killed him to maintain any distance but he was afraid of her rejection if he so much as touched her.

  “Talk to me, baby,” he encouraged softly. “Please. Give me a chance to fix this.”

  Her eyes watered and tears gathered rapidly as she finally turned her gaze to meet his.

  “I’m not sure it can be fixed,” she said, her voice choked with emotion. “I used to think it could be. I was certain everything would be all right. I told myself to just be patient. Let things ride out and everything would go back to normal when you were secure in your business
. But I’m tired of waiting, Tate. I’m tired of faking a smile and saying ‘it’s okay’ every time you have to dump me for a client when I’m bleeding on the inside. I’ve pretended for so long that it’s become second nature and I can’t do it anymore. I just can’t.”

  The utter despair in her voice flayed open his heart. He caught his breath, unsure of even what to say to her. This wasn’t a simple fix. Not something that could be worked out in one night or even two. Their relationship was in deep trouble, and he was only just now recognizing the magnitude of all he’d done to her over the past years.

  “My friends look at me with pity,” she continued on, her gaze falling away from his.

  She stared forward, so much pain in her features that it was a physical hurt for him to witness.

  “They know I’m terrible at faking happiness. They see through me and they know I’m unhappy. They know the situation with you is bad. Even Dash and Jensen are giving me pep talks, for God’s sake. It’s humiliating. And I don’t know how to fix it. Now I don’t even know if I can.”

  “Chessy, baby, don’t say that. Nothing is unfixable. We can overcome this together, I swear it.”

  She yanked her head so that her eyes were boring straight into his. “You dumped me for a prospective client on our anniversary. I sat there for an hour over cold food after you promised me you’d be there, that you’d only be twenty minutes late, and you lied,” she said accusingly.

  Tate reared back with a frown. “What did I lie to you about?”

  Her gaze was full of scorn and rising fury.

  “You just don’t get it, do you?” she raged. “You call me from work and say you were detained and that you’d be there in twenty minutes. You never said a damn word about meeting a client—a gorgeous female client who was all over you—at the same restaurant where your wife was sitting alone, waiting for her husband. You lied to me. Lies of omission are still lies. You tried to hide from me that you were entertaining a potential client on my goddamn anniversary and you stood there in the bar with her, smiling and laughing, while I was just a few yards away realizing that I’d been stood up by my husband on our anniversary. A day that used to mean something to you. And now? I have no idea where I stand with you, Tate.”

  “How long have you felt this way?” he asked softly, cutting to the heart of the matter.

  He had to back up, before the debacle of tonight, and figure out where he’d gone wrong.

  She sighed, a heavy sigh of weariness and defeat. “Forever? Or at least it seems that way. I can remember the way it used to be and I guess that’s what upsets me the most. I know what we’re capable of, but in the last two years, you’ve drifted further and further away from me, and while I used to be at the top of your list of priorities, I doubt I even rate in the top five at this point. You certainly don’t act as though I have any priority in your life.”

  She turned to look at him, stark fear in her eyes. Dread, as though she were preparing herself for what she was going to say next.

  She huffed out her breath and squared her shoulders before lifting her gaze to lock with his.

  “Are you cheating on me, Tate? Is that what all the ‘business calls’ have been about? Is that where you’re spending your time instead of with me?”

  He was so flabbergasted by her question that momentarily all he was able to do was stare openmouthed at her. Then, he’d had enough. This could go on no longer. Sitting there while she tortured herself was killing him inch by inch. He was dying on the inside at her pain and agony. The hell he’d let her suffer under such misapprehensions any longer.

  And then her next words stopped him cold, panic hitting him like a freight train. She lifted her head, all the life gone from her eyes. They were dull, defeated, like she was through fighting a fight he hadn’t realized she was waging. Tears burned hot and jagged at the corners of his eyes, his jaw locked like iron, her words tiny darts right through his heart.

  “I want out, Tate. I can’t take this anymore.”

  FOUR

  CHESSY clamped her hand over her mouth in horror as she blurted out the damning words and registered the shock and devastation in Tate’s eyes as they hit him with the force of a punch in the face.

  Damn it, she hadn’t meant it how it came out! It sounded like she was asking for a divorce. One minute she was focusing on how to fix things—Tate was focusing on how to fix the problem—and she’d jumped from simply laying out her frustration to telling him she wanted out.

  “You want a divorce?” Tate asked hoarsely, his eyes shiny with moisture. “God, Chessy, are you so desperately unhappy that you won’t even give me a chance to fix what’s wrong between us? I fucked up. I readily admit that. But you can’t just quit on us like that. Unless . . .”

  He drifted off, pain intensifying in his expression as though whatever he was thinking was the absolute worst and that he couldn’t bear to put it into words.

  He ran a hand raggedly through his hair and then down his face, wiping at his eyes.

  “Unless you no longer love me, no longer want me,” he ended in a whisper.

  “That wasn’t what I meant,” Chessy said in a desperate voice.

  God, this was such a complete disaster. Nothing was going the way she’d planned. But then nothing in the last two years had gone according to her plan.

  “Then what did you mean?” Tate asked cautiously as he stared directly at her.

  Her hands fluttered in front of her as she lifted them and then let them fall uselessly into her lap. She bit into her bottom lip, closing her eyes as she tried to sort through her frayed emotions. Her nerves were shot. The alcohol was making her fuzzy. And all she wanted to do was go to bed and bury her head underneath her pillow.

  She wanted to call a redo of the entire day. Hell, the entire last two years.

  “Chessy?”

  She opened her eyes, trying to hold back more tears. She refused to be accused of manipulating him with the one thing he hated most: her tears of upset.

  “I just meant that I wanted out of our current situation. I hate it!”

  Her hands trembled against her thighs and she pressed her fingertips into her flesh, against the material of the sexy dress she’d worn for her husband tonight. A dress that had decidedly gone unnoticed. It had been a monumental waste of money.

  Tate gently reached into her lap and tugged at both her hands until he pulled her upright from her position on the couch and forced her into closer proximity to him. His gaze was serious, his eyes grave and earnest as he stared at her.

  “I love you, Chessy. I don’t know how much you believe that right now, but I love you. I always have. That hasn’t changed. It never will. But I need to know if you still love me, if I’ve killed your love for me with my neglect.”

  She closed her eyes again. Shouldn’t she feel relieved by his impassioned declaration? Isn’t this what she wanted? Affirmation that he did love her? Still wanted her?

  But he’d neatly dodged the question of his fidelity, perhaps because there had been so much else addressed in her hysteria. She’d seen the shock in his eyes when she’d blurted that she wanted out, that she couldn’t take it anymore.

  Perhaps it had been swept aside in everything else that had been said, and she was too afraid to push him for an answer.

  “I’ve always loved you,” she said wearily. “But loving someone isn’t enough when you aren’t getting one hundred percent from them any longer. I feel as though I’ve been doing all the giving, making all the concessions, and that may sound selfish, but it’s the way I feel. It may not be fair, but it’s how I feel so there’s nothing to be done about it.”

  “Baby,” he said gently. “I can fix this. You just have to give me the chance. I never want to be without you. I’m sorry if I haven’t made you feel that way lately.”

  “I’m too tired and strung out to have this discussion tonight,” she said, her shoulders sagging. “I just want to go to bed. We can’t have this conversation when I’m not on e
qual footing, and anything I say right now is likely to be all twisted up because I’m so upset, and that does neither of us any good.”

  She saw the frustration, the beginnings of a raw edge of temper, but he held it back, not reacting to her firm dictate. Or perhaps he saw how truly close to the edge she was and didn’t want to push her right over.

  He dropped his hands from hers and turned halfway from her, his gaze directed forward so his profile was presented.

  “If that’s what you want,” he said in a low voice. “But we’re going to talk tomorrow, Chessy. No more putting this off. It’s been put off long enough and I realize that’s my fault.”

  She got up from the couch before he could do or say anything to change her mind and headed for their bedroom to collect her things.

  Tate watched his wife exit the living room in the direction of their bedroom. He breathed a sigh of relief. At least he could hold her tonight if nothing else. But damn it, he wasn’t ready to call it quits for the night. There was so much left unsaid, unresolved. He wasn’t the type to delay anything. And spending an entire night with his future hanging precariously on the edge of destruction? Not ideal.

  But he couldn’t afford to push Chessy. She was clearly at her wits end. His fuck-up on their anniversary had pushed her too far. Finally too far. He was damn lucky she hadn’t left his dumb ass already.

  He hauled himself off the couch, mentally preparing for the night ahead. He hoped like hell that Chessy didn’t close herself off to him, lie rigidly in bed or, even worse, cry herself to sleep. His heart would be cut to ribbons.

  When he got to their bedroom door, he nearly bumped into her as she came out holding a pair of pajamas and her toiletries. He frowned, dread creeping up his spine.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded.

  She lifted her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his, a defiant look in her eyes. At least she wasn’t crying. A small victory at best.

  “I’m sleeping in the guest room tonight,” she said quietly. “I need some time alone. To get my thoughts together before we get into this tomorrow.”

  It was like a fist to his gut. As she shoved past him and walked toward the guest room at the far end of the hallway, his breath left him and he couldn’t squeeze air back into his lungs to save his life.

  He stood there staring helplessly at her, knowing he should go after her and at the same time recognizing she’d given him an ultimatum of sorts. Hands off. Give her space.

  Numbly, he walked into their bedroom, knowing he’d never sleep tonight. How could he when Chessy was sleeping down the hall from him and their marriage was in serious jeopardy?

  They’d never slept apart. Not when they were in the same house. He’d gone on very few out-of-town business trips, most of them in the last couple of years, and that was the only time they’d damn well slept apart. Even then he’d always called her and they had talked on the phone way beyond bedtime. Because he’d missed her, missed having her in his bed, and he’d given up precious hours of sleep when he needed to be alert and aware the following morning for important meetings. Didn’t that count for something?

  A small part of him registered that he should be angry. That he’d made countless sacrifices to ensure that the woman he loved more than life had the world at her feet. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to be anything but remorseful when he took in the extent of Chessy’s unhappiness.

  Chessy who usually lit up a room when she walked in. Chessy who had a smile that could knock a man to his knees a mile away. Chessy who’d always been nothing but sweet and understanding, smiling, eyes bright and supportive. Had he given her the same support she’d given him? The same understanding?

  The answer to those questions bleakly registered a resounding “no” with him. He knew he’d fucked up and there was no way he could turn this back on her because she’d been nothing but loving and supportive of him even amid his neglect of her needs and wants.

  He clenched the back of his neck and rubbed absently as he paced helplessly around their bedroom. He couldn’t make himself shower or get ready for bed. All he could see was an empty bed, one she should be in, her scent enveloping him as he slept.

  She was his security blanket. The only solid thing in his world where everything else was uncertain. He’d taken her for granted, had shit on her repeatedly over the last two years, and he’d never realized the extent of his neglect. Until now.

  He’d done what he’d vowed never to do: Made her feel unwanted. Invisible. Just as her parents had done. Self-loathing ate at him, digging a yawning chasm in his heart and soul.

  How could he possibly imagine a future without her? He was scared shitless. Fear like he’d never experienced gripped him by the balls and had a stranglehold on his throat.

  Never, never would he forget the look in her eyes when he’d glanced up from his potential client—hell, what was her name even? He couldn’t remember. All he could see running in an endless cycle was Chessy’s stricken, devastated look when she’d seen him in the bar with another woman. On their anniversary night when Chessy had been forced to leave after cold food had gone wasted and she’d withstood the humiliation of being stood up. On their anniversary.

  God, she’d asked if he was cheating on her, and he’d never even given her an answer. And even he had to admit how bad it looked for him. To have been with another woman in the same restaurant where his wife waited. What kind of flaming bastard did it make him to have pulled a stunt like that? At the time he’d thought it was the best way to have his cake and eat it too. Court a prospective client over drinks for fifteen minutes and then walk a few yards farther into the restaurant where his beautiful wife waited and then they’d kick off their anniversary weekend and have two whole days to love and celebrate another year.

  Was she even now lying in bed in the guest room worrying and dying a little with each breath over the thought that he’d been unfaithful to her? He couldn’t stand the idea of her thinking it a minute longer. He wanted to charge down there, confront her now and get everything out of the way so they both slept easier tonight.

  But that was his selfish, inconsiderate side rearing its ugly head, and it was clear he’d been selfish for far too long in their relationship. She’d asked for time and, goddamn it, no matter how it ate at him, no matter that he wouldn’t sleep a single minute, he’d give her the time she asked for. But in the morning? Things were going to be sorted out.

  Then again, he knew this wasn’t something to be resolved with one simple