Acts of Contrition Read online

  Nowhere, though, in those weeks and weeks of texts, was a single response from Craig. The last response from him was just at the time they agreed to quit acting like children and straighten up. His message was simple.

  Craig: We’re done, Tara. I can’t do this anymore. Good-bye.

  …and nothing else. He’s stuck to it. Michele opened the email and searched Tara’s name, Tara’s email, Tara’s last name, work, address, phone number. Nothing. Not since that day. He’d kept his word. Even today after they agreed it was over, nothing.

  Michele put the phone down and headed for the bathroom. Craig was asleep on the couch, in pajama bottoms and nothing else. His short, blond hair was spiky from sleep, and there was a faint scent of alcohol around him. Behind closed lids, his eyes—great chocolate pools that sparkled when they had first met—darted around in deep sleep. His arm was thrown above his head, and she stared at his chest.

  When the hell did that man get ripped?

  Craig’s physique was lickably delicious. He had always been a little scrawny, but she liked his tight, tiny butt. What was laid out in front of her was an Adonis—not the skinny-armed man she remembered. Had it really been that long since she had paid attention to him? He looked good. She imagined that the tight, tiny tush was now toned.

  Oh, God. Alliteration.

  Still there was no denying the years had been good to him. The blond hair was still thick and full. There were laugh-lines around his eyes. He had a fading tan from the summer before. She liked looking at him, and hadn’t taken the time to really look at him lately. He was more than easy on the eyes.

  Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t something she should walk away from.

  Chapter Three:

  Craig enjoyed the seedy little bar. He’d been intrigued by the place with its two signs on the front: BAR and BEER. There was a film on the windows that wasn’t intentional, and the flickering, dying glow of a “Budweiser” sign was behind the filth. There were, what he guessed to be, red gingham curtains on the windows inside, but again—the filth didn’t permit him to really see them.

  It was completely out of place in the quiet, comfortable vacation area Windswept had situated itself. And therefore, Craig reasoned, needed to be inspected. And graced with a few dollars from his wallet for several beers. After all, the sign did say, BEER.

  Craig had been at the bar since dinner. And dinner had been miserable. Again.

  He wasn’t used to eating alone. Michele had always been across from him or next to him when they ate out. But the lovely proprietor had found him a good place down the road where he could hide himself and not deal with anyone.

  That’s where he was in this process now. He didn’t want to be around anyone. Craig wanted to crawl into a hole and avoid the whole world for the next dozen weeks. He wanted time to figure out what went wrong, what needed to go right, and what exactly he wanted to do with his life now.

  There were the kids, and the house, and the furniture. He didn’t want the house. He could let her stay, but that would have to be bought out. It might be better if they both agreed to sell the house. That way the kids wouldn’t feel like his or her place was less home than the other. Then there were the finances and the cars.

  His mind was going ninety miles an hour, and Craig wanted it to stop. He grabbed the beer and chugged it back.

  Well, not really chugged. He hadn’t chugged since college. He did, however take an enormous gulp of the liquid and let it burn all the way down, enjoying it until his phone alert went off.

  Tara: Come home. Come away with me.

  Nope, no siree. Not even when he wound up being freed from this marriage was he going to entertain the idea of actually having a relationship with Tara. It had been four months since he told her it was over, and three since he switched departments. She was still texting, calling, emailing, snail-mailing. It was too much. She was gorgeous, and funny, but there was the hint of psycho that he couldn’t get past. He didn’t want to change his phone number, but if this shit didn’t stop soon, he might have to.

  He tipped the beer back to take another sip and stopped. Through the bottom of the glass, he watched as his wife walked into the bar.

  Craig raked his eyes over Michele. She was dressed in tight jeans, and ankle boots. She was wearing a blue velvet top that plunged way way down past the point of no return. There was no cleavage. It was all boob, and what boobs they were. The shirt wrapped around her back and when she turned, there was only a twisted braid in the back that held the shirt in place with the bottom waist of it.

  Holy. Crap.

  Craig put the beer down, and watched the other men in the bar do the same thing he had just done to his wife—and his blood boiled. He suddenly felt very alpha wolf, and wanted to howl at all the dirty gazes in the bar who were eyeball-fucking his wife. That was his wife.

  He cleared his throat, and picked up the beer. Walking down the bar, he found a new stool at the end where he could keep an eye on her. He had the feeling that while she was all about women wearing what they wanted, when they wanted and weren’t asking for it, the crowd in this bar didn’t have the same forward attitude.

  Not your problem.

  Actually, Craig reasoned, it was his problem. This was still his wife, she had spent fifteen years with him, and they had two kids together. So while they might be getting a divorce he didn’t want to have his wife—soon-to-be-ex-wife—subjected to any hoodlums or hillbillies.

  Michele didn’t see him in his new seat, and he wanted it to stay that way.

  He felt a little stalkerish not telling her he was there, but he didn’t want her to think she didn’t have any independence from him. He was also amazed the way she could work a crowd, and within minutes, she was sitting with a group of mostly women, and chatting them up like she had known them for years.

  She chatted and laughed and even managed to get a few phone numbers over the course of the evening. Craig guessed she was planning on hanging out with them again this week. He just nursed three beers and watched. A few of the male patrons of the bar walked up to them and tried chatting them up, and every time they approached Michele, he had to put himself in check. She brushed every single one of them off. Some went graciously, some walked away after dropping a few f-bombs combined liberally with the words ‘whore’, ‘bitch’ and ‘cock-tease.’

  Michele handled it all without a blink in their direction. Craig almost decided to leave the bar. She was more than capable of handling herself. But he was enjoying the beer, and neither of them were angry or arguing at the moment.

  And when Michele got up to head for the door at a little past one in the morning, Craig knew he’d made the right decision.

  She and three of the other girls at the table gathered their stuff and said goodbye to the rest of the table. They headed for the door and the man just a few seats away from him put his beer down and turned to watch them go. Craig didn’t like the look in his eye. One of the girls had sent him away earlier, and he had been dropping a few choice words on the way to the bar where he’d sat all night.

  Craig quickly settled his tab and headed for the door after the guy. He could hear the women laughing about a half a block away and spotted the guy who’d left the bar strolling through the shadows, trying not to be seen.

  The women stopped at the corner, giggling and chatting. Craig strolled down the street, making himself obvious to anyone looking back. Three of the women broke off, and headed for the residential area, while Michele headed back toward Windswept. Craig was impressed that she walked to the center of the street to make herself visible, and was amused that she was singing and swaying, a little drunk.

  The bar shadow followed her. Of course. She was alone, with no one to keep an eye on her. Craig picked up his stride a bit to catch up to her and walk her home. He threw caution to the wind—this bar guy was up to no good.

  Craig was a few too many strides away from the two of them. Before Michele could get a good scream out, the bar guy’s hand was
pressed over her mouth, his big body pressing her into a car on the side of the road. He ran as fast as he could, plowing sidelong into the man pressing his wife into the side of the car.

  Craig rolled them so he was holding the bar guy’s collar and had cocked his fist.

  “Holy shit! Let me go!” the bar guy screamed.

  “What were you planning to do with her?”

  “Let me up!”

  “What were you going to do?”

  “Craig!” Michele gasped from where she was still leaning on the car.

  He whipped his head around to look at her and she had hands cupped over her mouth in fear. There were tears in her eyes and she was shaking from head to toe. He looked at the bar guy who also had fear in his eyes, but a different sort. Craig slammed the guy on to the ground, and jumped away from him.

  Craig grabbed her arms. “Are you okay?”

  Michele shook her head, the terror rolling over her.

  He looked back at the creep on the ground, who was getting to his feet. “I should beat the shit out of you and then hand you and your balls to the cops for sexual assault.”

  He shook himself off. “I didn’t know she was yours.”

  Craig marched up to the guy and slugged him on the jaw. The bar guy staggered back against a different car. “It doesn’t matter if she is or isn’t, you’re scum. Get the hell out of here.”

  The bar guy wiped the blood off his lip from the blow, turned and started walking down the street. He broke into a run a moment later and disappeared into the night. Craig turned his attention back to Michele. “Are you all right?”

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Her words were mangled by her weeping.

  “I was in the bar all night. We weren’t bothering each other, so I didn’t say anything.”

  “So you followed me?”

  Craig shook his head. “Only when I saw that scum follow you. So I followed him.”

  “God, what was I thinking?” Michele was still shaking. “I grew up in Queens, I know better than this.”

  Craig put his arm around her. “Come on. Night’s over. It’s time to go back to the room.”

  Michele wept lightly all the way back to Windswept, and collapsed on to the bed when they got there. Craig knew she was exhausted and drunk. Normally, she’d never show him how much she was affected by what had just happened, even though he never doubted she was shaken. The car accident that broke their daughter’s leg, the biking accident that had knocked their son unconscious, the remains of the cabin in the Adirondacks when they finally got there after the fire. They had all rocked her, but she never let on.

  Craig made a quick use of the bathroom and came back with Michele’s pajamas, a glass of water and a wash cloth. While he was gone, she had stripped down to her panties and bra and was laying back on the bed. She looked amazing, but that was not why he was back in here.

  “Mishi?” He offered her the pajamas.

  “So stupid,” she mumbled, sitting up. She took the clothes. “So dumb.”

  “You’ll be fine in the morning.” Craig held out the washcloth.

  Michele took the cloth after slipping on the nightshirt. She wiped her face down to get most of the make-up off as Craig put the water on the nightstand. She tossed the washcloth on the nightstand and flopped back on the bed.

  “I’m an ass,” she declared again.

  “Will you stop?” Craig said. “You’re not.”

  “Are you enjoying watching me fall apart here? Taking in how gross your wife has become?”

  “You are way more drunk than I thought.”

  “No, I’m not,” she answered. “Go ahead, tell me what you think. Why the hell not.”

  “What I think?” Craig looked her up and down. “Fine. What do I think of the woman I’m going to divorce?” Stepping close, he ran his hands down her sides. “I wonder at these curves, that you earned by giving our children safe harbor as they grew inside you.” His hands lingered on her hips a moment, then he grabbed them and maneuvered her back on to the bed so she was laying with her head on the pillow and feet on the bed. “These hips are amazing, they gave birth to our children.” He grabbed the sheet from the end of the bed and pulled it up, grazing her breasts. “These breasts, I love. For the hours of delight they gave me and the children they nurtured.” Craig touched a finger to her lips. “And these lips. That I feasted on, that I listened to, that I argued with, that spoke such encouragement to those you love.” He brushed the hair out of her face. “Go to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.” He headed for the door.

  “Craig,” she called. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch. You can sleep here.”

  He was tempted. “No, I’ll sleep on the couch. I’ve made enough of a mockery of our marriage as it is. The couch will do just fine.”

  He pulled the door closed.

  Chapter Four:

  “More orange juice?”

  Michele moved her head quickly to look at the waiter and instantly regretted it. “Yes, please,” she managed, pushing the sunglasses up again. The morning was unusually warm for winter, even in Texas, and Windswept opened the patio for breakfast. While the fresh Gulf air was wonderful, the sun was killing her eyes.

  So stupid. Michele pushed the eggs around her plate. She needed to eat something more than a roll and butter, but her stomach was really roiling.

  Never mind her nerves and her mind.

  She was so angry with herself for thinking she could walk back. Even the short mile walk to the bar was too long at one in the morning for a lone woman to walk. The guy who had come after her had been really pissed that Leely had dismissed him, and she should have just spent the money on the cab.

  It had been years since she was as happy to see Craig as she had been last night.

  Damn knight in stupid shining armor.

  He’d brought her back, made sure she was in bed. Helped her clean her face. Tucked her.

  And he’d said all those beautiful words to her when she was feeling the lowest, the most frightened, the most alone. The honesty in his voice was heartbreaking, and she wondered if he said those things because it was what she needed or if he really thought them.

  She’d invited him to bed. She had wanted him to sleep with her, have sex with her. Not just share the bed. There was something about him last night, a fire that wasn’t there before. Between his gallant rescue and her inebriation, she’d wanted him to take her to bed.

  He, however, had his head about him and said no.

  She still couldn’t figure out if she was happy about that.

  Michele left him a note to join her at breakfast. Craig was a sleeper, so she had taken a short walk out to the water just yards beyond the inn, and came back quickly. She ordered breakfast and told the waiter to take his time.

  “Hello.”

  Michele turned to find the voice and regretted it again. Craig was standing to the right, looking…handsome. He had put on khakis and a button down shirt with short sleeves. His hair was still slightly mussed from either sleep or a shower. She gave him a smile and motioned to him to sit down.

  “Good morning,” Michele finally replied. “Breakfast?”

  “Please,” he answered, as she motioned over the waiter. Craig rattled off a few requests, and the waiter trotted off.

  “Craig, I wanted to thank you for the save last night. I wanted to be upset that you followed me, but I’m so glad you did,” Michele said. “That guy had ever intention of raping me.”

  “I was glad I was there,” he admitted to her. “I don’t think I could have lived with myself if something had happened to you.” That caught her by surprise, and Craig saw it on her face. “Look, Mishi, we might be on the skids here, but we’ve spent a very large part of our lives with each other. I don’t wish you ill, and I won’t let it befall you if I can stop it.”

  “You were very sweet last night,” she said. “Very kind to me.”

  “Why do you think I would be anything but?” Craig asked, u
nrolling his fork and knife from their napkin.

  “We’ve been fighting for months, I would have though there might be a little resentment.”

  Craig shook his head. “I told you, I’m done fighting. I’m not going to hold any grudges. What we were for so many years doesn’t deserve a bad ending.”

  “You’re so reasonable about this.”

  “I fucked us up, Mishi.”

  “You aren’t the only one who fucked up,” Michele answered.

  They sat in an oddly comfortable silence while Craig’s breakfast arrived, and he ate slowly. She watched him, and screwed up her confidence. “Would you like to go sailing this evening? There’s a champagne sunset sail, and I’d like to go. But I’m feeling a little uneasy without company right now.”

  “Did you try?” Craig asked.

  “Out to the water and back this morning before breakfast. I was on the edge of a panic attack by the time I got back. I was tempted to order a mimosa instead of an orange juice. But that’s what got me here.”

  Craig laughed lightly. “No, it’s not. But if you’re not comfortable unescorted, I’ll go with you. I was thinking about some sailing myself. Did you book the tickets?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Craig cut off a piece of waffle. “Plans this afternoon?”

  “Beach chair, and book.” Michele took a deep breath. “There should be enough people out there for me to feel safe.”

  He nodded. “There should be.”

  “You? Plans?”

  “There was an interesting movie at the art house down the street I was thinking about,” Craig answered. “Other than that, just relaxing. Maybe the newspaper and some coffee.”

  Michele smiled. “Sounds good. So the boat leaves at three this afternoon, because sunset is about five-thirty.”