Every Wrong Reason

“Yes!” I couldn’t put enough conviction in the word, though, so I amended to, “Maybe.” I took a step back, gripping the huge plastic bowl of candy to my chest. “You could have tried! You could have at least tried!”

His words were soft, but not gentle. The hard tone buzzed over my skin, pulling at the hair on the back of my neck. “I did try.”

I barely heard him. “What difference does it make now? Why quit now? For seven years, it was the most important thing in your life and now it’s… it’s not?” I sounded more than hysterical. I screeched at him like a lunatic, unable to control the volume of my voice or my crazed emotions.

“No. It’s not. There are more important things than the band.”

“But why did you wait to figure that out now? God, seriously! I can’t believe this. I can’t believe that I begged you for years to quit, to move on, to do something else and you didn’t listen to me one time. Not one single time. And then we fall apart and suddenly you know there are more important things.”

The doorbell rang, but neither of us moved to answer it. Instead, Nick pushed the main door so hard that it slammed shut, right in the bewildered faces of some little kids.

I glanced wildly at the door, wondering what neighbor I was going to have to apologize to tomorrow. Nick stepped right in front of me, pulling my attention back to him.

“Why do you care, Kate? You’re going to divorce me no matter what, so what does it matter what I’m doing with my life? Huh? Why do you care so much?”

“Because!” A punch of air whooshed out of me and I struggled not to sway. My fury was too much for my mortal body. I felt like a force of nature, like a tornado that would destroy every single thing in the wake of my anger. “Because it’s what I wanted from you! Because I worked so hard at our marriage, at making things work with you. And you didn’t give me anything! You didn’t try anything! And now… now it’s too late and suddenly the decision is easy for you. It doesn’t matter that we fought endlessly about it! It doesn’t matter that I begged you, that I pleaded with you to try something different. It doesn’t matter that I would have supported you anyway, against my will, against what I wanted, just because I loved you and wanted you to succeed.” Hot tears fell from my eyes, landing on my cheeks and lips. I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t fight them anymore.

Nick’s wrath matched my own. He took another step forward and I forced myself not to retreat further. “Oh, really? You would have supported me no matter what?” He let out a bark of derisive laughter. “Then why are we here? Why did you file papers and kick me out of the house? Why, if all you wanted was for me to succeed, are you sleeping here alone and I’m living on my brother’s couch?”

I took a step back anyway. I was a coward. Or maybe the pulse of his frustration was so strong it pushed me back. My shoulders bumped against the wall and one of my decorative pictures shook next to my head. “Why couldn’t you try for me? Why couldn’t you have decided this six months ago?”

His lips had pressed into a straight line before he gritted out, “I wasn’t ready.”

The sound I made was half-tortured, half-furious. “So why now?”

I waited for his answer while his shoulders jerked with the intensity of his emotion and his jaw clenched and unclenched. But he never said anything. Instead, he shocked the absolute hell out of me, by ripping the bowl of candy out of my hands and throwing it against the far wall.

Plastic collided against the drywall and candy flew everywhere. I had just enough time to let out a startled gasp before his lips crashed to mine with equal force.

He took my mouth in a punishing kiss. He knew me intimately, familiarly. He knew exactly how to kiss me. Exactly how to make my body respond. It only took one second for me to kiss him back.

I had so much emotion bubbling inside me. I had been through too much trauma over the last few months, spent too much time alone. I didn’t have a prayer of denying Nick this kiss.

If only it would have stopped there.

But it didn’t.

Our mouths warred with each other, his tongue chasing mine, his lips moving over mine with greedy need. I took his bottom lip in a sharp bite, pulling it between my teeth and truly tasting the soft fullness of his mouth.

His hands slammed on my waist before diving beneath my black sweater. His skin seared mine; my burning lungs stuttered with the effort to breath. I found my own hands clutching at his shirt, balling it up in my fists and holding him to me.

God, this was too familiar.

Too good.

It had been too long.

His body pressed against mine with a possessiveness I had never felt from him before. It was like he was declaring that I was still his, that I was still his wife.

Until every last paper was signed, I still belonged to this man.

And I knew it was a bad thing… that this made us completely dysfunctional and turned us into every embarrassing cliché out there, but I could not stop.

I could not get enough of him.

I didn’t want to get enough of him.

His hands moved over my body, remembering every curve, every inch of me. My cat ears headband was pushed off, landing in a muffled thud on the wood floor. My shirt came next. He practically tore the sweater from my body in his effort to get to more of me.

I was equally desperate to get to his chest. I threw the hat somewhere on the staircase, the mask went next and finally the t-shirt.

As soon as his chest was bare, he pressed his body against mine and we both moaned into each other’s mouth. The feel of him, with his skin against mine, his heart pounding against mine… it was too much. Too much sensation. Too much sweet anguish. Too much of everything good and right about our marriage.

There were so many reasons that we shouldn’t be together.

But this wasn’t one of them.

This was one of the reasons we had stayed together for so long.

“Kate,” he groaned, tearing his lips from mine to explore my neck and chest. His tongue licked and his teeth nipped at the top of my breasts. I pushed my chest up for him, anxious to have more of him touch me and more of me touch him.

The high-pitched whimper I couldn’t hold back pushed him over the edge. He was wild, savage, completely frenzied with lust and desire. He pushed his hips into mine and my eyes rolled to the back of my head. God, this man.

This man that I couldn’t stand.

This man that I was divorcing.

He made quick work of my bra, flicking it open with his deft, practiced fingers. He yanked it from my arms without an ounce of gentleness or consideration. It was like he couldn’t help himself. He had no self-control. No restraint.

And his wicked energy did nothing but make me hotter.

Our pants came next. We tore at buttons and kicked them frantically from our legs. My hands slipped into the waistband of his boxer briefs and I moaned again at the feel of this familiar area. My hands skated down his legs, taking his underwear with them, relishing in the delicious heat of his body.

My panties were next. But he did not worship my legs or touch me reverently. He tore at them; he shoved them down and desperately fought them off my ankles. He wasn’t in the mood to be adoring or sweet. He was primal with his need, completely lost in this ferocious want.

For a short second reality flashed in my mind and I knew we were making a huge mistake. I tried to voice my objection. I tried to remind him that we weren’t together anymore and that this would only set us back.

But it was like he could read my mind. As soon as I started to say something, his mouth took mine again in another consuming kiss.

Soon, I couldn’t think of anything rational. There was no such thing as logic or good choices.