Tied Up In Knots

 
We stumbled in the door, both full from an amazing dinner that wasn't home cooking, but felt like it. We'd consumed our share of alcohol and instead of driving home, we walked feeling at least a little tipsy. By the time we arrived every part of my body was cold, and I felt surprisingly sober. "Coffee?" I asked and started toward the pot without waiting for an answer.
 
"Thanks," Patrick said and he leaned against the counter.
 
I pulled the Keurig out from the cupboard, and popped in a K-cup, then another. "You always make the best coffee Lyd," he confessed as I thrust the mug into his hand and leaned beside him.
 
"Oh Please Patrick," I said rolling my eyes. "My coffee tastes just like yours. It tastes the same no matter who makes it. That's the point of these expensive machines. You don't have to measure, same coffee all the time."
 
"Ever think of going into advertising?" We both laughed egged on by the alcohol in our systems.
 
He took a deep breath and I noticed the worry fade back into his face as his laughter faded. I could read his mind. Despite how good she looked today, he was worried for his mother. "She's going to be OK Patrick," I assured him and reached for his hand. I meant only to stroke it reassuringly, but he held on to it, lifted it to his lips and kissed my knuckles. His lips lingered there while my body craved him, begged for him like a drug it had been so deprived of.
 
"Thank you Lydia," he said still holding my hand. "I couldn't have done this without you." He had more to say, I could tell, but I was thankful he didn't say it. So we stood in what used to be our kitchen and looked into each other's souls in silence. 
 
I couldn't pull my gaze for the longest time. Patrick had that affect on me. He drew me in and held me there. When I finally gained the strength I pulled away both my eyes and my hands and walked toward the window overlooking the lake. "It's so beautiful here." I remarked. The moonlight bounced off the snow providing enough light to see the lake clearly.
 
He found a spot behind me and placed his hand on the small of my back, as he shared the view. "I'm going to sell it," he said, and I turned in horror.
 
"What? Please tell me you are joking." This had been Patrick's dream house growing up. He always swore if he made the NHL he would buy it. When he reached his dream, he did just that.  He worked on it each summer with his own hands to make it perfect, and then gushed at his accomplishment when it was completed. "You love this house," I pleaded.
 
"Look," he instructed softly, and turned me toward the window, not waiting for me to obey. "That's the backyard I wanted to raise our children in." He pressed chest into my back and it felt like home. I couldn't stop myself from leaning into him. With one hand he pointed to the vast expanse of acreage, while the other arm wrapped snugly around my waist. "I wanted to teach them to swim in the lake," he continued. "This is where our life was going to be. I couldn't bare to be here without you, without our dreams. If I can't have those things with you, I don't want them. Being in this house alone breaks my heart."
 
I felt him shudder behind me, and I turned in his arms. "I'm sorry Patrick," I said and put my hand on his face. "I'm so sorry." In the moment I was sorry for so many things, but mostly because I couldn't forgive him and it was shattering his dreams. Our dreams.
 
He closed his eyes and covered my hand with his own. My heart beat like a drum in my chest, begging me not to flea. He turned his face and kissed my hand again, this time the palm. "You're everything that is good in my life Lydia. I have to learn how to live without you." When he opened his eyes again they were filled with tears.
 
"Patrick," I begged, but I don't know what I was begging for. Tears burned my own eyes, and I felt overcome with desperate sadness and loss.  I sobbed out his name again, and felt my knees buckle underneath me. Patrick moved like lightning pulling me into him. I clung on for dear life and we both cried out our sadness.
 
I've been told that things happen for a reason, that there are forces in the world stronger than human will. I looked up at him as he looked down at me and our lips met. I'm convinced that something stronger than both of us pushed us together in a way that he didn't deserve and frightened me to death. Still I gave into it and moved my mouth in a rhythm that felt like second nature and made my body weak and my mind powerless.
 
We kissed there in the kitchen, tears rolling down each of our cheeks clinging to each other and the life that was supposed to be ours. We never stopped to gasp for air, though we needed it. Stopping what was already set in motion, even for a brief second would cause our world to unravel.
 
His hands moved over my back and down to cup my bottom. As if I was light as a feather, he lifted me and I made no attempt to stop him. He walked us up the steps, our kiss growing more and more heated. The door to our bedroom swung open, and he must have used his foot to close it, but I don’t remember any of that now. Instead I remember the way his mouth moved down my jaw then my neck. I remember the feel of his hands on my body, the way he pulled my shirt up and over my head without allowing me to feel disconnected from him for even a brief second. I remembered how his fingers felt familiar and the electricity he stirred inside me kept me from fighting what was happening.
 
I fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, my fingers not working fast enough for either of our liking. When it lay in a puddle on the floor, when our chests touched, skin to skin, it was magical and familiar and breathless all at once, and suddenly desire over came us both as we greedily groped and nipped at each other like ravenous animals. “Touch me Lydia. Please touch me,” he begged. As if I were under a spell, my hand traveled down the bare skin of his chest until I cupped him through his trousers. He was so hard, and I could feel him pulse beneath my touch.  With surprising grace that I lacked on his shirt, I unbuckled his belt and pushed his pants and underwear to the floor, but before I could touch him, really touch him this time, he returned the favor, then unfastened my bra.
 
Some would call the look in his eyes at the site of my naked body, lust. I knew better. It was more than that, so much more. The way he touched me in that moment wasn’t greedy or lustful, it was loving.  The way we kissed, the sensation of our bare skin connecting felt honest and right, like everything that had happened in the past year had brought us to that moment. It was our crossroads, our moment of truth.
 
We savored one an other, lavishing the other in a way, we probably never had before, until the touching and the kissing turned primal and there was nothing we could do to control what was taking place. I wanted every part of him and I wanted it all at once. “Patrick,” I squealed out as he squeezed my nipple between his fingers. I reached down to touch him again, but he stopped me, already too close to the edge. “I need you. I need you now,” I pleaded. He groaned in response and walked me backward toward the bed, biting my neck and fondling my breast.
 
He didn’t stop to ask me if I was sure, and I made no attempt to stop what had already been set in motion. He settled between my legs and looked me in the eyes as he pressed himself inside of me. “Oh God Patrick!” I cried out at the feeling of us becoming one after so long. “You’re like heaven Lydia. You’re my heaven,” he breathe out and his movements began, slow at first and building to a tempo that had me screaming out and gasping for air. He played my body like a finely tuned instrument bringing me to my peak and holding me there until I couldn’t take it. “Please,” I begged and then clung to him as he pushed me over the edge, letting himself fall with me. We both came hard trembling as I spasmed around him and he shot hot fluid into my core.
 
We laid in each other’s arms our sweaty bodies entwined, lost in the moment clouded by what had just happened. “Lydie,” Patrick said softly. He was ready to talk, to figure out what had just happened, and where we go from there.
 
I quieted him with a kiss, robbing him of more words. “Don’t,” I said into his mouth. “Just don’t. Not yet.” He gave in and kissed me back, and I could feel him relinquish the idea of talking for something far more sensual.
 
Patrick knew me like no other, both inside and out. He’d spent years finding my hidden spots and perfecting his technique, his ability to make me come at his command, make me weep at the pleasure he created. It didn't take long for both of us to be ready again. He used his knowledge of my body to take me to places of unbelievable heights and then forced my release like the plunge of amusement park ride.

We made love three times that night, the last time in the shower, then nestled together in our bed still wet but overcome with physical exhaustion. It was exquisite. He was exquisite. He was my husband and I loved him.

Or at least those my were final thoughts as I drifted off to sleep. 

****

"Lydia, is that you darling?" Ruth asked as she opened her eyes."Why are you here so early, and why are you crying? Come here baby girl."

I moved the chair to her bed and laid my head in her lap. She began softly stroking my hair, and I began to sob.

"Oh dear. Did something happen? Did my Patrick do something."

He had done something, he broke my heart over a year ago, but I couldn't tell her that could I? All I knew was that when I woke up in Patrick's arms, I felt better than I had in over a year. I felt complete and happy, and then a ton of bricks had fallen on me. I started something I wasn't sure I could finish and I betrayed a man that loved me, a good man that didn't deserve what I had done. I panicked and jumped from the bed. Patrick hardly stirred, but I wasn't surprised, we had gotten virtually no sleep and made love over and over not able to get enough of each other. No matter how I felt for Patrick, no matter how complete he made me, what we did was wrong. "Ruth. I… I…"

"I know sweetheart. I know about your split up with Patrick. I know about Duncan Keith," Ruth confessed her knowledge.

I looked up from her lap in complete horror. "You do?" I asked and waited for the axe to fall.

"Darling, I live in Thunder Bay, not Siberia. We get the internet here. Of course I knew." She giggled at me and sounded anything but angry. "Everything else I needed to know I got out of that boy Adam, Patrick's friend. He's a sweet boy and he loves you both very much. He made me send him cookies in exchange for information."

I smiled at her, not at all surprised that Adam told her. He would have done anything to get us back together. "I wanted Patrick to tell you." I confessed. Tears continued streaming down my face.

"That's not what's important now Lydia. What happened in the past is in the past. What's important is the here and now and what decisions you make. What's important is that you're here. You came here for Patrick."

"I came here for you Ruth," I replied in rebuttal.

She let out a small laugh. "I know you love me sweetheart, but you came here for Patrick."

I didn't bother to deny it. "I don't know what to do Ruth. I don't know if I can forgive him, and I don't know if I can live without him. And then there is Duncan. What should I do?" I begged. Hoping beyond hope that she'd tell me, and needing a mother figure more than I ever had.

"Oh sweetheart. I can't answer that for you. You are gonna have to search your heart and your soul to make that decision. Of course I want you to choose Patrick. I want you and my son to be forever happy and give me a school bus full of grandchildren, but I promise I will love you even if you decide you can't forgive him.

I felt a huge weight lift off my shoulders. "Thank you Ruth."

"Now will you let me give you a little advice?" I nodded and wiped the tears from my cheek. "You need to take time for yourself, to be alone with your feelings. You need to come to your own decision here Lydia. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

"I should be alone for awhile? Leave them both?" I asked.

"You should do what it takes to keep either of those boys from making the decision for you. If that means being alone, than so be it."

"I don't know if I can do it Ruth." I put my head back in her lap.

"You are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for. I believe in you baby girl."

**** Patrick's POV

A smile crept on my face before my eyes opened, and why wouldn't it? I'd spent the better part of six hours making love to my wife. What sleep I got was spent dreaming and recollecting the feel of her skin, the curve of her body and the scent of her hair. The love we put into every movement we made, every kiss, every thrust, was so strong, so passionate. For the first time in over a year I felt whole again. So as the morning sunlight shone through the windows and I felt daylight on my face, I couldn't stop the child like excitement, from pushing me into a state of full awake.

I reached to my left but felt only cold sheets. Lydia wasn't in bed. I pulled my boxers over my aching thighs and smiled at what made them that way. At least the coach didn't need to worry about my conditioning while I was away. I checked the bathroom, calling out to her "Lydia, baby you in there," but got no reply and headed downstairs sure that Lydia's love for java pulled her from our bed. The kitchen felt cold, no smell of coffee, and the space I expected her to inhabit, the corner of the breakfast nook curled up with an afghan and a book was empty.

Cold hard reality set in. Last night couldn't have been just me. "Ahhhhh!" I screamed out and threw a cup across the room smashing it to pieces. "Lydia." I ran my hand through my hair and decided I wasn't letting her go. I'd go to the airport, back to Chicago, whatever it took to track her down and convince her that we belonged together, that I was sorry, but we needed each other to be whole. She felt it last night. I know she did.

I took the steps two at a time and began pulling on clothes. I grabbed for my watch and noticed a small white sheet of paper on the night stand. Patrick it read in Lydie's handwriting, and I nearly tore it to pieces not willing or able to deal with a Dear John letter, not after last night. Instead, I sat on the edge of the bed took a deep breath and started to read.

I love you Patrick, and last night was beyond wonderful, a reminder of how perfect life can be with you. When I received those pictures, you have no idea the sense of betrayal I felt, the sense of loss, and somehow last night was the only thing since that horrible night that made me feel like a whole person again. I need you in my life and I need to escape you all at once. I want to love you, but I need to forgive you, and I'm not ready. I don't know if I'll ever be ready. I need time and I need space to figure this out. Please give me that. -Lydia.