Tied Up In Knots

 

Adam's POV
 
When Sharpie said he was going to Duncan's place, I knew nothing good could come of it. He was hoping he'd find Lydia there and have an opportunity to talk some sense into her. I knew he wouldn't find her there, but I couldn't come right out and tell him what I knew. He wouldn't listen when I told him I'd doubted she'd be there. "How the fuck do you know?" he asked. When I didn't answer he added. "I'm going." What was I supposed to do? I am his best friend so I went with him. If nothing else, I figured I could could probably keep him from getting his ass handed to him. 
 
My friend's knock would have raised the dead and being that it was 11:30 at night, the neighbors that peered from their apartments with heavy lids and nasty scowls clearly didn't appreciate it. "Take it easy," I advised, but he knocked again even harder adding an, "Open the fucking door Keith!"
 
"What the fuck are you doing here!" Duncan said, and I knew the shit was going to hit the fan. They were both suffering the same pain, and each of them blamed the other.
 
Sharpie didn't wait to be invited, he pushed right past Duncan. "Where is she?" he demanded.
 
"Get the Fuck out!" Duncan shouted. "Get him out of here Burs. I'm not kidding." His hands were clenched in white knuckled fists and it was clear he meant business.
 
"Where the fuck is she?" Sharpie yelled this time, and Duncan was in his face in two strides.
 
"Get-Out-Of-My-Fucking-House!" he replied slowly pausing between words. His tone scared the shit out of me - like if he snapped he'd go fucking nuts and kill someone.
 
I stepped between the two men who were sincerely ready to tear each other apart. "Come on Sharpie. Let's go. Lydie's not here." I pressed him backwards, and it was like pushing a Sherman tank. His determination making the scrawny bastard stronger than usual, but at least I was successful at putting some space between him and Duncs.
 
"Please, just tell me where she is." Sharpie said, letting down his hard front and losing his pride to plead one final time to get information from Duncan.
 
Duncan turned toward him and I thought maybe fists would fly, but instead he said, "Do you mean to tell me you don't know? You don't know where she is? I figured she went back to you. Fuck knows why she'd do something like that, but that's where I figured she was. With your sorry ass."
 
"If I knew where she was, if she were with me, would I be here now? When did you see her last? Have you talked to her?" His voice betrayed him, and he was no longer a tough guy come to reclaim his wife, he was a broken hearted sap that would do anything to make sure she was safe.
 
I felt bad for both of these poor son of a bitches, both with hearts in their eyes for the same woman. Love has a way of eating people up and spitting them out, especially men. Even someone as sweet and good as Lydia - she broke them both in one fell-swoop. Now the poor fuckers were just standing around looking at each other like the other held the answer. I had news for them. Love sucks - why bother. I didn't think they were interested in my  - hot sex is all a guy needs - lecture, so I tried to move things along. "Let's go sharpie."
 
"No!" he replied and turned back to Duncan."You haven't seen her or at least talked to her?" he asked, clearly confused.
 
Maybe it was because Duncan felt defeated. Maybe he realized that Patrick was legit worried about Lydia. Maybe he remembered the days when he and Sharpie were teammates-friends, and Lydia was Patrick's wife, but Duncan softened too, and gave Sharpie more information than I expected. "I haven't seen her since she left for Thunder Bay. I came home from practice the other day and all her clothes were gone. All she left was a note. It said she needed space, wanted to be alone or some shit like that. I figured she was just letting me down easy and going back to you."
 
I was surprised not to see victory in Patrick's eyes. Shocked that there was no gloating. I guess the man was smart enough to realize that Duncan Keith's loss did not automatically represent a Patrick Sharp win. They had both lost at this point, and were both raw with emotion and hurt.
 
****
 
Claire opened the door in a pair of jeans, and a tight red t-shirt that molded to her tits like a second skin and crept up to reveal just a hint her smooth flat stomach. Her hair billowed freely around her shoulders and her feet were bare. It was a look that I'd never seen on her before. Obviously she didn't expect me. Around me she seemed to prefer dark colored pencil skirts and black high heal peak toe pumps, her hair carefully coiffed in an uptight French twist, and a pair of librarian glasses perched on her nose. It was all part of feeling as though she was better than me. Seeing her like that, all casual and disheveled made me feel primal - Oh the things I wanted to do to her. It wouldn't be that easy though. She never just said yes. She always made me work for what I wanted.
 
It wasn't in my nature to pursue a woman the way Claire required pursing. If a woman didn't want me, if she blew me off like I didn't exist, I moved on to the next one - no skin off my ass. Claire was different. She was more than a challenge, and sometimes I thought I legit hated her, but I couldn't stay away from her either. She treated me like shit, kicked me out of bed in the morning. Fuck, sometimes she didn't wait until morning, but since the party, she'd been easily letting me in her front door, and I recognized that to mean she wanted me as badly as I wanted her.
 
Maybe it was sick or twisted, the relationship I shared with Claire, but the last time I showed up on her door, she let me stay all night. I woke up with her in my arms and I liked it. I like it too fucking much.
 
"What are you doing here!" She snapped as though she wasn't excited to see me, as though her panties weren't getting wet just seeing me on the other side of the door. "You can't just come here every time you feel your dick twitch in your pants. I'm not one of your little puck bunnies," she snapped, but stepped aside to let me in just like I expected she would.
 
"No Claire, you're not a puck bunny." I agreed and reached for her, settling my hands on her waist where her shirt crept up. She pushed me away and tugged it down in a vain attempt to cover herself. "I like this look on you," I confessed. Claire wouldn't dare complement me, because It would mean relinquishing power to me, and that was not Claire's MO. I didn’t care. I loved lavishing her with flattery and was happy to let her have all the power. In the end, it always served me well. 
 
"I don't care if you like it," she replied and walked toward the kitchen. I easily recognized her lie. She cared. I followed her to the kitchen, unable to do anything else. The woman was a fucking Goddess and I would have followed her anywhere. She pulled a beer from the frig, opened it and thrust it into my hand without bothering to ask if I wanted one. I watched her take a sip of her own beer, and wished it were me she was taking between her lips.
 
"You look like shit,” she said after taking a good long look at me.
 
“You’d look like shit too if you just stood in the middle of two love sick buffoon hockey players while they went rounds over the same woman.” Lydia was the one thing Claire and I had in common. We both cared about her and wanted what was best for her, even though we didn’t agree on what that was. “Trying to keep them from killing each other is no small task. It’s hard work playing referee, and I feel bad for their sorry asses."
 
"You didn't…" she began to ask in horror, but I cut her off.
 
"No I didn't." I pressed her against the counter. "I didn't tell them anything," I breathed into her hair. "But I wanted to. Poor son's a bitches. It's pathetic; they are both so fucking love sick."
 
"Pathetic. Really Adam? Are they more pathetic than you…" She batted her eyes up at me,  "showing up at my doorstep, hoping you're gonna get laid?"
 
I was getting tired of her superior attitude and decided to show her. "Oh I don’t think I’m gonna get laid; I know I am," I replied confidently, putting my hands to her bare midriff again.
 
"You're so sure of yourself Mr. Burish. Are you sure you didn't tell them where Lydia is? I know from experience that you don't have a lot of self control. I wouldn't want to think about what your friend Patrick would do with that information."
 
"I have plenty of self control. If I were a betting man, I'd bet the whole fucking pot that I'm going to get some tonight. Some of you Claire." I could feel her body warming up to me. She loves dirty talk. "I'm going to fuck you, until you beg me to stop. Don't even try to tell me you don't want that. As for Patrick, he's Lydia's husband. They belong together. Maybe I should just tell him where she is." I pushed my hand up her shirt and pinched her nipple through her thin lace bra. It was already hard and I couldn't hold back the smirk.
 
Claire squealed and I knew she liked it, but she still pushed me away. “I can’t believe you honestly think he’s good for her.” She walked back into the living room, beer in hand. “You’re a total fuck up and the fact that Patrick Sharp is your best friend, just shows you what a waste of time you really are.”
 
I followed right on her heels, and yanked her around to face me. “He loves her. He’s not going to make the same mistakes again. They belong together Claire.” I expected an argument, but instead her eyes turned black. It must have been the rough hold I had on her. “You’re not going to interfere.” I demanded, and in one quick move I pulled her little red t-shirt over her head. She wasn’t expecting it and gasped. “You’re going to let Lydia make this decision herself.” She didn’t say anything as I moved behind her and unfastened her bra. “And as for me being a fuck up…” I pressed my hard on into her ass and reached around the front of her cupping both breasts. “That might be true. But I’m hardly a waste of your time and you know it. You like the things I do to you…and you like me.” I squeezed her nipples again causing her breath to hitch and press her ass harder into me. “Now if you’re done talking about other people’s problems, I’m willing to show you how competent I really am. Prove that I'm more than a fuck up.” I unbuttoned her jeans and thrust one hand down between her legs right inside her panties. “I’m willing to show you all kinds of things.” One hand worked her nipple roughly, another one worked the slick hot cleft between her legs. Her head fell back against my shoulder…
 
And I Won.
 
****
 
Two weeks passed and despite their best efforts, neither Sharpie nor Duncan had been able to find Lydie. She told them she needed space and she took it, not giving either man a chance to plead their case. Neither of them gave up on their search for her or their attempts at convincing her to return. They each called her daily wanting to know where she was, when she'd be back, asking for a return call or at least a text saying she was OK. She didn't give them anything.

It was the middle of the afternoon on an off day when I heard Sharpie’s boisterous knock.
 
“What’s up man?” I asked leaning against the door not exactly inviting him in.
 
He hadn’t shaved and his hair stood up every which way. He looked a wreck. Without replying he walked right in. “Why you acting so weird?” he asked.
 
“No reason. Just tired I guess. You look like hell. What’s going on.”
 
“I just came from Lydia’s office. Do you know she hasn’t been there in weeks? I was talking to the secretary there, trying to get some details, anything that would let me know Lydia was OK. Then your fuck buddy comes out and gives me a verbal lashing. I don’t know how you put up with her.”
 
“I don’t put up with Claire. She puts up with me, and maybe she’s more than a fuck buddy Sharpie. Maybe I have legit feelings for her.”
 
“Maybe you need your head examined.”
 
“Funny. That’s what she says about you.”
 
“Whatever. I don’t have time to talk about you and Claire and what feelings you have. This is important.”

His disinterest in Claire and I was a bit of a relief. Whatever feeling I had for her, well I was still dealing with them myself. I wasn't about to share with my best friend who hated her. “Ok. Spill it. What’s got your panties in a twist?”
 
“Didn’t you hear what I’ve been saying to you?” He moved to the couch and sat down. He never needed to be invited before, but today would have been a good day for him to wait for an invitation. “She’s gone. Disappeared. No one has seen her.”
 
“Did Claire talk to you about it? Did she tell you if she knows where Lydie is?” I knew she didn't give him any answers, but felt compelled to ask.
 
“No. I didn’t even ask. She hates me. She’s not going to tell me anything. All I need to do is piss her off and she’ll tell whatever she does know to Keith.” He put his head in his hands. “Oh Fuck. This isn’t about Duncan anymore. I’m desperate. I haven’t asked you before because you’re my best friend…." I took a deep breath knowing it was coming. "I just wanted to ask, just to be sure. Do you know where she is? If you knew you’d tell me right. You’d let me know she was OK, that she was safe at least. You’d tell me right?”
 
He looked at me with wide eyes waiting for an answer, and I wanted to tell him everything. I wanted to tell him where he could find her, I wanted to tell him about the talks we’d had, let him know where he stood. Instead I said, “I’m sure when she wants to be found she will be. Don’t worry about her. She’s a big girl.”
 
“So that’s a no? You don’t know how I can find her?” He looked defeated before I answered.
 
 “If I could tell you anything I would.” I hoped my vague answer, my sorry attempt at the truth while still avoiding the truth would make him give up on the question.
 
“That’s what I thought,” he said. “I’ve made a decision.” He stopped and looked at his watch. When he glanced back at me his face was pale and his eyes were red. If possible, he looked worse than when he walked into my place. “I’m going to sign the papers. I talked to my attorney. He's getting everything ready for me. I need to be there in half an hour.”
 
“Whoa. What papers? Please tell me you’re not talking about the divorce papers.” I knew that's exactly what he meant. I looked to the hallway entrance that lead to the bedrooms, then back at Sharpie. “You’re done? You’re just giving up?" I wondered if this was a good time to beg him not to be such a stupid ass, but kept it to myself.

He stood and it became apparent just how much of a toll her disappearance had taken on him. "I've made up my mind. I love her and I've pushed her away. I've pushed her so far away that she's not even going to the firm. She loves that God damn job. Claire and Duncan are both right. I'm no good for her." He turned to look out the window, and wipe the tears that were forming in the corner of his eyes, assuming I suppose, that I'd think he was a pussy if they fell in front of me. I wouldn't have. "I guess you were my last hope. I thought maybe you knew something you weren't telling me."

"Patrick." I said sympathetically, using his real name, something I rarely did and feeling more guilt than I'd ever felt over anything.

"Don't," he said finally turning around to face me again. "Just don't. My mind is made up. If she needed me. If she wanted me… Never mind. It's what's best for her. I guess I just realized…" He stopped, choked up again. "I guess, I realize that what matters most is her happiness, and I don't make her happy anymore. I gotta go." He walked quickly toward the door.

"Sharpie!" I called. "Patrick!…. Wait." He slammed the door behind him. I don't know what I would have done if he would have turned back. Yes I do. I would have told him everything, and now I was raging mad.

"LYDIA!!! LYDIA!!!!! Get your ass out here!"