Tied Up In Knots

 

Adam's POV
 
She walked slowly into the room, her head hung low but there was no mistaking her tear streaked face and her red eyes. She heard every word her husband said, and I was glad she did. I'd been keeping it in, protecting her despite my better judgment and now she needed to hear what I had to say.
 
"Lydia. I love you, but I can't do this anymore. Did you see him? Did you hear him?" She nodded but didn't answer me, tears rolling down her cheeks. "He's on his way to sign the papers Lyd. If he does that, it's over. Completely over. Are you ready for that?"
 
"I don't know what to do," she cried hoping I'd tell her.
 
"You need to make a decision. You need to decide if you want him, if you can forgive him and you need to decide now! Because if you don't Lyd. If you don't decide, the decision's going to be made for you.
 
"Adam," she cried and landed in my arms.
 
"I know baby girl. I know. But there's no time for that. You have a decision to make."
 
****
 
Patrick's POV
 
The decision was final. I guess at some level I was proud of myself. I decided to selflessly give her what she wanted, pull up my big boy pants and walk out of Lydia’s life for good. It’s what she wanted after all. I had never been a selfless person, so I was proud of myself for being a man. Inside, deep down, was a different story. I felt like a little boy, one that lost his way home and wanted to sit on the side of the road and cry until someone came by and picked up the pieces.
 
I wouldn't allow myself to think about the statistics that said many couples, whose marriages end in divorce, actually end up getting back together. What would the point of that be? I’d always live with an ache in my heart for Lydia, and sitting around with a deep rooted confidence that at any minute my ex-wife would walk through the door, well it just seemed unhealthy. As it was I was well on my way to reaching stalker status.
 
I wouldn't allow Kaner to make me feel better, not when he told me he had a set of blond twins meeting him at a club. Not when he told me they were a sure thing. Fucking some random woman would not make me feel better. Not when that's what put me in this place to start with. Not when I'd had my wife in my bed a little over three weeks ago. When I could still feel her against my skin, taste her on my tongue. No other woman could do anything for me. Not now. Not for a very long time.
 
"Are you sure you want to do this Patrick?" Herb asked. Herb was my lawyer, and he'd been a surprise really. I paid him next to nothing by lawyer’s standards, figuring Lydia would come to her senses quickly. I truly believed that she really, in her heart of hearts, didn’t want a divorce, and expected once she saw the papers, talked about details, she’d call it all off.  I was counting on it, but clearly I was wrong. Herb was a soldier though. He fought her expensive lawyer and helped me out, even when he didn't necessarily agree with what I wanted to do. He didn't push me for long explanations of my actions. He didn’t judge me for what I’d done to break up my marriage or the lengths I’d gone, to try to put it back together again. 
 
I confirmed my intentions with an, “I’m sure.” Although my heart said something different. Herb didn’t question me, and for that I was grateful. “Let’s just do this,” I proclaimed as if he was somehow doing this with me, and Herb dropped the stack of papers on the table. He made an attempt to go through them with me so I’d know what I was signing. I stopped him. “I’m divorcing my wife. Whatever she wants is hers.” Feeling as though I was losing self control, I pushed things along. “Just show me where I sign.”
 
Herb pointed to four different places in the large document and I inked my signature on each, dropped the pen like it was poison and walked out without another word. I walked the streets of Chicago feeling sick and alone, grasping for something to keep me from jumping in the icy cold river. I passed several bars on the way to my car and thought about heading inside. My emotions felt too unstable to casually sit in a neighborhood bar. The last thing I needed was a headline the next day that read Blackhawks Forward Cries In Local Bar.
 
I went home.
 
I didn’t bother with the lights, just headed straight for the kitchen. From the top cabinet I pulled out the bottle of Belvedere vodka and a crystal shot glass from the set Lydia and I had purchased in Italy on our honeymoon. I took my first drink straight from the bottle not bothering with the glass. It tasted awful at first and burned the whole way down my neck into my stomach. Soon the burn subsided and my mouth and throat numbed to the taste.
 
I set the bottle down and looked around the kitchen of the house Lydia and I built together. Everything about it was her, and before I knew what happened, I had picked up the shot glass and threw it with all my strength against the wall, shattering the expensive object into a million pieces and nicking the paint. I took another swig of vodka grabbed a second shot glass and made a second indentation in the wall.
 
“You’re gonna have to replace those,” came a voice from the hallway. It sounded like an angel, and I was sure I was drunk already and not able to make sense of what was happening. All sense of reason and common sense told me it couldn’t have been Lydia standing there. It couldn’t have been her.
 
“You didn’t want them.” I replied to the voice. “I would have given them to you. I would have given you anything…everything.”
 
“We bought those on our honeymoon,” Lydia replied, or was it an angel.
 
I turned to face her and saw the gleam of tears in her eyes. She wore a long gold sweater with a pair of cream leggings and her skin glowed in the dim night time light. She was an angel, I decided. What a sense of humor God must have had to send me an angel that looked exactly like my ex-wife only hours after signing our divorce papers. “That doesn’t matter anymore. I signed the papers.” I turned away and waited for the angel to disappear.

She didn’t go.
 
“I know,” she replied softly "I know you signed them."

I turned back in time to see her wiping tears from her cheeks. She pulled a stack of papers from her purse and dropped them on the table in front of me.
 
For the second time today my divorce papers stared me in the face, as if the pain of seeing them once, the pain of signing them wasn’t enough to endure. “Is this a sick Joke Lyd? Did you want to sign them right here in front of me? Make me witness it. Is it a way to make me pay more for what I did to us?” My voice cracked like the crack in a damn. With the slightest pressure I'd crumble. I didn’t want to break down and cry. Not in front of Lydia. Especially now.
 
“No. It’s not.” She sobbed. “That’s not why I’m here.” Her voice cracked too. “I love you,” she blurted out. “I love you and I’ll always love you.” She wrapped her arms around herself and shook and cried as she continued. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Patrick.”
 
I wanted to leap to her, to pull her into my arms and make her feel better, to kiss away her tears, but it wasn’t my place anymore. Instead I stood frozen and confused, and maybe a bit drunk, not understanding why she was there, or what she was trying to say. “Is this your good-bye then? Is that why you’re here?” It made sense, the only logical reason she’d tell me she loved me, that she’d say she was sorry the way she was.
 
She used both hands to clear the tears from her red face, and I watched as she collected herself. Lydia looked me right in the eyes. “I don’t want a divorce,” she spurted, then fell into a heap on the floor sobbing. I didn’t hear her right. I couldn’t have. I was at her side in a split second holding her like I’d been longing to, letting her cry into me. “I went to your lawyers office to stop you, but you had already left. I can’t bear the thought of my life without you in it, without you as my husband.”
 
I was stunned, shocked and feeling like my heart had just been jump started. It beat so fast I know she could hear it. “Lydia. Lydia,” I said again pulling her face into my hands. “Please baby. Please tell me you aren’t joking. Please tell me this isn’t a sick joke. I couldn’t take it.”
 
“I want you to be my husband, and I want to be your wife. I don’t want anyone but you.”
 
My lips landed on hers and we kissed though a flood of tears. Our lips moved as we drank from each other, our mouths attached in a torrid flood of emotion, confusion and love. We held each other and kissed as if there was nothing else in the world needed for our existence, our happiness. I have no way to know how long we stood there in the kitchen, but when we did finally pull away Lydia’s lips were swollen and puffy, and her tears had disappeared leaving only sparkling brown orbs filled with hope in their wake.
 
“You know I love you Lyd. You know how much I love you,” I said looking down into her eyes.
 
“Why does it sound like there is a but coming Patrick?” She closed her eyes tightly so as not to see if I was about to reject her and it made me laugh. As if I could ever reject her.
 
“Lydia, I just need to know if your sure. Have you forgiven me? Can you really be with me knowing what I did to you…to us?”
 
“I forgive you,” she said and her eyes confirmed her words.
 
I kissed her again, my hands tangling in her short black bob. I was the happiest mother fucker on earth, and now I was going to make love to my wife. MY wife. Not in the kitchen. In our bedroom. In our bed.
 
We kissed our way up the stairs letting clothing drop along the way.  Shoes here, socks there, Lydie’s sweater over the railing, my shirt in the hall. Our fingers and mouths fondling and caressing as we moved through the house. In the bedroom I moved behind her and felt her tremble at my touch to her bare skin. I slowly kissed my way down the back of her neck, down her spine, a soft kiss to each vertebra. I released the clasp of the white silk bra, letting it fall to the floor, and continued downward until I reached the waist band of her leggings. I pushed them to the floor with her panties, and turned her around taking in the site before me.
 
At the idea of knowing once and for all that she was mine, I fell to my knees. I thanked God silently and then thanked her out loud for her forgiveness and her love. Tears formed in her eyes, but they were tears of joy and she knelt down in front of me. “Don’t screw up again,” she had a laugh in her voice, but she wasn’t kidding.
 
“I swear to you that I will never… ever… be in a situation like that again. I will never betray you. I will never…”
 
She cut me off with her mouth on mine, and broke free just long enough to say, “It’s time to make love to your wife Patrick.”
 
I stood and pulled her to her feet. The electricity between us was unmistakable and I vowed to make this so incredible for her that she’d never regret her decision. I laid her across the bed, naked and beautiful. I kissed and licked and sucked down her body from her lips and throat to her chest and breasts. I relished in the way she shuddered beneath my mouth and her nipples puckered on contact. I rolled one then the other between my teeth, and my cock turned rock hard at her whimpers. I moved further down across her flat stomach nibbling and sucking every inch of the expanse of smooth sweet skin. When I reached her patch I pulled her down to the edge of the bed. A man on a mission, I spread her legs wide and breathed in her scent, her desire. The promise land.
 
I took her with my mouth softly at first, a single flick of my tongue. Then two. The sweet sound of her voice begging me for more, inspired me to spell my name in her womanhood, mark her, even if only symbolically, as mine forever. She reeled from the attention and arched her back. “Patrick,” she called. “Patrick,” and I thrust two fingers inside her without warning hitting the target that I knew so well. The sheets tangled in her fists, and from reflex her knees pulled up. I wrapped my arm around one knee and used it as leverage as I sucked on her clit mercilessly and dove my fingers in and out of her slick walls using her spot as a spring board. “Please,” she begged for her release.
 
I wanted to torture her in the most delicious way. I wanted to make her wait it out, to hold her on that ledge a while longer, but not on this day. On this day I would give her whatever she asked for. I’d pull my heart from my chest and let her wear it from a chain around her neck. If it was an orgasm my raven haired beauty wanted, by God I’d give it to her
 
I sucked and bit on her clit as I jammed three fingers inside her and curled them. She sat straight up as every muscle in her abdomen contracted at the same time. Her pussy clamped down on me so tight I couldn’t move my fingers, and I drank from her every drop of liquid her body had to give.
 
Lydia fell back on the bed, her body limp and satisfied. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Her skin glowed and her body was sweet perfection. My rock solid cock throbbed at the sight of her, and my heart pounded in my chest. I loved the woman laid out before me with everything in my body, heart and soul, and I wanted her like I’d never wanted anything ever.
 
I stripped myself of what clothes remained and climbed on top of her, nestling my knees between her legs. “Tell me you love me Lydia. Tell me you’re mine forever,” I asked, and she obliged.
 
“I love you Patrick. I love you forever.” She gasped as I pressed my shaft inside her. “I love you,” she whimpered. “I want you. I want only you.” I pulled out and thrust inside her again. She clung to me, nails breaking skin. She sunk her teeth into me leaving red welts on my chest and shoulders. I couldn’t help feel that it was Lydia’s way of staking her claim on me. Those acts proved to be the most powerful aphrodisiac. I thrust so hard and so fast, I was sure I’d hurt her, but she encouraged me instead. Then I flipped her over, pulled her to her knees and settled her on back on my cock. I pushed her forward and back down, and she let out a little squeal. I jabbed my cock up inside her so hard I saw stars. That's when I felt her body twitch. The first sign she was ready for the explosion that I knew I wouldn’t be able to withstand. I pulled on her nipple and let the other hand tweak between her legs. Lydia screamed out in ecstasy and tightened so hard around me that I lost myself inside her, spurting hot seamen deep within her body.
 
We sat on the bed, her on my lap, my dick still buried in the sweetest place on earth. I held her as we kissed and slowly came back to reality. Finally my reality was someplace worth being.
 
We talked for hours as the sunlight faded into dusk making plans for our future. Plans for spending more time in Thunder Bay, for having children, for our life as husband and wife. I promised to love her and be faithful until eternity, and she laughed said, “I told you I forgive you Patrick. Now you have to forgive yourself.”
 
We made love again, slowly this time, becoming reacquainted with the nuances of each other. I paid particular attention to every detail of her body, worshiping every inch the way she deserved to be worshiped. As we finished, we faded into a much needed sleep that felt like heaven.
 
It was late when I woke, but not terribly so, maybe 9:30 or 10:00. Lydia laid on my chest, with eyes wide she looked up at me. “What? What’s wrong?” I asked and felt my heart sink fearing the worst of possibilities. Second thoughts. Regrets.
 
“I have to go Patrick. I have to go now. She sat up and brought the sheet up to cover her.”
 
“No. No you don’t Lydia. What’s wrong?” I stroked her hair and pulled her against me. “Talk to me,” I begged.
 
“Before we can do this, before we can be just us. I have someplace I have to go. Something I have to do.”
 
I knew what she meant. I could see the agony on her face. Duncan Keith. I knew she wasn’t in love with Duncan, but I knew she cared for him. There was no question in my mind that he loved her, and this would be terribly hard for her. “I’ll go with you,” I ridiculously suggested.
 
She smiled lovingly down at me. “I know you would Patrick. I know you’d go instead of me, if only to save me the pain of telling him myself, but I have to do this.” She kissed me softly on the lips. “I have to do this now.”
 
****
 
Duncan’s POV
 
It was 10:30 when the doorbell rang. Figuring it was one of the guys I stood up and stretched before I made my way to the door. As I swung it open, I caught the first glimpse I’d had of Lydia in weeks. I was overjoyed to see her there. Without hesitation I pulled her into me, but her body was stiff.
 
That’s when it hit me. Why she’d rung the doorbell instead of just coming in. Why she didn’t have her suitcase with her. She wasn’t coming back to me. She was coming to say goodbye.  
 
I let her loose from my grip, trying to get a handle on my emotions. Instead of releasing her entirely, I held her out at arm’s length.  She was flushed, but she had a brightness, an inner smile you could call it. The likes of which I hadn’t seen in her the entire time we were together. “He’s been good to you then?” I asked, letting her know that I knew why she was here. Her eyes fell to the floor, but I lifted her chin not letting her have the easy out.
 
“Duncan I…”
 
“It’s Ok Lydia. I’m a big boy. I can take this. Say what you came to say.” The words I used were strong and my voice was unwavering, but reality had me quivering and praying that I was wrong.
 
“Patrick and I have reconciled.” Tears came to her eyes, but she didn’t look away again. “It’s just. I love him Duncan.”
 
My heart was torn from my chest. It was true. She had never stopped loving him. And for that, she was never able to love me. “I know,” I replied kindly.  There were no other words for the moment, so I just looked at her trying to will her to change her mind. It wouldn’t work, not that I expected it to. I couldn’t hold her there forever, though the thought crossed my mind. “He doesn’t deserve you Lydia,” I finally said and dropped my hands from her arms setting her free.
 
A single tear rolled down her cheek. “No Duncan. I don’t deserve you. And for that I will always be sorry.”