Chapter 2
"You make it sound so easy!" My temper spiked. "James is already on the couch! And he said...he said he'll never set foot in this bed again!"
By the time I got to the last part, my voice started to tremble, and my nose burned, tears threatening to spill.
Ryan froze for a second, then let out a snort and started laughing.
"Seriously, Emily? Your husband's being way too dramatic! There's absolutely nothing between us. Is he really that petty? A grown man, getting jealous over something this ridiculous?"
He pushed himself up, patted my shoulder, and gave me that "I know you too well" look.
Then he said, "Come on, don't get all upset. It's really not a big deal. Look, I'll just call a cab and head to a hotel, so you two don't have to fight over me.
"But honestly, Emily, you really need to talk to your husband. If he's this possessive, how are you ever supposed to hang out with your friends?"
Every word he said just handed me another excuse.
Yeah, what were we, really? We were just childhood buddies, grew up together. That was all there was to it.
Why couldn't James see that? Why did he have to make it out like there was something shady going on?
Did he seriously think guys and girls couldn't just be friends?
Flustered, I shoved Ryan out the door. And only after I heard him leave and call a cab did I finally head back to the living room.
James was curled up on that tiny couch, barely big enough for two, with a thin blanket draped over him, his back turned to me.
The living room was dark, only the streetlights outside the floor-to-ceiling windows casting a faint glow. His silhouette was swallowed by the shadows, looking so alone.
I walked over, keeping my voice as gentle as I could. "Honey, Ryan's gone. Come back to bed."
He didn't move, didn't even turn around. "No, the couch is fine."
"James, how long are you going to keep this up?" My patience finally ran out, and I raised my voice.
"It was just one night! He was wasted, the guest room was a mess, what else was I supposed to do? We've been friends for fifteen years. Are you really freaking out over that? Don't you trust me?"
He slowly turned around.
The charging light on the side table next to the couch flickered, casting a faint blue glow across his face.
He looked at me, but there was no anger in his eyes.
There was something so heavy it weighed me down, something I just couldn't read at all.
"Emily Carter," he said, enunciating every syllable of my name. "This isn't about trust. It's about respect.
"That bed is our wedding bed. That room is our bedroom. No one else gets to lie in it except you and me.
"Especially not a man."
"That's not even the same thing!" I blurted out. "You're just being petty! You don't trust me! Ryan's my buddy! He's not some random guy!"
"Buddy?" James let out a short, bitter laugh.
It was quick, barely a sound, but it cut right through me.
"So a buddy can just sleep in our wedding bed like it's nothing? A buddy can make you send your own husband to the couch?
"Emily, are you really that clueless, or are you just pretending?"
His words hit me like a ton of bricks. I just stood there, frozen, unable to say a single word in my own defense.
That night, I lay in our big bed, half of it empty, tossing and turning all night.
His words kept replaying in my head, over and over.
Was I really in the wrong? Did I actually mess up?