Page 2 of Good Intentions, Vol. 3

“You seem excited to get rid of me,” I say dryly.

“No, I’m excited to get you out of this weak streak you’ve been wallowing in since that girl left.”

“Heather,” I say out of reflex.

“What?” Claire asks tilting her head.

“Her name is Heather,” I repeat, my voice stern.

For some reason that brings a smile to Claire’s face. “What?”

“Oh, nothing, just the fact that after eight months I can see a glimpse of the man I know you are,” Claire teases.

I realize she’s right. I have been wallowing, just going through days like they meant nothing. Rolling in self-pity for losing Heather and convincing myself I’m a dutiful husband even though we decided to get divorced and I moved into my new apartment six months ago. I can’t help but feel repulsed by what I have become.

That’s not me.

At one point I was prepared to risk everything, to lose everything, just so I could be with Heather. When the first hurdle presented itself, I was reduced to my knees and sent the woman I love on her way. Why? I could say I have a clean conscience? Just so I could say I did everything in my power to save my marriage and help my wife? Even though said wife wanted to divorce me? Goddamnit, am I really that weak? Fuck, no. I’m Nick Thompson and as history shows, if I want something, I stop at nothing until I get it, and Heather is what I want.

“I see the wheels have started to turn in that brain of yours,” Claire says matter of fact while looking over the menu.

“Hmm…,” I just hum, picking up my own menu from the right side of the table and opening it.

“So, when are you going after her?” Her brown eyes twinkle over the deep-red rim of the menu.

“As soon as we’re done here,” I say and turn to flag the waiter down.

I’ve lost too much time on my own stupidity. It’s time to rectify that. It’s time I man the fuck up and go get back what’s mine.

“I love you,” Heather whispers the words as if she’s hoping I wouldn’t hear them.

Her breath tickling my chest as her head moves slightly on my shoulder, her fingertips tickling my abdomen.

“I love you too, pretty girl,” I mutter my own confession.

She doesn’t acknowledge that I said it back, in fact, she goes on like I said nothing.

“My mother called again today.”

“Yeah?” I ask, waiting for her to carry on.

She mentioned her mom several times already but never gave any more information, just that she called.

“Yeah.”

“And what did she say?” I take a chance and ask.

I want to know everything about Heather, crave it. But, she never gave up any information. In fact, we don’t speak of our lives beyond the moment we’re in together or at work. The few times I shared about Ben or my life, she visibly started to shut down and soon after she made up some reason for her to leave.

“Nothing since I didn’t answer the phone. I never do,” she’s distracted; looking as her fingers glide across my skin. And as much as I enjoy it and want her to continue, I want to know what is lying behind this melancholy in her tone.

“Because of what she did,” is her cryptic answer.

“And what did she do?” My whole body constricts while I wait for her to answer. The horrible things that come to mind are too much to bear. I don’t know what Heather went through in her short life, and I don’t know how I will react if she says them out loud. Still, I want her to tell me. I want her to be honest with me. To believe I can and will protect her from everything. I want her to need me as much as I need her.

“The same thing I am doing now,” she mutters.

“What?”