WORK IN PROGRESS: Nash and Remy

Chapter 1 (Remy): Stupefied

Copyright © 2024 by GroveltoHEA

"I just...I get it. I finally get it."

He'd thought I'd been asleep, and when he realized I wasn't, he'd hurriedly placed the picture back in the nightstand drawer and shut it. Fast.

"Tell me, because I'm not sure what you're finally getting. Come back to bed and let's talk."

Ignoring that, I pulled the conversational trigger.

"You aren't available for a relationship. Not really. This past year has been both of us faking it. You've been pretending that you're ready to move forward, and I've been pretending I'm OK with not having the whole man. With having to share your heart in so many profound ways that are painful for both us. With seeing your face tighten and the shadows that appear in your eyes when you remember her. You still actively miss her. You still have her things around you. Her picture is still in your wallet and tucked into your nightstand. I see you open the drawer in your nightstand after we've had sex and look at her picture. It kills me."

"You knew I'd lost my wife when you met me. You knew how much I love her. You've known this for over a year."

But I'd hoped...I looked up at him.

"Do you love me? At all?"

It was at that point he knew what I'd finally gotten, and he knew the outcome of this conversation. I could tell from the way he hesitated.

"I care about you. You know I do."

"That wasn't the question, though."

"We've only been together a year."

"Still avoiding the question."

"I enjoy being with you."

I couldn't help it and burst into laughter. Unamused laughter just edging to bitter, but laughter just the same. "That, as they say in baseball, was your third strike."

As I began pulling on my clothes, he leapt out of bed and pulled on his grey sweats.

"We're still new. Can you just stop and talk this out with me?"

"We're a year old. Babies were born on the day we became official, and in that year, they've learned how to roll over, smile, laugh, recognize people, crawl, babble, point with their hands, identify objects, eat food, cruise, and start walking. And after our year together, you enjoy being with me. That's it. And why do you like being with me?"

He stared, not wanting to answer and I knew why.

"Because I make it hurt less, right? Three years after your wife died, and her loss is still a present pain for you, to the point that it doesn't leave room for anyone else."

He refused to acknowledge just how right I was. "This conversation is pointless."

"Funny, I think it's right on point."

"Why can't you just be happy with where we are? See what happens?"

See what happens? Nothing. That's what happens. You'll never let go of her.

"Where are you going?" he asked as I grabbed my purse.

"To my apartment." To cry. To get over you.

"Let me get my keys. I'll take you."

"No," I said. "I don't want you to do me any favors. That orgasm you just gave me? That was the last thing you'll ever do for me."