Tara Quinn - The First Wife

“It didn’t take me long to figure out how to save myself, though,” Jane continued, not sounding the least bit put out or scarred by the incidents.

“How?”

“I’d scream at a really high pitch. My mom couldn’t stand the noise and would tell my dad to stop in that voice that meant he’d better do it now.”

“And did he?”

“Of course. Every time.”

And so she’d solved her problem. A little girl figuring a way to get the best of a grown man. That was his Jane—if one way didn’t work, she’d find another. Maybe he’d been worrying about nothing. Though that wasn’t like him.

They were silent for a long time, each lost in his and her own thoughts. It was a comfortable silence, one they shared a lot when they were together like this. And then Jane said, “I am afraid of something, though.” The tentative tone in her voice got his full attention.

“What’s that?”

“The picture you painted of me—alone—I didn’t realize it was so obvious.”

“That you keep yourself detached from all of us?” Not from him—except physically.

“I…” Jane’s eyes revealed uncharacteristic hesitancy when she raised her head and met his gaze. “Can I tell you something?”

“You know you can.”

“It’s personal and embarrassing and…”

“Then this is probably the day for it.”

She hesitated a moment longer and then said, “What James did—the mental cruelty, the infidelity—it killed my ability to…you know…want…things.”

She couldn’t be saying what he thought she was saying. Not Jane. She was femininity personified. Gorgeous. A head turner. And…

“Are you saying you don’t want…things?”

They were up on a private wooded hill, away from the rules of life. The rules of Brad and Jane. What they said here would be forgotten once they descended to real life.

And he’d all but bullied her to confide in him.

She shook her head. “I haven’t had so much as a tingle…down there…since my divorce.”

Brad was shocked. He knew she hadn’t dated, but…

Thinking of Jane sexually was taboo. So he hadn’t. But in the back of his mind, he’d assumed she…something. He’d never thought beyond that.

And didn’t have any solid thoughts now, either. Their hill had turned into quicksand. An electrified quicksand for him.

“Have you talked to anyone about it? Professionally?”

“Yeah. But it didn’t do any good. It just happens that way sometimes. More often with women, I’m told.”

“It’s probably just because you haven’t been on a date in so long,” he blurted, thinking of all the women he’d been with since he’d met her.

Brad liked sex. A lot. And he made no apology for that. The idea of being unable to experience those sensations…

“It’s not like I don’t get invitations,” Jane said dryly. “I don’t date because I’m not the least bit interested in the men who ask me out.”

“You should meet more men, different men.” His mind tried to fight its way out of the thickness encasing him. “I’ve got a couple of friends from law school. I could…”

He shouldn’t have been relieved when Jane shook her head, preventing him from having to finish the offer. But he was.

“I know fine men, Brad. Successful, fun, funny men. Smart, introspective men. Older men. Younger men. Good-looking. Great-looking. Okay-looking…”

“And nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Maybe you’re wired the other way,” he suggested, hardly recognizing the tinny sound to his voice. Yeah, let her be gay. That would make him a hell of a lot more comfortable.

It would safeguard their friendship forever. Unless they both fell in love with the same woman.

“I’m not a lesbian.” Funny how four words could weigh a man down and lift him up all at the same time. “I think, with as much time as I spend around women, I’d know if they pushed my buttons. They don’t.”

Brad’s throat was too dry to speak. So he sat there, hands resting nonchalantly on his knees, wondering what the hell was the matter with him. He talked to a lot of women about sex—those he was having it with, and some he wasn’t. He was completely comfortable with the topic.

“I was perfectly normal,” Jane continued as though now that her demon had been unleashed, she felt better letting it all out. And he understood fully the old saying about being careful what you asked for.

He’d pushed her to open up to him, egotistically certain that he was the one who should be there for her in her time of need.

“And you…felt things.” Some masochistic part of his soul made him ask. He didn’t want to picture Jane with another man. Didn’t want to picture her naked. Or sexual in any way. She was Jane. His Jane. Asexual.

Which was exactly what she was telling him. The asexual part.

And that wasn’t right. This beautiful, warm woman asexual?

“Oh, yeah. So much it made me his slave.” Jane’s eyes widened as she spoke, and Brad knew he would never forget the stricken expression that came over her face. “And when James betrayed me, when he kept telling me that his infidelity was my fault, I…”

She stopped and Brad waited, focusing on the slight breeze that had passed over their picnic site.

“I haven’t been the least bit interested in sex since,” she finally said. “He killed it, Brad. And it’s kind of hard to have a truly intimate relationship without that.”

“I’m sure it’s not dead, sweetie,” Brad said now, grasping for anything that would keep his head above the sand. “You know the drill better than most. After any kind of mistreatment, these things take time. And the right person. The feelings are in there.”

“I don’t think so.” Jane’s eyes were clouded again. “It’s been five years since my divorce.”

“Jane, don’t do this to yourself. Relax. I’m sure you’re fine.”

“Am I?” Clearly skeptical, she looked him up and down. “Take you for example,” she said. “You’re gorgeous. What woman in her right mind wouldn’t see you and at least entertain a thought…feel some kind of attraction…”

What did a guy say to that?

“We… I’ve… It’s been two years. We’re together all the time. And I’ve never once…”

Good thing Brad’s ego could afford the hit. Good, too, that relief eased some of the unintentional sting from her words.

“Maybe I’m not your type. And as for other men, you just haven’t been open to it,” he told her. “You’ve blocked that part of yourself. When you’re ready…it’ll be there.”

“I wish I believed that. But after all this time, I just don’t.”

She sounded so…insecure. So lacking in worth. As though she had nothing of value to offer. So unlike the woman who’d, over the past two years, become the first person he called when he had news. The first person he thought of when the electricity went out, when he heard sirens and hoped no one was hurt, when he woke on Christmas morning.

Sex didn’t define a person’s value anyway. But Brad didn’t say so. He knew it would be pointless. He knew from all the work he’d done with abused women that women had a tendency to intermingle personal worth with sexual attractiveness.

“You’re wrong.” His words were forceful. They needed to be. “Unless you don’t do anything about it,” he said, concerned for her. “If you shut yourself off, if you believe you’ll never have those feelings again, you might not.”

“I haven’t shut myself off. I’ve…tried. With partners. And by myself. I even bought a toy off the Internet.”

Jane’s face turned red, but she didn’t look away. She was sitting there, staring at him, completely open, and believing every word she said. Dictating her own life sentence.