Alistair McIntyre - Shallow Creek

She met him in living room with his beer as he picked up one in a series of framed photos sitting on a long end table next to one of the couches. He took the bottle from her and thanked her. Michelle smiled and clinked her very full wine glass against his beer. When she took a sip, he noticed she wasn’t wearing her wedding rings. She probably took them off to clean the toilet, or something like that.

“Where was this picture taken?” he asked, indicating the one in his hand. Michelle and Grant were on a beach somewhere nice.

“Bora Bora.”

“Very nice,” he said, surprised. “What about these?”

She pointed at each picture in turn and rattled off the exotic locales. “Paris, Hawaii, the Seychelles, and Gibraltar.”

“Wow, not bad at all.”

“We like to travel a lot. You only live once, right?”

Michelle sat on one of the couches, so Brendan purposefully took a seat on the other couch, keeping the end table between them. Her eyes showed some understanding, but she didn’t comment on his choice.

They sat and chatted about the kids and vacations. Brendan hadn’t really had what most people would consider a vacation, but he’d been to a number of the places that Grant and Michelle had visited. None of the timelines matched up, so they wouldn’t have run into each other by accident.

“Can I get you another beer?”

Brendan’s head already felt a little foggy, but he figured it would be rude to refuse, even if he’d told her earlier he only wanted one.

“Sure.”

She returned with a beer and another full glass of wine. The whole bottle had probably gone into those two glasses. That wasn’t really Brendan’s concern, though. She was already home, and the kids were presumably asleep in their rooms. So what if Mom had a few drinks?

Brendan knocked his beer back as Michelle tried to turn the conversation back to recent events. Not really wanting to engage in any of that, Brendan dodged most of her questions, but found himself reacting slower and slower. When the room started to spin, Brendan briefly considered that alcohol might interact negatively with the meds the doctor had given him in the hospital. The doc had mentioned something like that, he thought.

Maybe he shouldn’t be driving home after all. Michelle would probably let him crash on the couch. Yeah, that was a good idea.

Chapter 19

Cool air drifted across Brendan’s stomach as woke up. The reminder that he was waking up in Grant’s old bed at his parents’ house grossed him out yet again. He decided to just keep his eyes closed a little longer. Oddly, he had a graphic, yet blurry image of making love to his brother’s wife play out behind his eyelids. Seeing no harm or foul in it, he let his imagination roll on, amazed by the clarity. When he felt a weirdly uncomfortable stirring down below, he opened his eyes and saw he was wearing a dried-out condom.

He shot up in bed in a panic and took in the strange room in an instant. This wasn’t the right room.

Michelle lay naked beside him, her back turned to him as she snoozed peacefully. Brendan hated to even touch her, knowing what was going to happen next, but he had to. At first he barely grazed her shoulder, but that got nothing more than a slight stir. Knowing he had to rip the Band-Aid off this one, he shook her gently. As she groggily rolled onto her back, he tugged the sheet up to cover her breasts.

“Hey, honey,” she said, her voice still lost in a dream. “I didn’t know you were coming home—” She paused and her face scrunched up as Brendan climbed out of the bed and retrieved his pants. “Brendan?”

He pulled his pants up quickly with her watching. “Yup.”

Michelle sat up, carefully hugging the sheet against her chest.

“What the hell?” she demanded. “What did you do?”

“What did I do?” he snapped back, searching the big room for his shirt. “Are you kidding me? Looks pretty obvious that we both did something.”

“Holy shit, holy shit. You can’t tell Grant about this. He’ll kill me.”

“I’m not going to tell Grant. That’s the last person I ever want to talk to, anyway.”

Michelle slid from the bed, dragging the sheet off with her.

“I’m not joking,” she said, imploring him now. “He’ll kill me. Really. You don’t know him.”

Brendan got his shirt on and sat down on the floor to pull his shoes on.

“And I’m not joking either. I know what he’s like. Trust me: I’m not saying a damn thing.”

While Brendan struggled to get his fingers to tie his shoelaces, Michelle turned away from him to drop the sheet and pull on a silk bathrobe. She was one beautiful woman, and as much as Brendan regretted whatever had happened last night, he really wished he could at least remember and savor the moments. All he had was the vague recollection of a fading daydream. With that in mind, he got off the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. Michelle paced back and forth in front of him.

“Do you remember anything from last night?” he asked her.

She didn’t take her eyes off the floor. “It’s all a bit fuzzy right now. I think we drank a lot.”

True enough, an empty bottle of wine and six discarded beer bottles littered the bedroom. God only knew how much booze had been consumed elsewhere first. His headache definitely attested to the fact that he’d greatly surpassed his two-beer limit.

Michelle stopped in her tracks, her eyes widened, and she turned to face Brendan.

“You told me you loved me.”

She might as well have slapped him in the face.

“Wha—”

Her face betrayed no lies, only twisted pain.

“Are you sure?” he asked, avoiding her tearful gaze.

She came and sat right next to him on the bed. Part of him just wanted to dive right out the window, but the other part urged him to comfort his friend, to take her in his arms and make everything okay.

To hell with that idea. Nothing was going to be okay about this.

Instead, he opted for a middle ground where he did nothing, not even when she put a hand on his thigh. Movement in his groin defied his best efforts to control everything. He normally would’ve thought a hangover like this would prevent any further escapades, but his body was doing its best to prove him wrong.

“You asked me the other night if Grant had ever hit me.”

“Yeah.”

“The simple answer is no, he hasn’t,” she said, tears forming again. “But he can be a real son of a bitch, you know?”

Brendan certainly did.

“It hurts just as much—”

He didn’t even know what she was talking about, but in that moment he didn’t really care. Brendan put an arm around her and pulled her close. She said he professed his love for her. Honestly, he didn’t doubt it. Sitting here with her in his arms, ignoring all the guilt, he could sense more than just friendly feelings for her.

“What did you say?” he whispered.

“When?”

“When I said I loved you.”

“I—”

“Mom! Mom!”

Michelle broke away from Brendan and closed the open door leading to the hallway.

“The kids are up,” she whispered harshly. “You need to leave now.”

“But—”

“Come on, Tenny. I’ll distract them and you leave. Okay?”

“Okay, whatever.”

“And don’t tell Grant,” she said. “Please.”

He nodded and moved out of line of sight. Michelle opened the door and rushed into the hallway. Brendan could hear her casually corral the noisy toddler. She yelled out an all clear, and even though her voice was muffled, he knew that was his cue. The kids’ bedroom door was closed as he passed by in the hallway, and he could hear Michelle’s soft voice as she distracted her children.