Page 82 of Choosing Hope

Pressing my lips to Spencer’s jaw, I mumble.

“I’m going to take a shower. Play nice for a few moments. I won’t be long.”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he peers at me with those pleading eyes that sap my strength. His eyelashes wet with tears.

I cup his face, staring deeply into his eyes and whisper.

“I’m so angry with you, but I’m twice as angry at myself. I’ll always love you, Spencer. And as long as you want me, I’ll do everything I can to make this marriage work.”

His eyes fill with tears, though he never blinks. It’s hard to see such a powerful man reduced to this.

I give him a sad, closed-lip smile and stand, walking toward Carlo and the bathroom behind him.

Squeezing Carlo’s forearm, I rise on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He just swallows, never taking his eyes off his friend.

Once in the bathroom, I hear the silence between them. It’s deafening.

I know they both need to gather their thoughts.

Normally, they take nothing seriously. They laugh and joke with each other, rib each other mercilessly but I’ve never doubted the love and respect they share.

I flick on the shower; the water is still warm from Carlo’s. So, I waste no time, quickly showering myself off, not wanting to leave my boys for too long, convinced their conversation will become physical.

Judging by the smell of Spencer, he’s been drinking all day. I don’t think Carlo will take advantage of that, but when emotions are running so high, it’s hard to be certain.

Once I’m clean, I flick the water off to hear Spencer’s loud voice.

“I’m going through therapy. Okay? Does that make you feel better?”

Carlo’s reaction is to laugh humorlessly.

“Oh yeah, like a million fucking dollars. I’m thrilled you’re so ashamed at the thought of wanting my cock that you need therapy to get over it.”

The silence rolls in again, filling my ears with a thudding nothingness.

“I—I didn’t . . .”

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” Carlo roars. “Ever since this started, you’ve never wanted anyone to know. When you got together with Sophie, I told you I’d walk away but you didn’t want me to.” Carlo’s voice pauses.

A sound that reminds me of a glass banging on a hard surface punctures the background silence.

“Once you told her, I thought things had changed a little. You gave me hope that we could find a way to be together. But the moment shit got real, you slammed that door in my face, too.”

There’s a loud, unidentifiable bang. I grab a towel off the rack and wrap it around me.

“You say you’ve always been jealous of me. That you think I should have married Sophie because we’re so perfect together? What youneversee is that your wife doesn’t want me. She wants YOU. She chose YOU.”

There are more movements. I can’t decide whether to go out there. This conversation is years overdue.

“You’re so fucking self-centered that you’ve never seen what’s been right in front of you for years.”

His voice is quieter now, and I can hear the emotion in every syllable.

“Seeing you with Sophie is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Because you love her in a way, you’ll never love me. You love her with pride. Want the world to know she’s yours. You love her as I’ve always loved you. Like I loved Chess.” His voice breaks on his last word.