The Last Exhale Part 18

In the end, we all do what we need to do to make our life be what we want it to be. We put our hopes and dreams on the line for the sake of making someone else happy, for making it convenient for the next person. We make the wrong decisions, hoping one day they'll turn out right. And when they don't, well, we just keep on making wrong decisions.

Whether Rachel is right about what I'm doing with Brandon-building something-I know what I feel and it feels far from wrong.

Six miles later, my legs feel like they've been dipped in h.e.l.l.

I should've given him the letter. Should've just given him the d.a.m.n letter and moved on a long time ago. I wouldn't have had to explain my feelings because I'd be long gone, in some faraway place, building a new life with someone else.

No matter how fast or how much harder I run, I can't seem to outrun the thoughts chasing down my sanity. This is not the time to lose it, Syd.

I pick my pace up to an eight-minute and one-second speed, shave thirty-one seconds off my normal pace. Pound the pavement hard enough to leave my size eight-and-a-half ASICS' impression in the concrete. Been running for a little over an hour. My smartphone's running app tells me that. Tells me I've put over eight miles on these thighs. I come to a halt, bend over a patch of gra.s.s. I dry heave for a few seconds too long to count. Nothing but air. Then it all comes out. The bile from my failing marriage, from being the woman that my friends look down on, the woman who's gone half crazy trying to put it all together while falling apart, all of that comes up from my pit and gushes from my lips like a fire hydrant being released for maintenance. My high levels of frustration, anger, regret, consideration of adultery and then some have built up to the point my soul can't tolerate another drop. I hurl some more, soil the earth with my pain and tears.

"Are you okay?"

I wipe residue from my mouth with my s.h.i.+rt, turn around and see a car pulled over to the side. A female's head hanging out the pa.s.senger window.

"You need me to call nine-one-one?"

I wave my hand. "No, I'm-" Another wave of bile flows from my mouth, feels like a barrel of cayenne pepper's lodged in my throat; burns my esophagus.

Now there are three cars pulled over. Someone runs up behind me. "Drink this."

I look at the half-empty bottle of Gatorade sideways. "No, thank you. I'm really okay," I tell the guy.

"You're dehydrated. You need something."

I give the stranger a once-over. He's in spandex and a soaked T-s.h.i.+rt. Looks like he just finished a workout himself. He needs to replenish his electrolytes, yet he's concerned about mine. I grab the extended bottle from his hand and say a quick silent prayer over the lemon-flavored drink. Down it in one long gulp. "Thanks."

"I've been there before. Ran my first marathon a few years ago and almost died from dehydration."

Lacking energy, all I can do is nod.

"Are you running alone?"

I nod again, mouth "thank you" to the other drivers as they slowly pull away.

"Do you live near here? I can drop you off."

None of the houses around me look familiar. I ask, "What street is this?"

"Putney Road. Not too far from Hillside Boulevard."

It dawns on me where I am. I spent the night at Mom's after Eric came home hours after his regular time, smelling like he'd drunk a gallon of tequila. The kids had already been at her house. I brought them over a few days ago to give Eric and me a little s.p.a.ce to try to figure things out without them getting in the way. What good that did. I tell the guy, "Thanks for all your help, but I'll be fine."

He gives me a look that lets me know he's not buying it.

Again, I thank him and begin a slow jog in the opposite direction. I jog far enough to ensure the man is long gone, then I turn back around and walk toward my mom's house. I may have been crazy enough to drink from a drank-on bottle from a stranger, but I'm not crazy enough to lead him to my mother's house, especially not in such a weakened state. I'm too weak to fight off a ladybug at this point, let alone another person.

I walk past my emotions stenching up the ground. Almost makes me hurl again. It looks like I let go of a week's worth of food and years' worth of misunderstandings and lies. I feel much better letting all of that go. Physically and emotionally.

My stomach does a few tumbles. I swear Gabrielle Douglas is in there flipping around for another gold medal. It amazes me how much we allow ourselves to hold on to for the sake of looking like we've got our lives together.

No more of that.

A door has been opened and misery is finally taking a step out.

33.

BRANDON.

Back at my apartment, I get things situated for Rene's arrival. She didn't want to stay at my place originally, but I told her she had no choice.

A knock at the door disrupts my flow.

I look through the peephole, see Sydney standing by the stairway. I open the door.

She comes in, takes a seat on the couch. "How's your hand?"

I look at my hand, rub my fingers across it. "Almost all of the st.i.tches have fallen off. Still feels a little stiff, but better."

I move a pile of clothes from the couch to give her more room. Toss them on my bed in the room. Tell her, "Rene's going to be staying here once she hands over the keys to the house."

"That'll be in a few days."

"Don't remind me."

Sydney asks, "How's she feeling?"

I shrug. "She's had better days. We plan to get her into one of those cancer treatment facilities."

"Oh good. That'll be great."

"Yeah." I sit next to her on the edge of the couch, sit with my elbows pressed into my knees. "Look, I've been wanting to talk to you."

"I've been wanting to talk to you too."

I say, "My wife changed. I thought it was me. Then you came. Things aren't the way I thought." I flick at a peeling bandage on my hand. "I think it's best we stop here."

"You're right." She bobs her head up and down. "I totally agree."

"Seeing my wife all broken made me realize it was never about me. Maybe talking to your husband, you'll see things differently too."

Sydney asks to use the restroom.

"You know the way."

Something about her being here throws me off. Before she came over, I was sure about my stance about us. There could never be an us. I still have a chance to love the only woman I've ever loved, whether it's short-lived or for another decade. I'm not letting her go or risking this opportunity for anyone.

"Hey, Brandon." Sydney stands in front of me. "You're really a good guy. Wish I had met you sooner, maybe then I wouldn't be so confused about my life right now. It's obvious you truly love your wife. I don't want to be the one to jeopardize that in any way. I hope she gets better."

As much hope as I have in my wife getting better, the reality is she's dying. There's nothing that can be done, no treatment facility for her to go to. No magic eraser to wipe her disease away. Lying to myself and everyone else makes me feel a little better, gives me a taste of hope. But this is it. No lie can change that. "I can't lose my wife."

Sydney wraps her arms around me. "You won't. Everything's going to be okay."

I've been trying to hold it together since Rene first told me about the cancer. Been beating myself up like I was the one holding secrets, like I'm the one who put the lump in her breast. All I did was love a woman, marry her, was fruitful and multiplied. What was so wrong in that?

My good hand slides down Sydney's waist, lands on her hip. Stays there a little too long, long enough to feel her hip curve against my hand.

She stands in between my legs and looks down at me. There's no regret in her eyes for the way she feels toward me. If this was another lifetime, we'd be sharing s.p.a.ce as husband and wife. Not Eric and her. Not Rene and me. She reaches for my hand, pulls me up.

I kiss her.

She doesn't pull back. She looks at me as our lips touch, welcoming all my hurt, pain and moment of weakness into her mouth.

We kiss long, slow, deep.

I welcome her frustration, confusion, and moment of weakness into my mouth. My tongue loses itself in the unfamiliarity of her kiss. Try to lose myself in the unfamiliarity of her touch.

I rake my fingers through her hair, pull her face deeper into mine. Her kiss is soothing yet gritty at the same time, holds a yearning that demands my attention.

She tugs at my jeans.

I tug at her shorts. Tell her, "You'll go home another woman."

"Is that a promise?"

My response is putting my lips back on hers. Finding my tongue doing the salsa with hers.

She raises my s.h.i.+rt up over my head, tosses it to the side. Traces her fingers up and down my spine, tries to become familiar with my unfamiliarity. I do the same with the fingertips of my good hand to the lips between her thighs. Her wetness warming up the coolness of my touch. My finger finds its way into her hunger as our tongues continue making love to each other. My stirs in her womanly place makes her bite down on my tongue.

"Sorry," she says, barely able to catch her breath.

Though my tongue throbs, I don't stop making her throb down below. She wraps her leg around my waist, letting my finger go deeper. Her hand has a firm grip on the back of my neck, the other rubbing my thickening manhood. Her lips graze my ear. "I wanna go home a different woman."

I get so lost I can't think of nothing else. I want to be so far inside her my wife and her husband are no longer a concern of ours.

She sits down on the floor, lifts her s.h.i.+rt up over her head. Legs wide open.

My knees. .h.i.t the floor, in between her legs my hips go. Her bra comes off next. Hardened nipples dance against my chest.

I continue playing in her wet spot with my fingers, she rubs her hands on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, tickles her nipples. Takes her pleasure to another level. Eyes roll to the back of her head as she reaches back down to help escort me into her heat. Needs me to help extinguish the fire growing in her soul. She teeters between consciousness and ecstasy, but her high quickly comes down when she sees my fire's gone out. Her leg slides down from my waist, feet touch the floor. Her eyes full of questions and a hint of insecurity.

"I'm sorry. I can't do this."

"What's wrong?" she pants.

I pick her s.h.i.+rt up off the floor, hand it to her. "You need to go."

34.

BRANDON.

Hormones are crazy like that," I tell my brother over a couple of beers. "They distort your conscience and make you unconcerned with reality."

Andrew lifts his beer in the air. "I'll drink to that."

I take a swig myself. "I almost slept with another man's wife while my wife is barely hanging on to life. I mean, man, what if he's tipping out on her too? He could've brought home a disease, and there I was about to lie with her with no protection. Had Sydney not taken off her bra and had her b.r.e.a.s.t.s all in my face, you and I would be having a different conversation."

"d.a.m.n."

"I never wanted to, or even thought about, cheating on Rene. She was enough for me. And the one moment when she needs my loyalty the most, I do some mess like this."

He shakes his head. "Can't believe you went there."

"Me either."

My reflection in the bar's mirror makes me choke on my beer. I don't recognize the man staring back at me. Don't recognize who I've become. "I'm losing it, Drew."

My twin throws a few dollars down on the counter. "Let's go outside."

We stand against the pa.s.senger side of his car. Man to man, brother to brother.

"I know you think what I did was wrong."