Fifteen minutes later, Valerie refilled her wineglass from the fridge. Then she heard the doorknob rattle. As if there had ever been a doubt, Rod walked in. His face looked drawn, his shoulders slumped. He saw Val and jumped, startled. With big, sorry eyes and a frown, he said, "Hey, you're home. What's up?"
"Snow day," she snapped, stepping toward him with a vicious scowl. "What the hell, Rod? I threw your ass out. Get out of here."
"Aw, come on, hon. I was gonna leave a note, but since you're here, I just want to talk. Give me two minutes. Please."
Seeing him again, after everything that had happened, made her angrier.
"You want to talk about the money you stole?"
Rod took a step toward her. "It was my money; I earned it."
Valerie scoffed, "What's mine is yours, but what's yours is yours? Is that it?"
"Valerie, look, I panicked. I was scared, you threw me out, and I didn't know what to do. Really, I'm so damn sorry. Sorry about everything."
Hearing her name come out of his lying mouth made her shudder.
He whined on, "I know it wasn't your fault. I fucked up. I wasn't thinking. It's never happened before. I've still got the money. Can't you forgive me just this once? Hmm? I mean, we're married."
His expression radiated sorrow, and his eyes pleaded for forgiveness. A pang of sympathy shot through her. The old familiar pattern started to emerge. She felt the pull he still had on her, felt herself slipping back under his spell. Her skin tingled. Her stomach fluttered.
She shook her head. "Ohhh, you always do this to me. You're a jerk, and then you bring out the puppy eyes and that low little purring voice." His eyes welled up. "Stop it." She turned away, fists clenched, shoulders tight, searching for the strength to throw him out and end this exhausting cycle once and for all.
She didn't find it.
Her resolve slipped away, as it had so many times before. Her chest seized, and her breathing went quick and shallow. Against her better judgment, her voice trembled as she asked, "What do you want?"
With her back still to him, Rod moved closer and took her hand.
"Valerie, you're the only woman in the world for me." Sincerity oozed out of him like hot fudge over vanilla ice cream. He turned her toward him. "I've known that since I first saw you slinging drinks at CJ's. Remember that night? You were so beautiful, I couldn't look away."
The first time she saw Rod flashed through her mind. Charming, mysterious, funny—he had made her laugh almost instantly. She couldn't remember what he'd said, only the cyclone of butterflies it had stirred in her stomach. "Come on, Val, honey. Give me another chance. I promise I won't fuck up this time. I ain't never gonna see that girl again. She doesn't mean anything to me."
His velvet green eyes kept misting. Valerie put a hand on his shoulder. Her own eyes started to fill.
She tilted her head and said, "Rod... I really don't know what to say." Warmth and understanding crept into her voice, and that pissed her off.
Don't you cave.
Rod took both her hands in his. "I don't know what I'd do without you. We used to have a good thing going, right?" His voice came out as smooth as a Slip 'N Slide.
"Things between us haven't been working for a long time. I can't see how we fix that," Valerie said, her regret evident.
Rod moved closer and gently pulled her toward him. Out of habit, she leaned in.
He pulled her to his chest, and they hugged.
Rod's eyes went wide.
"Whoa. What the hell are these? You've been keeping secrets."
He raised his hands and cupped her breasts. "Fucking awesome. These babies are gonna take some getting used to."
What the fuck?
Squeezing her boobs slammed her back to reality. She knocked his hands away and ran to the far side of the kitchen island.
"No, Rod. Stop. It's not that easy." Valerie's voice cracked, desperate and trembling.
She pressed a hand to her forehead and shook her head hard, as if the motion itself could snap her back into a mindset where she still had control.
"You don't get to waltz in here and say, 'I'm sorry, great boobs,' and think everything's going to be fine. It's not." She took a deep, quivering breath, and her shoulders dropped. "I'm tired," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just plain fucking tired. We've been struggling with this mess for so long, it feels like it's all I know anymore." Her words stuttered out of her mouth, each one a confession of lost battles and dreams worn thin. "I just can't do it."
Rod stepped toward her; his face filled with anguish. She thrust out a hand to stop him before he could complete the step.
"No. You stay over there." Valerie threw both hands out in a slow-down gesture.
"Look, I need time. I have to figure out who I am and what I want." She took two quick breaths. "I'm not the same woman I was a few months ago. I don't see how this woman fits into your life." Then, in a steady, resolute voice, she said, "Now I need you to leave. I'll call you when I'm ready to talk, okay? It has to be this way."
Rod started to protest, then caught himself. Beleaguered and forlorn, he bowed his head.
"Okay. Whatever you want. But I'll say it again—you are the only one for me, and I'll do anything to get you back."
As if stalling for time, he moved in a slow, deliberate circle, dragging out every step. When he reached the door, Valerie saw the slumped shoulders and the slight tilt of his head, as if he expected her to call him back. Then he threw her that puppy-dog look of repentance—the same expression that had smoothed over a thousand arguments, the one that had always seemed to make everything okay.
For a split second, her heart started to melt. The old reflexes kicked in—the urge to forgive, to comfort, to let him back in. She longed to surrender to that lingering hope that had held them together for so long.
A torrent of conflicting emotions surged through her. Beneath the anger, doubt gnawed at every decision. Was she being too harsh? Was she really ready to end it for good? The familiar ache of loneliness knocked at the door of her soul, whispering that it would be easier to give in, to let things go back to the way they were, to accept the apology and pretend things could change. Her heart pounded as she weighed the cost of staying against the fear of leaving. Starting over terrified her, but staying—losing the new woman she had become— terrified her more.
Damn it.
He had gotten to her again. He had worked his magic, filled her with doubt, and nearly made her look away from what was really happening.
Oh, you almost got me.
"Wait." The word shot out of her.
Rod turned almost before she finished the word, anticipation already in his eyes. She caught a flicker of self-congratulation on his face, as if he were thinking, 'Yeah, I've still got it.'
"You can stop the petulant schoolboy act. It's not going to work this time. I know what you're doing, and you are not going to play me ever again."
Rod looked confused.
"I want your key. Give it to me," she said.
He staggered, genuinely shocked that he hadn't been able to make her yield.
"But this is my place too. I have the right—"
She cut him off.
"No. It was your place." Renewed conviction steadied her. "You lost that right when you fucked that little twig in our bed." The memory of them groping each other in the bar turned her stomach.
There was only one conclusion. The truth hit her with the force of a piano dropping from eight stories.
"Fuck it. I'm not falling for your bullshit. I don't need time to think about anything. There's no way this is going to work, and I don't want it to work. I'm done. Give me my key and get the hell out. Got it?" There was no room for doubt now, no possibility of negotiation.
She had chosen herself... at last.
Rod stared at her, stunned. A mess of emotions flashed across his face—then nothing. His eyes went flat and dark. Not recognizing the shift in him, she stepped forward, snatched the key ring off his belt, found the apartment key, and twisted it free.
"You may as well go back to that skank, because we are through. Over. Kaput. End of inning."
She popped the key free and hurled the rest of the ring at his chest. "Now get the fuck out."
Rod flinched when the keys hit his chest. Then, in one smooth motion, he stepped forward and backhanded her across the face.
The smack echoed through the apartment.
Stunned, she stumbled back, one hand flying to her cheek, her eyes blazing. Rod stared at her with naked hatred in his eyes. He took one step toward her; Valerie winced, then bolted away from him.
In a complete reversal, his face contorted, and he reeled away from her, hands flying to cover it. "Oh, my God. I can't believe I just did that. Val, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Oh fuck—what did I do?"
Her cheek burning, Valerie pushed through him, knocking him backward, and yanked the front door open. She fled breathless into the hallway.
"Help! Somebody, help!" she shouted to her neighbors.
Halfway down the hall, she stopped and turned, bracing herself for an attack. She expected him to be right behind her. He wasn't. No one had answered her cries, and the hallway remained empty except for Valerie, cowering and shaking.
Rod appeared in the doorway, shoulders collapsed, head bowed, shuffling into the hall. Sobbing, Valerie dropped into a defensive stance, fists tight and out in front of her, her face pinched in the way only complete terror can invoke.
"Don't try anything, asshole. Just leave."
Rod moved to the opposite side of the hall and slunk past her, his back pressed to the wall. She mirrored him, staying out of reach, heart pounding. Once clear, she sprinted for the apartment and burst through the door. Without looking back, she slammed it shut and threw the lock, her entire body trembling. Safely inside, she pressed her back to the door and slid to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. Her breathing came in deep, panicked bursts. Covering her face with her hands, she let out a devastating sob. Her cheek throbbed. The tears kept coming until, slowly, her breathing eased and she tipped her head back against the door—one, two, three deep breaths.
Little by little, a fragile calm settled over her.
The job, the apartment, and the husband were all in the past. Between sobs, she let out a bitter, ironic snicker. It had really been quite a day.
On the bright side, that's the end of that.