Barbra Jean paced her living room, waiting for her husband to return home from…wherever he was. He had been missing so many times during the past couple of months that she was really worried about his state of mind. He would come home late at night on some nights while he would work at least an hour of overtime on others. She couldn't understand where his willingness to work came from. He had never had such a jump in his step when it came to work, but suddenly he did.

Perhaps he was telling the truth, and he really was working. Or, perhaps he was hanging out with some friends, playing golf or going to sports bars for some relaxation. No matter how many times she tried to justify his working late and staying out until all hours of the night, she knew he was cheating on her. She could feel it. And, what was worse, he seemed…happier.

It hurt her to think that another woman could make him happier than she could, but it was obvious. He would have a smile upon his face at times when he was caught daydreaming, and she had even found bite-marks upon him. He would always have the perfect excuse, having apparently been so good at cheating that the lies flowed freely from his lips…his lips that had been all over another woman's body. It nearly broke her heart to think of whose body it could have possibly been.

She felt sick; she had to sit down. Her legs led her to the couch where she looked at the clock once again. He was an hour late, again. She wanted to go to Reba, but she didn't want to show such a weakness just yet. There was still a chance she was wrong…right?

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The radio blared Beatles music as Brock and Reba lay beneath the covers of her bed. She was never particularly a fan of the group, but Brock had been as long as she knew him. She sighed, feeling the lyrics overtake her mind from one of their many love songs that only sometimes made sense.

"Why would anyone want to kill John Lennon?" Brock laughed at her inquiry, taking her hand in his as she rolled upon her side to face him. "I mean, he was such a peaceful guy, don't you think? Who doesn't like someone who writes songs about peace and love?"

"You don't even like The Beatles."

"I don't dislike them. I just think it's a sad thing, you know." He couldn't help but laugh at her for sounding so…

"You sound like you're stoned."

"I've never." She slapped at him, feigning offense to his words. He seemed unfazed, however, and simply reached for his cellphone which was resting upon the bedside table.

"I know you haven't, no matter how hard I tried." He turned back towards her and opened the camera on his phone. Before she even had time to think, he took a photo of her. She gasped and placed her hand over the screen.

"What the hell are you thinking? You really think documenting yourself in bed with me is a good idea?"

"I just like the way you look like this. Come here." He tried to pull her to his side, taking pictures the whole time she struggled to get away from him. He began to tickle her sides, and she became weak to his hands and began to giggle. He took a few more photographs before looking into her eyes, bringing some seriousness to their moment. He leaned forward and kissed her, taking one more photo before he pulled away and laid his phone upon the table once more.

"Please delete those when you leave. It's asking for trouble."

"We're already in trouble. Right now it's just a question of when we'll be caught." She licked her lips, thinking about his words. They sent a small panic throughout her mind, increasing her heart-rate.

"Oh…" He moved on top of her, trailing kisses from her lips and down her neck, but she was still distracted by his remark. "Wait…do you really think that?"

"Your heart is pounding." He placed one more kiss between her breasts before sliding his body up hers to meet her eyes, finding them full of uncertainty. "I didn't mean to freak you out."

"But what will happen if…" He kissed her to silence her fears.

"Don't talk about it. That's breaking the rules." She nodded, but it didn't ease her fears at all. He leaned down and kissed her, dipping his tongue into her mouth and igniting the fires before they became one once more, and he went home to a wife who would only smile and ask how his day had been.