The Second Time

Tuesday was Terry's favorite day of the week. He liked Fridays, too. But Tuesdays were special. He met Bernice at a motel on the other side of town every Tuesday and Friday, unless they were working a case late—which they both would know since they were on the same crew. Fridays were fun because the end of the week and sometimes they'd go out for drinks with the other detectives before making their separate ways to the motel. But on Fridays, Terry had to look forward to two whole days when he didn't see her. He was stuck at home with Pamela, hating every minute, or else hiding from her at the hospital to visit his sick mother. Tuesdays, though, Tuesdays were right at the start of the week and he had a whole three days afterward to see Bernice.

For almost three years, they went on like that. Pamela never asked questions, she wasn't bright enough to think about it. Whether Bernice's husband had caught on or not wasn't really much of Terry's concern. Jack Waverley was a prick, and Terry almost wished he would figure out the affair so he'd divorce Bernice and Terry could have her all to himself. At least that was the fantasy he carried with him.

On this particular Tuesday, Terry had arrived at their room first. He got undressed down to his skivvies and pulled down the bedspread to lie down and wait for her. He stared at the ceiling and daydreamed about what he wanted to do with her. He'd undress her himself. She usually didn't let him do that, wanted to get right down to it, but he liked the intimacy of it, unbuttoning her blouse, pulling her trousers off her legs, tracing his hands over every gorgeous curve of her body, getting excited as each bit of her got revealed to his hungry eyes. Then he'd lay her down and spread her legs before him and bury his face there, letting the sounds of her moans get him hard as her wetness got all over his mouth. Three times, he decided, he'd make her come three times today. Once with just his mouth, and twice while he was inside her, if he could manage. Maybe he could take her from behind this time. She always seemed to get off pretty good that way.

The door opened, interrupting his planning and bringing in reality. "Terry, I…" she began.

But he didn't let her continue. He scrambled up off the bed and pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard. There wasn't any attempt of talking after that. And just as he planned, Terry started by taking Bernice's clothes off her bit by bit, squeezing and kissing and sucking on all the flesh he could find. She was all soft and warm and beautiful, and he couldn't get enough of her. When she was naked and spread before him, her thighs squeezing his head, he couldn't help but give a growling sort of laugh, so pleased was he with her response to his efforts. And as soon as he flipped her over and grabbed her hips, she leaned back into him and moved against him with every thrust. Bernice cried out in pleasure, and it took everything in Terry to hold off just long enough for her to come a third time, just as he wanted. When he finished, he pulled her into his arms and collapsed onto the bed.

Bernice lay in Terry's embrace as they both tried to catch their breath. She shouldn't have let him do that. But he was just so bloody good, she couldn't resist. And that was just the problem. They'd been keeping up with this for years, and miraculously, they hadn't been caught. But that couldn't last forever. She had let him take the lead—which she didn't always allow—because she needed it. She needed him. Just one last time, she needed him. Needed to feel his brash power, his frighteningly delicate care, his hidden kindness. Because she knew she would miss it.

Terry pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, and Bernice felt tears spring up in her eyes. This was it. "Terry," she began again.

"Yeah?"

She rolled over to face him. "I've…I've got some news."

He frowned, not liking the sound of that. "What news?"

Bernice suddenly didn't like the idea of being naked in front of him as they had this discussion, but she couldn't very well go shower and get dressed again, not now that she'd begun. She sat up and leaned against the headboard, running a hand through her hair. "I've made sergeant."

That wasn't what Terry had expected her to say. "Bloody hell, that's great, congrats!" He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "That's good news, isn't it? I mean, you've wanted to move up the ladder."

She nodded, trying to swallow back the lump in her throat. "But that means this can't continue."

"Why not?"

"Well, I'll be away at training for a few weeks, and then I don't know where I'll be assigned. I'm hoping for Organized Crime, I know they've got an opening there, but it's definitely not going to be Homicide."

"And what does that have to do with us? You think we can't screw when we aren't on the same crew anymore? It might be a little less convenient, but we can figure it out. Hell, it might be a turn-on to root a sergeant," he teased.

Part of her wanted to laugh, but she couldn't bring herself to it. "There's something else. Why we can't continue."

"What's that?"

"I'm pregnant."

Terry felt the blood rushing in his ears. He might have blacked out for a minute. Was he still sitting upright? He wasn't sure.

In a desperate need to fill the awkward silence and perhaps get Terry to do something other that stare blankly into space with a horrified look in his eye, Bernice went on, "So obviously we can't carry on like this. Probably wouldn't be good for the baby, and you won't want me when I'm fat anyway. And I've gotta get ready for motherhood. Somehow."

"Does he know?"

"Who?"

"Jack. Your dickhead husband. Does he know?"

"Not yet. I'm going to cook him a nice dinner on Friday and put on some music and light some candles and tell him he's going to be a father."

"Oh bullshit!" he cried out. "If Jack Waverley fathered that baby, I'm a bloody monkey!"

"Then climb a tree and eat a banana, Terry!" she shouted back. And with that, Bernice got up from the bed and went into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. It was time to get cleaned up and get out of there.

Terry sat in the bed next to the wet patch where they'd shagged and tried to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do. No matter what Bernice tried to pretend, Terry was certain he was the one who knocked her up. It was stupid of them, not to be better about protection. Even if they had a schedule for their affair, it always seemed to be the heat of the moment between them. And given that, it was even a bit surprising it had taken three years for her to get pregnant. Though she was about thirty-five by now, wasn't she? She probably didn't have much time left on the biological clock.

He scrubbed his face with his hands and groaned. He was going to be a father. He needed to take care of things. Jack Waverley certainly wouldn't. As soon as he found out his wife had a bun in the oven that he hadn't baked, he was sure to leave her. He'd been threatening it for years. That was the only reason why Bernice came to the motel twice a week, because her marriage was dead already. She was married in name only, just like Terry was. And if it weren't for his saint of a mother barely hanging on to life, Terry have kicked Pamela to the curb two weeks after the honeymoon.

The shower turned off and Bernice came out of the bathroom a minute later wrapped in a towel. Her hair was damp on the ends where she'd gotten it under the water. It was Terry's favorite way to see her, all scrubbed clean.

She went around picking up her clothes from where he'd strewn them across the floor. Terry sat there, half-dressed himself, and watched her. "Don't go," he begged quietly. That wasn't all he wanted to say, but it was all he could bring himself to say in that moment.

Bernice left her blouse untucked over her trousers and pulled on her jacket. She gave him a tight-lipped, strained smile. "I'll see you around the station, Terry," she said, opening the door and walking out before she said anything more. It took everything in her to close that door behind her, to walk down the hall and back to her car. She'd managed to keep the tears from falling in front of him, but she was sobbing by the time she got to her car. If she hadn't been worried he would find her and convince her to do something else she'd regret, she would have sat there and cried and cried and cried. Instead, she wiped her eyes as best she could and sped off home.

Terry took his time getting all dressed before going home himself. Until Jack actually did leave Bernice, Terry knew he was stuck. He couldn't do anything yet. He wanted to, wanted to take charge and figure everything out for her. But he couldn't. Not now.

He was in a foul mood by the time he parked his car in the drive. Shockingly, Pamela came out front to greet him. She was crying.

"Oh, Terry! I tried to call you at the station, but they said you'd gone!"

"I was out with some mates," he lied. "What's wrong?"

"Your mother, Terry. I'm so sorry, your mother passed today. I got a call from the hospital a few hours ago," she sobbed.

A terrible crushing grief settled over Terry, but it also filled him with a strange lightness. "Pamela," he said hoarsely, the emotion of all the day's news hitting him hard. "I want a separation."

Her bony jaw dropped. "You what?"

"We live separated for a year and then apply for divorce and go our own ways. I'll pack up my stuff tonight and stay in a hotel till I find my own place. You keep the house. I don't need it."

"Terry, it's the shock of the news, you don't…you don't mean that!" she sputtered.

"I do mean it. I only married you because my mum wanted me to. She's gone now," he told her bluntly.

"Don't you love me?" she cried, her tears starting anew.

That question sat heavily upon him. Once upon a time, he might have been able to tell her yes. Even a year ago, he might have been able to lie to her face. But not anymore. Not when he had his mother to bury and a child on the way. So instead, Terry just said flat out, "No, Pamela. I don't love you."

He pushed past her and went in the house to fill a carryall with some clothes and things he'd need for a few days. There was a hotel right near the police station. He'd get a room there.