Thanks for all your love for Alice. We swear, when it comes to angst in this story, that's the most we'll get!
Thank you for your reviews. We read and value every one we get! Thanks to Pamela for prereading!
-5-
Rosalie
2021
Cincinatti, Ohio
Two AM might be a terrible time for most people to sign up to go back to school, but here I am, filling out financial aid paperwork and picking out the courses I'm going to apply for.
Things at the station could not be going better, but there's more out there for me and I can feel it. I've grown restless over the years. Since my promotion from Assistant to Producer, I've found myself growing stagnant, and not just at work.
I've realized how short life is, though. My girls and I have been slapped in the face — brutally — with that reality when we lost Peter.
I had to stand beside my best friends in the whole world while one of them lowered her husband into the ground with her little girl clutching to our legs.
It makes you realize what's important very fast. It makes you realize where your life has gone wrong, what really brings you joy and makes life worth living, and what you need to change to be happy.
My career is only one of those things, but it's the easiest one to tackle. The one facet of control I have in my life— the only thing that's all mine.
Royce doesn't know. I'm not sure why not— I share absolutely every detail of my life with him, but I'm not ready to share this just yet.
Our life isn't perfect, but no one's is.
We're still in the same tiny apartment we moved into almost three years ago when we got married. I drive the same car, our bank accounts sit with roughly the same dollar amounts. There's been some increase in income on both our parts, but it never meant an increase on our standard of living or even our savings accounts.
It just meant he spent more.
It's not all on him. Sometimes it's been me, too.
But with him all the way down the hall, hiding away in the room he has claimed for his own and filled with electronics to distract him, some days, I worry that it's me he needs a distraction from.
I wouldn't say the playful, kind, driven man that I married is gone, really, but somewhere along the line we've gotten complacent. We're ships in the night, passing between shifts at the station for me and his work as a software programmer.
Marriage isn't exactly what I thought it would be. Not that I ever had a healthy example of what it should be.
I love him, though, so it's okay. I made a commitment, and I'll keep making moves to keep us out of the trenches so we can look back on all of this someday and say "things were rough for awhile, but we fucking made it."
I can't contain my excitement a couple of weeks later when my classes have all been registered for and I'm ready to surprise him with the news of me returning to school. I typically can't keep a secret from this man to save my life, but it was too damn important for me to see the look of pride on his face when he sees the steps I'm taking for our future.
He comes home in a foul-ass mood, but it doesn't stop me. I know this will turn him around.
So I don't say a word to him when I hand him the pamphlet of the program I've signed up for.
"What the fuck is this?" He asks, brows knit together while his honey brown eyes skim over the pictures.
"It's a graphic design program," I say simply, wanting him to put the pieces together. We may not have agreed I would take this course, but I've been mentioning it for months. If he listens, he'll know what that means.
"Uh-huh…" he hedges, tossing it down on the linoleum of our kitchen counter before he grabs a drink from the fridge.
"Royce," I place my hand on his arm, but he doesn't even look at me. "I enrolled. I'm going back to school. I got it all funded, and when I'm done I can make twice what I'm making now."
The massive bubble I've built up in myself is only growing in anticipation of him getting it.
"No you won't," he huffs. "Graphic design is a dying industry. There are too many apps that do the work for you."
He doesn't even glance over his shoulder at me as he shatters my bubble of excitement.
"Maybe, but I have a personal touch I can add and I'm already in the music industry. It opens the world up for me; I can get paid for making flyers, designing websites. I could even use the experience to manage a band or something someday." It doesn't take much for me to go from zero to pissed at his negativity.
And when his response is to scoff at me, I see red.
I don't even hear the other pessimistic bullshit he hurls at me, I'm so livid.
"So, you don't want me to do it?" I ask, crossing my arms across my chest.
"I think it's a waste of fucking time and money, but you're grown. Do what you want. Are you gonna go get us dinner tonight?"
I swear this man would starve if I didn't make or get him food every night.
"You know what, Royce? Figure out your own fucking dinner."
My foul mood lasts all through the night, long after Royce slips into his game room for the night, when he slips into our bed and keeps a valley of distance between us, and into the next morning when I'm slamming things around my office in frustration.
"Whoa, killer, who pissed in your cheerios?" I hear from the door behind me while I'm mid-slap on the printer that won't. Fucking. Print.
"This printer has one fucking job, you'd think it could manage that," I huff, spinning around to meet my intruder eye-to-eye.
Emmett McCarty, the man who has single-handedly plucked our tiny little station out of mediocrity and launched it into the orbit of the Midwest's leading sources for new music.
He's gorgeous, of course. Much prettier in person than the pictures on his Instagram, and that's saying a lot. But it's not the tight fitting white t-shirt stretching across the muscles of his chest and straining around his biceps, ink crawling up his arms and beneath his collar.
I don't have much ink, myself. Royce always commented against it, and I've never been one to do things he didn't agree with.
But it's not even him that makes me drool and lunge across the room.
It's the cold brew in his hands that I know has my name on it.
The life-sustaining nectar that gets me through all of my bad days.
"Oh thank fuck," I croon, plucking the drink from his hand and tilting it back with the same desperation of a stripper on a dry Tuesday night.
When the drink hits my tongue, though, I'm really blown away.
"Is that cinnamon dolce?" I ask, astounded.
"Yeah. Isn't that what you like? Venti sweet cream cold brew with cinnamon dolce instead of vanilla, right?"
He's standing there like it's no big deal, and I guess it's not, but at the same time no one has ever remembered my order before. Not even Royce. Hell, not even my girls, but that's only because we don't see each other as much and my drink order has changed since college.
"Cool. So a practical stranger can wrap his head around who I am, but my husband can't even see what's right in front of his face."
I hate that tears are pricking my eyes now. I hate that I'm showing emotion in front of a colleague. I hate that my husband hasn't touched me in so long that my skin lights on fire when Emmett places a comforting hand on my shoulder.
"Hey, it's alright, Rose. Men are stupid as shit, ya know? I'm pretty dumb myself. I can't tell you how many times I've been blind to how lucky I was." He soothes, his hand gone as soon as it's there. "Can I, uh…" he uses the hand that was just on me to scratch the back of his head. "Can I ask what happened?"
I want that hand back on my shoulder, but this encounter is already unprofessional enough.
"I went back to school." I state, watery eyes focused on the band poster covering the wall in front of me as I flop into my office chair.
"That's fucking awesome!" Emmett's outburst draws my eyes to his face and it's everything I wish Royce's had been. Lit up with excitement and positive I won't do anything but succeed. Fucking supportive.
It's a face that drops when he sees that I don't respond with the same energy.
"What? It is. It's fucking bad ass."
"Not according to my husband," I shake my head, clutching my coffee to my chest. "He thinks it's a waste of time."
"Bettering yourself is never a waste of time, Rose. You have to see that. I don't know the guy, but fuck your husband."
I can't help the incredulous laugh that escapes my lips. The balls on this guy.
"Emmett…" I sigh, standing from my chair. "Thank you for the coffee, but I shouldn't be talking to you about this."
"Maybe not, but," he shrugs. "I'm here and you need someone to listen to you."
"You're here to work at the station," I press, adding stronger bricks to the walls that I've surrounded myself with on every word.
He studies me for a moment, eyes swimming with things he doesn't say out loud, and then he nods.
"Okay. But if you change your mind, you have my number and I can assure you there won't be any HR bullshit. You need a friend, I'm available to be one. Just don't forget."
And I won't. Not in the long run. But for now I have to.
. . .
I cheated on my husband.
I made the active choice to sleep with a man that wasn't my husband, and I'm not even remorseful.
Except now, there is a hole in my chest that tells an entirely different story than how the past fourteen days have been. It pays no mind to the blinding joy that is now suffocating me as I panic alone in my room as I wrap my head around my lack of reaction. Before these last two weeks, I couldn't tell you how long it had been since I had taken a full, lung-filling breath.
Fuck, I forgot what it was like to breathe until I came back here. That's how it always is though every summer here in Lighthouse Cove. For fifty weeks of the year, I forget who I am because it never fucking matters anyway. But the other two weeks, the two that matter most to me in the entire year, is when I find myself again. When I remember who I am and how I'm worth much more than how I'm treated.
Last night…it shouldn't have happened. And the second my eyes open, I'm hit with the gravity of what I've done. My marriage has been over for a long time, but one liquor soaked kiss shared with a stranger is apparently all it takes to unravel years of frustration.
It's a truth that slaps me in the face and makes that hole I felt in my chest to start gaping. Clawing at me as the reality sets in. The gravity of every decision I've made up to this point, what it all means. Not just last night, but all the nights before. All the times I spent complacent, checked out, zoned out of my own life because it was the only way I knew to survive…
And now whoever he was has left and I'm all alone, the false self confidence the liquor brought me last night entirely gone, and the realization setting in that I've never known what it's like to be loved.
Next thing I know, the bed is shaking from the sobs I've held in for far too long, the salt from my tears soaking my pillowcase as I face the consequences of my own actions.
Part of it feels ridiculous. How did I even end up here? But the other part of me, the bigger part, thinks it's about damn time. It's about damn time I break. I've been holding onto the weight of the world for far too long and I'm tired. No, not just tired, I'm exhausted. And it's all hitting me in this moment. This crusty-eyed, sleepy-limbed, sore-all-over moment.
I feel myself sit up, curl into a ball, grip my knees while I let everything I've pent up for the last five years pour out of me. I'm vaguely aware of myself in the mirror off to the side of the TV at the foot of the bed. The scraggly, matted, and knotted blonde hair sticking in every direction. Puffy red eyes, splotchy face…and for the first time in a long time, I wonder where the old me went. When did I lose her? When did I become this person I don't even recognize?
A soft knock on the door only snaps me out long enough to realize that if I don't get up and answer the door, I'll have hell to pay. My girls, who I know are on the other side of said door, are sweet as candy, and they will always be a safe place to land, but I know they'll drag me out kicking and screaming if they have to.
They have before over the years.
My legs are shaky as I make my way to the door, the only comforting factor being the soft carpet beneath my feet that seems to ground me in the way I need at this moment. Right before I reach the knob, Bella's voice breaks through the thick, mahogany door.
"Rose, we know you didn't come back to this room alone last night! I don't care who's still in there, you better open this damn door!"
Jesus. It's a wonder they didn't come banging down the door when they saw I wasn't alone. I can only imagine what they're thinking.
It only takes them a second when I open the door to see my disheveled state and they wrap me in their arms and lead me back to my bed. Words are traded, but I'm not processing what they're saying. Not until the sheets are stripped and we're seated in a row on the edge of my bed with Bella and Alice on either side of me do I take my first deep breath of relief. My warriors. The two people I know would be there for me for absolutely anything at the drop of a hat if I needed them to, including hiding a body.
In fact, the number of times we've planned out that exact scenario would be concerning if you were some sort of official.
"Rose, what the fuck happened last night?" Alice finally blurts after another round of consolations.
I don't know how to give a response that doesn't sound completely pathetic. Not when the truth is that I just needed to feel wanted for the first time in I don't know how long.
"Royce hasn't touched me in about two years," I quietly admit.
They're silent for a moment. It's not like they're surprised; they know I've been unhappy. I don't hide anything from them. As much as I tell them about the little moments of happiness that still pop up in my marriage from time to time, they know most of it is empty.
That's the thing with a broken marriage…it stays broken for a long time because there will always be these little parts of the person you once loved that show through. You'll carry on through anything, fight until you're battered and bloody, just for a slight hope that things might some day get back to how they were at one point.
My fingers fiddle with the edge of my shirt.
Alice opens her mouth to speak, but I'm suddenly filled with the need to defend myself.
"I don't know what happened. It was so fucking cliche," I spit, part of me disgusted, but not with the thought of stepping out of my marriage, but the thought of falling in bed with a strange man. "He just bought me a drink…"
Ten minutes later, we're outside leaning against the white banister that separates the pier from the beach. He's cute. Tall. I'm attracted to him, but I'm not drawn to him. It still strikes me that it was just so easy for him to get me out here. A married woman a couple drinks in, but not drunk enough for it to be indecent. The days of flings and flirty fun are in the past, filled with work and cooking and cleaning and taking care of a husband that only speaks to me when he wants something.
"What do you do for a living?" He asks. And I know he doesn't actually care, but I like that he's pretending.
"I'm in sales." I lie, because it doesn't matter.
He nods. Pretends like it matters to him because that's what he's supposed to ask.
"How about you?" I respond. The banter is as dry as the smoke from our cigarettes furling into the salty air.
"Construction," he shrugs. I also nod. Also just the right amount of interested. At least, I'm pretending to be.
He's looking at me like I'm something to look at. Like I may be a little bit pretty.
I wonder if he notices the extra pounds around my middle. The way my hair never lays just right. All the little imperfections that have turned me into something unlovable over the years. If he does, he doesn't say anything. A few more meaningless words exchanged and he's leaning in. Arms on either side of me, caging me in. And I don't mind. I let it happen. It tastes like cigarettes and desperation, because as soon as I'm touched, as soon as his hands find my hips, I need more.
I wasn't Mrs. King. I was Rosalie again. I was worthy of attention, and affection, and love.
This man isn't going to give me love. I know that. But I cling onto that feeling of being wanted.
All the way back to the house.
Back to my room.
To my bed.
Where we fall in a tangle of blankets and bad decisions.
"Well…was it at least good?" Bella asks excitedly, up on her knees now and vibrating with need for knowledge.
I sigh, throwing myself back on the bed.
"Honestly, I don't think I even know what good sex is any more," I ponder.
"Girl, preaching to the choir," Bella replies, rolling her eyes.
But this isn't girls gushing over a one night stand and we all know it.
We're all silent for awhile. It makes me miss our laughter and the way things have been this whole trip. Even through Alice's grief, we've all had so damn much fun together, because we always do.
"Ya wanna know the fucked up part about it all?"
They both turn to me at the interruption of the quiet.
"I don't feel guilty. At all. I don't feel like a woman who has cheated on her husband."
More silence. Because we all know what that means.
"What do you need from us?" Alice asks simply. Firmly. Like it's her duty to stand by my side in any capacity I need her.
And somehow it's all I need. With six simple words, their strength wraps around me like armor. If I wasn't so sad, I'd straighten my back and hold my head high.
This isn't the first time I'm struck by Alice's selflessness. Her ability to forget everything going on in her life to help her friends. And right beside her is Bella, who I know wouldn't hesitate to fight anyone that messes with me, whether it be with scathing words or her tiny little fists.
"Alice, you don't have-" I begin to protest but I'm, of course, instantly cut off.
"Peter used to say what an asshole Royce was for ages. I know he's cheering you on from wherever he is to see you finally realize that."
My heart hurts for Alice, especially when she grabs my hand and squeezes it in her own, despite the broken heart hidden inside her own chest. Here I am, cheating on the husband I do have, when she lost hers. But I nod like I have been because it's all I can seem to do.
Something has changed. Though this single encounter was meaningless, it has made me realize what a sham my marriage is.
Later in the day, after teary goodbyes at the airport terminal, while I'm looking out of the window of the airplane, I see it.
The horizon.
It's always been ours for the taking. The whole world at our feet to claim anything we damn well please.
Somewhere along the line, I lost sight of that. I accepted that my world was nothing more than the tiny corner of the world I settled in. Somehow I forgot that there's still a whole world out there for me to enjoy, and I'm wasting my time doing anything else.
By the time I get back to Ohio walking through the door of the residence I've lived in since college, I've realized it's not home any more. It hasn't been for a long time.
Royce is nowhere to be seen, but I know exactly where he is. Down that damned hallway that's been getting longer and longer as the distance grew between us, too lost in video games to even yell a hello to me. It gives me the final shell of armor I need to walk down that cursed hallway and say the words I know are about to launch me back into the horizon.
I don't say hello when I open the door. Why should I? He didn't get up to greet me when I've been gone for two weeks. I simply open the door and set life as I know it on fire with four simple words.
"I want a divorce."