Page 37 of The Try Line

I force the begrudging tone a bit, because memories of the other shower we took are flashing behind my eyes. The way he threaded his hands into my hair, griping about how he missed it long so he had something to hold on to. Then he fucked into my mouth so hard he had to put a hand behind my head to cushion it from hitting the tile wall.

"And then we both remembered a time way back when, when the roles had been reversed. I'd gotten stupid drunk one night after some asshole broke up with me. I can't remember who."

"Pierce," Janel and I say at the same time.

Laughter bursts out of both of us, and the tension recedes. Then again, it could have just been my imagination. The anxiety of having a secret of this magnitude is going to be the death of me. Honestly, if I didn't think it would kill her to know what we'd done, I'd probably just come clean. I already spend most of our interactions wondering if she knows that I’m thinking about him. Knowing that I actually did something is going to compound that guilt. It’ll probably crush me, eventually.

Jase lumbers down the stairs just as we get the last cushion back in place. I'm about to suggest a movie, or a nap, or anything where no one talks, so I don't have a panic attack. But Janel gets distracted by the dirt and leaves on Jase's shirt and pants and tuts after him to make him change and clean up whatever tiny flecks of dirt she can find. I add it to the mental tally of favors her obsessive compulsions have done for me so I can come back to this moment of relief the next time I feel overwhelmed by it.

The moment the door closes, Jason pushes me against the wall and kisses me so thoroughly, I forget to be discreet and moan loudly.

He pulls back. "You need to relax."

"I can't."

"Try. Or I'll make you."

By the time the door opens again, Jason is vacuuming the stairs and I'm in my office, tucking my spent dick back inside my pants after having my soul sucked out of it.

"You and Jason seem friendly again," Janel says.

We're lounging on the porch swing, enjoying the cooler evening air. Jason and Jase went to the park to run drills. I wanted to go, butsince I lied about having a pulled muscle, I figure I should stay back. Plus, I'm sure Jase and Jason are enjoying some time with just the two of them.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"You keep saying it like that."

"Like what?"

"Yeah. Guess so," she says in a mock deep voice. "I feel like you're trying to blow it off."

"No, I'm not. I just… I don't know, things are awkward. And he's just going to leave again."

"What's awkward about it?" she asks, straightening up like she's putting on her therapist hat. She's good at helping figure people out and managing social expectations. It's one of the main reasons we've become this successful, despite us being such young parents and me being a college dropout with zero prospects or experience. But this isn't something she can help me with. It's not like I can tell her that things are awkward because I've been fucking her brother behind her back and I'm afraid I'm going to spiral when he leaves again. In only four more days.

I clear my throat, trying to think of something to say, but I come up short and take a sip of the spiked lemonade she made to buy myself a few moments. I wince at how strong it is, using the way she giggles at my facial expression as an attempt to distract from her question. It works for a few minutes, and she lays back against the arm of the swing, stretching her legs over my lap. I smile and rub one of her small, pedicured feet the way I've done since she was pregnant. Foot rubs and gentle touches have become a habit over the past eighteen years. It's my way of showing nonsexual intimacy, as if it makes up for my shortcomings in the bedroom. Her toes are an orangey-pink color that reflects the sunset. She wiggles them in my hold.

"I used to be so jealous of the two of you," she says in a small voice. She's looking out at our manicured front lawn, eyes glowing in the light of the setting sun. The blue depths that have always reminded me of him are pensive, almost sad. "You were more in love with each other than you ever were with me."

Every muscle in my body goes stiff at her quiet words, her pained chuckles. I can only imagine the wide-eyed look of fear on my face when she turns back to me. But when she turns her head back towards me, her eyes are unfocused, lost in our past somewhere, in some memory.

"At first I was glad he left. It sounds awful, I know. But I was young and stupid and scared, and I just wanted you to love me. Your friendship was just so deep. It was like no one else existed when you were together. I thought that, without him around, you would finally see me. And I guess in some ways I was right," she sighs, and I force myself to relax. She said friendship. She doesn't know. It's okay. Calm down.

She focuses on me fully, holding my gaze. For the billionth time in our marriage, I wonder if she can see straight through me.

"I quickly realized just how much you lost when he left. I've always known that I can't fill the space he occupied. Even after all this time, the two of you are so tuned to each other. Your bodies literally face each other like plants seeking out the sun. It's not something I can compete with, it's not something that I ever could compete with." She pauses and blinks at me, slowly, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "I'm really sorry, Mik, that I ever made it a contest, even if it was only in my mind."

I open my mouth to say something, to defend myself even though nothing she's said has been accusatory. I'm so confused. It doesn't sound like she knows, but the wisdom of her words and the way her eyes bore into me makes me feel like she might know more than she's letting on.

"You can't imagine the guilt I feel at tearing you apart."

Oh, but I can. I really can.

I set my glass aside and pull her into my lap so I can wrap my arms around her and hug her close, wanting both to soothe her tears and to hide the confused panic on my face. I'm not sure what to say. This feels like the right time to come clean, but what will that accomplish? It'll tear apart our family, hurting the one good thing to come out of this. How could Jase ever understand?

"It's not your fault," I murmur into her sweet-smelling hair. "Jason and I didn't drift apart because of anything you did. We–" I pause, trying to covertly suck air into my lungs. They're squeezed so tight by my aching heart swelling out of my chest. There isn't enough room to hold the amount of oxygen needed to quell some of this panic.

It's on the tip of my tongue to confess everything, to fall to my knees and beg her not to hate me. If she hates me, Jase will hate me. I'll be alone, having accomplished nothing but making everyone miserable for nothing other than assuaging my guilt.

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