Page 40 of Bad Decisions

"I'm being a dick because I told you to go by yourself after you said you wanted to go by yourself?" I said. "Sure. Okay. Whatever." She glared at the side of my head before huffing out another breath, folding her arms over her chest and turning to look out the window. "What?"

"Nothing," she mumbled.

"So, now you're pouting." I laughed humorlessly. "Real mature, Rae." She didn't say anything, and that somehow made it worse.

When Meredith and I fought, I knew to brace myself for whatever vile shit she'd spew. But I spat the same shit back at her. It was what we did. We didn't hold back. We let the other have it and didn't give a shit if we hurt each other’s feelings.

The make-up sex was worth whatever we said. But then we started fighting and not making up, and then life became exhausting.

The point was, I was used to having someone to verbally fight with. I was used to not holding back, or watching my tone, or worrying about what words I was about to say because I knew Meredith wouldn't.

But Reagan was different. Of course, Reagan was fucking different.

"I'm sorry," I finally said. I slid my eyes to her as she wiped roughly at her cheek. My jaw tensed. I wanted to slam my face into a brick wall for making her cry. "Rae, baby, I'm sorry."

"Can you please stop?" she whispered, her voice choked. My hand tightened on the wheel until my knuckles were painfully white.

I went to the pharmacy on the way home, not wanting her to drive while she was upset. She didn't say anything. Instead, she just stayed staring out the window, like I didn't even exist.

I didn’t know how to make it right.

* * *

I saton the couch with my nightly glass of whiskey in my hand. I probably needed to stop drinking every night, but it was hard to give up. It wasn't that I had a problem. If I wanted to stop drinking, I could.

But I didn't want to stop.

I just wanted something that would help me forget everything that had happened and help me sleep. And the thing that helped was whiskey.

After we got home, I put Emma to bed while Reagan showered and took a much-needed nap. I couldn't sleep. So I took my laptop into Emma's room and worked while I watched over her. Every half hour, I got up to check on Reagan. I used the excuse that I needed to stretch my legs, but I knew the truth. I just wanted to check on her, to make sure she was alright. And every time I poked my head into her room, she'd been asleep.

I didn't know if I should wake her or not. She'd slept for hours, and when I finally heard her stirring around, I couldn't make myself open her door to talk to her. Instead, I stayed in Emma's room and when she poked her head in, I pretended like I hadn't heard her, even though I was painfully aware of her every movement.

I took a long pull from my glass, nearly finishing it. We needed to talk. I knew we did. But I didn't want to. I knew she was going to tell me to fuck off, and that what we'd done was insanely inappropriate.

And I should want to back off, right? Knowing how fucked up it was should make me want to back off. But it didn't. If anything, it just made me want her more. Knowing she was off limits made me ache for her in ways I'd never felt before.

But it was selfish of me to put her in that position. She loved Meredith. She'd always thought Meredith walked on water, that she was this perfect God-like creature who did no wrong. It was plain as fucking day she idolized Meredith.

I didn't understand it, but I'd also seen a side of Meredith most people didn't. She kept her bitchiness and craziness under tight wraps. Even though I knew Reagan had witnessed it on more than one occasion, she seemed to ignore or forget about it.

That, I understood.

I tried to do the same thing. Iwantedto remember the good times, especially now that she was gone. It felt weird to remember all the bad—and there was a lot of it.

It wasn't like I wanted to only think about that. I didn't want to hate my wife. I didn't want to regret ever fucking talking to her. I hated myself more and more every day, and now that I was apparently falling for her younger sister, it made me even more sick.

How much more fucked up could I get?

A door opened, and I sat up straighter. I didn’t know why I'd been anticipating Emma to come stumbling into the living room, Uni in hand. But, of course, it wasn't her. It was Reagan.

And fuck me.

She was wearing a pair of tight little yoga shorts and a tight tank top that showed off her toned stomach. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, her face makeup free. I knew I was drooling as I watched her stroll into the living room. She froze when she realized I was there.

"Oh," she breathed, her eyes wide. "Sorry. I didn't know you were in here."

"It's okay." I cleared my throat and clutched the glass tumbler tighter in my hand. "Do you want a drink?"