Dirty Little Secrets (21 page)

Her mouth was dry. “In the bathroom,” Megan said, her voice croaking. She could feel her voice vibrating within her skull.

A few seconds later James was above her. She opened her eyes long enough to see the worry painted on his dark features. His brows were knit together in concern. Beautiful black eyebrows marred only by a tiny pink scar that ran perpendicular to his right brow.

“Here, give me our arms,” James commanded. He was there, strong and in control, being the man she needed.

“Your cast is off,” Megan said, and a fresh tide of guilt hit her as she realised how long it had been since she had last seen him, since she ran and did not look back.

As if he was reading her mind, he said, “It’s been a while. Arms,” he commanded again.

Without questioning, she raised her arms and effortlessly he lifted her out of the tub. He held her pressed tight to his broad chest as he carried her to her bed. “Were you trying to drown or boil yourself, love?” His voice was deep and soft.

There was so much she wanted to say to him but pain and embarrassment kept her words locked away. “Thanks for coming, you didn’t have to,” was all she could manage.

“Of course I had to come. You needed me,” he said as if her reasoning was obvious and incontrovertible. She needed him so he was there, no questions, no judgement.

Megan swallowed past the lump in her throat. He was too good for her. She didn’t deserve him. She deserved to be shouted at and told to fuck off. She didn’t deserve his kindness and she wasn’t sure how to accept it. She wasn’t used to someone giving freely of themselves without strings or caveats. She had no words to express what she was feeling so she said, “Thank you,” and when he smiled she knew they were enough.

James held out a white paper pharmacy bag. Megan took it and reached in for one of the prefilled syringes. She ripped open the pack and took off the grey rubber stopper before she plunged the needle deep into the flesh of her stomach. The medication tingled as it filled the layers just below her skin. Megan exhaled as she fastened the safety cap to the needle and set it on the bedside table. “I should be back to normal in fifteen minutes. Well, normal for me…I’m sorry.” She squeezed her eyes shut. She might cry…if her body remembered how. She had been so horrible, her reaction to him so embarrassing. Who freaked out when a wonderful man called them his girlfriend? Crazy bitchy people, that’s who.

James laid a hand on the base of her bare back. “Normal is overrated. It bores me. I would take caustic and brilliant over normal any day. Turns out it is my type.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

Megan managed a faint smile in return. “Why are you nice to me?” She lay down on the bed and pulled the duvet high around her bare shoulders. She rolled away from him and pressed her hand into her temple again.

James ran his hand over her hair. “You deserve someone to have your back, Megan. If you don’t want it to be me, find someone else.”

“You told me no one would put up with my bullshit.”

James’ hand encircled hers. With his strong fingers he pressed into the delicate hollow of her forehead. “Here?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. The pain was starting to dull, a combination of the medication and his hand on her head. He was able to apply a pressure she couldn’t. “You don’t need to stay here. I’m going to try to sleep this off. Thank you, James. You’re so kind.”

“You set the bar too low, woman. When someone needs you, you man up, it’s not a matter of kindness; it’s just what you do. Any man who doesn’t isn’t a real man.” He was talking about Ben, but she did not acknowledge it or try to defend her husband.

“Thank you, James. I wish all men were as good as you, even if it means I would be out of work.”

James chuckled softly. “High praise indeed. Now go to sleep. I will let myself out once you’re asleep and make sure no one sees me. If you need anything, call me.”

“You’ve already done so much. Why were you at the White House?”

“I had a meeting with the press secretary.”

“Sorry I took you away from that. Can you get back? Go now, I’m fine.”

James’ fingers never left her temple. “Shh, Megan. This is where I need to be. I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

Megan closed her eyes and let sleep lull her into the sweet release of unconsciousness.

James waited until he was sure Megan was properly asleep before he rolled away from her. He laced his fingers behind his head and stared up at the darkened ceiling. There was not a clock in sight but he would guess it was almost eight. If Megan was lucky she would sleep through the night and wake up migraine-free.

Slowly he stood up so he would not disturb her. He walked through the arched doorway to the bathroom. It looked like a bomb had gone off. James opened the cupboard and re-shelved all of the items that were strewn around the sink. Megan must have been in agony to let the room get in such a state. She could not even bear to put down a drink without a coaster. If she woke up to this mess, she would not be pleased.

Why he still cared about pleasing her was beyond him. But he had an unexplainable need to look after her and protect her, maybe because her asshole of a husband never stepped up to the plate on that front. She needed someone to take care of her. Most people didn’t even know that about her. She was so good at coming across as cold and in control, but he knew that was only part of her. There was another part that was soft and fragile and needed to be looked after.

James finished cleaning up the bathroom and then got ready to leave. As he passed a mirrored vanity, he saw a card with his name on it above a large flat box. His eyes narrowed as he examined the parcel. He picked up the card and opened it. Written on monogrammed paper was the simple inscription ‘To James’.

She hadn’t even bothered to sign it. He would not have known it was from her except for the embossed M on the bottom of the crisp white sheet. He shook his head. It wasn’t like Megan to be so terse.

From the corner of his eye he saw a scrunched up piece of paper, the only item in the leather dustbin. He took out the paper and read it.

Dear James
,

I have been thinking about you. If I am completely honest, I have thought about little else since I last saw you. I am sorry. I wish there was a more eloquent way to say it. The way I acted was horrible and inexcusable. Sadly, that could describe a lot of my interactions with you. Again, all I can do is apologise. I won’t insult you by trying to defend my behaviour
.

When you said I was your girlfriend, your first girlfriend, I panicked. And not just for me, I panicked for you. If you want your first anything to be special, don’t share it with me. I will ruin it. I’m sorry your first real relationship could not have been special. I know your next relationship will be, because you are lovely and kind and deserve someone just as wonderful. James Emerson, you are the nicest man I have ever known
.

I hope you like the picture. When I saw it at the exhibition, I knew you needed it. I was always scared of being the tree, but it turns out I am the boy who kept taking even when there was nothing left to give
.

Love
,

Megan the wombat

There was no question; whatever was in the box was meant for him. He could wait and see if Megan ever gave it to him, but if he waited he might never know.

Carefully he opened the lid of the box. He let out a long stream of air when he saw the picture. It was perfect, so simple, so Megan. She remembered. He lifted the drawing and examined the signature of Shel Silverstein in the bottom corner. Megan had bought him a signed illustration from
The Giving Tree
. The drawing was from the end of the book, when the tree had been cut down and had nothing left to offer the boy—who was now an old man—except a place to sit. A tight pressure squeezed his heart. Was that how she saw herself? The one who could only take? James shook his head as he gently placed the illustration back in the box. She gave so much. She gave her loyalty, her love, her reputation. She gave everything she had. But she had given them to the wrong man.

As quietly as he could James crawled back in bed beside her and held her as she slept. Gently he placed his hand around her waist. He breathed in the clean sweet scent of her hair and listened to her slow deep breaths, thinking about the impossible situation he had found himself in. The easiest part of their relationship was that she was married to another man, from there it got complicated. He could fix the married to the wrong man part. He couldn’t fix her. He couldn’t stop her panic or her need to run from him whenever he got too close. “If you were mine, I would take better care of you,” he whispered into her thick hair, his words lost to the night.

Eventually he realised he needed to leave. He didn’t want to but he had to. Megan would be devastated if the press saw him leaving her house. He suddenly realised that he could stop any pictures from going to print. He had always known it, but it was the first time he had actually considered it. He closed his eyes and pushed the thought back where it belonged. He would never do that. He couldn’t, not even for her. The only thing a man had was his integrity. He wasn’t his father and he would never lie and he would never interfere with the free press.

Chapter Fourteen

Megan stretched her arms above her head as her eyes adjusted to the bright morning light. Her hand absently touched her temples. Her headache was gone.

Thanks to James.

“James,” she sighed. Her heart hurt when she thought about him. She would never be nice enough or good enough for him. Ben was right: it was unbelievable that James had slept with her. Her gaze went to her dresser where the picture was—or where it was meant to be. Megan stood and crossed the room. James must have taken it. She was glad he had. It was for him, she wanted him to have it. She hoped he didn’t think it was silly. When she had seen it, she knew James needed it. Or maybe she needed James to have it, to know how she felt. She was surprisingly inarticulate when it came to explaining precisely how she felt but the simple sketch said it all.

Megan slipped on a pink bathrobe and went downstairs to make a pot of coffee. On the marble counter top was a plate with two croissants—one chocolate the other almond—and a note.

Megan unfolded the note as she bit into the almond croissant. So that is what his handwriting looked like—strong and bold, just like him.

Hope you are feeling better, my little wombat. Thank you for the picture. I love it. I now have two things that will come with me when I change continents. When I look at it I will always remember one incredible spring with my first girlfriend—a certain feisty, perfectly bottomed DA
.

Love
,

James

Megan folded the letter and held it to her chest. She squeezed her lids together until the pressure behind her eyes started to ease.

God, she was so stupid. What was she doing? Circumstance was going to rip them apart soon enough, why was she letting what little time she had with him slip away? She was happy when she was with him. Well, as close to happy as she could ever be. Didn’t she deserve a little happiness?

She lifted the bottom of her robe until it was around her knees so she could run up the stairs without risk of falling. She did not stop running until she reached her bedroom. She grabbed her phone and typed in his number as fast as her fingers would allow.

He answered on the fifth ring. She glanced at the clock and realised it wasn’t even seven. She had probably woken him.

“I’m sorry,” she said when he answered.

“You OK, Megan?” She had woken him. He had the deep raspy voice of a man ripped from sleep.

She nodded. “I’m…” She thought what she was. She was happy, she was grateful, she was scared she was going to ruin things or that James would realise he deserved better. “I’m good. I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you, James.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Megan. I’m just glad you’re feeling better.”

Megan took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She was standing at the edge of a cliff. She could run back or she could jump.

She chose to jump.

“James. Would you like to go for a picnic with me? I know a place along the river where no one will see us… I just thought it would be nice to spend some time together, but if you’re busy… You’re probably busy. I just—”

“Stop talking, woman. I’ll pick you up right after Mass.”

Her eyes flew open. “Mass? You’re Catholic? How did I not know that?” Megan asked, surprised by the information and even more surprised that James went to church at all. She had seen him cross himself once but she assumed he was joking.

“I am. You were too busy using me for my body to care about my soul,” James said. She could hear in his voice that he was smiling.

Megan shook her head as she thought about the numerous ways she had indeed used his body. “Now I feel a bit guilty, defiling a nice Catholic boy.”

James laughed. “First of all I am not a boy and I’m really not as nice as you think I am. And more importantly God doesn’t give a shit about what we do with our genitals. He’s too busy dealing with the universe and all that to worry about our sex life so feel free to defile me in any way you see fit.”

“I can’t decide if that is blasphemous or brilliant.”

“Come to Mass with me. You can decide then.”

Megan nearly said yes before she remembered she really should be seen in her own congregation. Hopefully Ben would make it so she did not have to sit in the front pew alone. Since the scandal broke she could feel the eyes of judgement burning into the back of her neck. “I’ll pick you up after. Say about eleven? I need to go to the store and pick something up for lunch. Any requests?”

“You pick. See you then. And Megan, thanks for calling.”

In the end Megan skipped church; she could live without being stared at by sanctimonious parishioners. She had committed many sins in her life, but strangely enough, not the ones currently being attributed to her. Instead she devoted her morning to shopping and packing a picnic.