“Five minutes. Please,” Shane asked.
Amy steeled herself and debated shutting the door in his face. For a moment she allowed herself to fantasize about slamming his assorted body parts in the door.
When would this kicked-in-the-gut feeling go away? She’d had the wind knocked out of her plenty of times in her life, she’d been assaulted, robbed, harassed, and stalked in her career. Yet none of those experiences came close to the horror of this one. She’d given this asshole her carefully guarded heart and he hadn’t only stomped on it, he’d publically shredded it.
“I’ve made it clear that I don’t want to see or hear from you. I hope to avoid looking at your face for the rest of my life.”
“I’m begging you,” he pleaded.
“There’s nothing you could say that would change anything.”
She glanced up, made it as far as the strong tanned column of his neck, watched his throat work as he swallowed.
“Please,” he said again.
Amy scowled. “Let me grab a jacket.” She was cold from the inside out, despite the warmth of the day. She followed him outside, giving him a wide berth as she moved past, careful not to brush up against his body. She led him down the pathway through the gate to the deck on the side of the house. There was no way she could stand to be in the same room with him. Dizziness surged through her, setting off white spots in front of her vision.
Her chest constricted.
Shoulders hunched, she perched on the edge of one of her new patio chairs.
He sat opposite her. “Cute place,” he said.
She laced her fingers together tightly. Even looking at him now, there wasn’t room for anger, just a stunned disbelief. Her stomach spasmed. How could her brain and her heart lead her so completely astray?
“I’m not going to sit here and make small talk with you,” she managed through a throat thick with unshed tears.
“No. I know. I want you to know—”
God help her she went there. She couldn’t stop the words from pouring out. “Why did you do it? Was it something I didn’t have or—” Her voice broke. There it was. The thing that had been haunting her. That her love—that she herself—was somehow lacking. For all the fury directed at him, it was a raging insecurity driving it. She’d given him her heart, and he went looking elsewhere.
He made a move toward her and she shrank away.
He resettled in his chair, his expression stricken.
“God, no. No! You gave me more than I ever even hoped for, Amy. More than I deserved. You have to know it wasn’t you.”
She started to rise.
He put a hand up. “I didn’t think I’d get caught. Or maybe I was hoping I’d get caught. Despite everything, I wasn’t able to rein in this . . . the part of me that gets its fucked up kicks with strangers. There’s something wrong with me. I tried so hard with you. I didn’t want to do it. I managed to talk myself out of so much of my bad behavior while I was with you. But in the end, I . . . I couldn’t resist the temptation.”
Bile rose and she clenched her teeth. She finally dared to look at his face. This time he was the one who couldn’t meet her eyes. He looked drawn, older than his twenty-nine years.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that.” She stood.
“I fucked up and I’m sorry. I have some understanding of why I did it. Not that it will make any sense to you. It was never about you.”
Furious and dry-eyed she stared down at his blonde hair glinting in the sun. This golden wreck of a man who had permanently damaged her heart. “The fuck it isn’t.”
He looked up briefly, his eyes red-rimmed, his face a pasty white beneath his tan.
“There’s always temptation when you’re in a relationship. It’s not like you don’t notice other people. You make a decision to be faithful and don’t put yourself in harm’s way,” she said.
“I’m trying to tell you that somewhere along the way, sex went from because I can to because I can’t stop,” he managed hoarsely, still unable to meet her gaze.
She stood frozen with disbelief. “What?”
“I don’t drink much or use drugs or . . . or any of that. Instead I have sex. Compulsively. With a lot of different people. I always have. There have been so many women since I was a teenager. And it’s meaningless. And it doesn’t feel good. Not during and definitely not after. It’s been this way for most of my adult life. Until you.”
“What are you trying to say? That you’re some kind of addict? Please,” she scoffed. “Why is it if a guy can’t keep his dick in his pants, it has to be labeled an addiction?”
“All I can tell you is my experience with sex, Amy. And I’m done trying to excuse it. It doesn’t matter why I use sex with strangers, only that I stop.”
She sneered. “This is bullshit.”
He ignored her comment, continuing, haltingly. “My sexual compulsions have jeopardized my career, wreaked havoc on relationships at every level. You recognized that early on, you saw right through me. In Tennessee you called me on it in that hotel room. But you got it wrong, Amy—it’s not that I hate women. I hate myself. And,” he inhaled, “it got worse while I was with you. I was happier with you, had more of a connection with you than anyone else ever in my life, and it was still there. I haven’t had sex with anyone else since I’ve been with you. But . . . ”
Here it comes. Those white spots danced in front of her eyes again and her body suffused with heat.
Oh shit, I should’ve eaten.
She went to her knees on the deck.
Shane rushed over. “Amy? What’s wrong?” He put a hand on her back.
She shrank away. Her vision still hadn’t cleared so she stretched her legs out in front of her and laid down until her head rested on her knees, heart racing. She turned her clammy face toward Shane and he gasped.
“Jesus, Amy, are you sick? You’re so pale and . . . thin.”
She closed her eyes. “I’m lightheaded.”
He kneeled next to her. “Should I get you some juice or something? I have a soda in the car . . . ”
“I don’t have much in the house.” You don’t have anything in the house.
He disappeared for a few minutes and came back with a warm Coke.
She sat up and took the drink from him as he knelt next to her on the patio.
He rubbed his face with his hands, a face contorted by anguish. “I shouldn’t have come here like this, dumping all this on you . . . ”
“How many times, Shane? How many women were there?”
This time his red-rimmed eyes did meet hers. “I haven’t had sex with anyone but you since we started dating. But I have done things . . . things I’m ashamed of.”
Amy pressed her lips together, tears stinging her eyes. “Like?”
“Sexting, touching . . . no kissing, no undressing.”
“Sex?”
“No. I swear it, Amy. But the things I did were things I shouldn’t have done in a committed relationship with you. And my therapist says—”
She raised disbelieving eyes to his face, “You have a therapist?”
“Yeah. Since a few weeks ago. And he tells me I need to be honest with you about where I am, and where I’m going if . . . this is going to work,” he said, haltingly.
She pulled her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.
“This?” She gestured between them. “This is over.”
He hung his head, defeated.
“But I deserve to know everything. Who, what, when . . . ”
He looked at her. “I don’t know who. That’s part of my . . . thing. I don’t know them, other than a first name sometimes and almost never the same person twice. It’s not as,” he paused, “thrilling. But that woman they got pictures of at the bar . . . it wasn’t the first time I’d been out there, trolling. And I’d been close a few times. Really close. But I always pulled back before I took that final step. Before I went home with someone.”
She shook her head. “Is it because I was unavailable when I was on the road?”
“No. Normal people can stay celibate for weeks or months or years in a committed relationship, Amy. It’s not about you,” he repeated.
She knew he had issues, major issues, but she’d let herself believe he cared about her. That she was different, that they had something. And now he was pinning his infidelity on this? He said he was taking responsibility, but blaming it on some compulsion or addiction wasn’t taking responsibility. Nor was it telling her what she needed to know. What is it about me that couldn’t satisfy you?
He spread his hands. “Amy, the relationship I had with you was unlike any I’ve had with a woman. I hadn’t experienced intimacy like that. Even the way we did it—missionary, you remember how much that freaked me out the first time? I never wanted that, and now that’s my favorite way to be close to you. To wrap you up in my body, while I’m so deep inside you, you pull every bad thing out.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Sex with you wasn’t shameful and didn’t leave me feeling empty afterward. I never made that connection before, maybe because I’ve never been capable of true intimacy. But in spite of that, I couldn’t control all the other shit . . . the temptation, the obsession. I wanted to—God! I quit the porn, stopped going to the sites—”
“Porn?” What man with the kind of life he had used porn? Porn was for guys who couldn’t get laid, not guys like Shane who could win a national championship in a sexathalon.
“Yeah. I’ve spent a lot of time online doing that. I stopped looking at it after we got serious. I told myself it was because I didn’t want you to have something pop up when you used my computer or catch me, but I stopped because I didn’t want to use it anymore. ”
She was sure the shock and horror must be reflected on her face. Revulsion had replaced anger.
“My attitudes toward sex are incredibly screwed up. It started back when TruAchord was touring. They’d have parties . . . ”
Her stomach churned and she tried another sip of the Coke, her gaze never leaving his face.
He rubbed a hand across his face. “Fans. Uh, women, though, not girls.”
This had to be the sickest thing she’d ever heard. “Groupies?”
He shrugged.
“Oh my God. And your parents had nothing to say to this?”
“My parents weren’t around. And the label didn’t want the legal problems of us dating underage girls when we were with TruAchord—‘cause you know, with our fan base . . . so they would facilitate . . . things.”
She was sure the revulsion inside was reflected on her face. “Who did?”
He pressed his lips together. “Well, the tour manager, people like that. And it was like parties, but yeah, we were all getting laid. I didn’t have a regular girlfriend until I was twenty. And you know what it’s like on the road, casual or nothing.”
She nodded.
“In my twenties, when I stopped traveling, I met people in clubs and stuff. But old habits die hard and when I got into something, I wasn’t faithful. Not to anyone for any length of time. I didn’t ask for it and I didn’t offer it, until you.”
“That’s pathetic.”
He nodded. “I thought I’d be able to give it up—all of it—when I met the right person. That love would fix what was wrong with me.” He looked up at her, his face drawn. “But it didn’t. And that’s not love’s fault, because I love you so fucking much, Amy.”
She blanched. “You don’t love me like I loved you,” she whispered.
He took her hand, his grip painful.
She withdrew it with a wince.
His expression was tortured. “I loved you then, and I love you now. More than anything. You’re the one who kept telling me how all the problems in my life—the naked picture, the paternity suit, the career problems, right down to my relationship with my sister and her husband—was all because I don’t have a healthy relationship with sex.” He took her hands again. “You were the one who pointed it out time after time, so why is it so hard for you to believe that it isn’t you or how much I love you?”
Her lips twisted. She’d thought all his problems revolved around women—but it was deeper than that. The dots had all been there; she hadn’t connected them.
“I know you must be so disgusted with me. Trust me, it pales in comparison to how ashamed I am. What I’ve become is . . . revolting. I knew when I was hanging over the abyss by my fingernails night after night while you were on the road that I’d hurt you. But if you believe nothing else I’m telling you, please believe that it wasn’t anything lacking in you. You’re amazing.”
His voice broke and when he spoke again, it was hoarse. “You were dealt the same crappy hand I was, family-wise, and yet you’ve adapted and thrived. I’ve wallowed. If that picture hadn’t busted me . . . but I’m getting better.”
She was already shaking her head. She couldn’t get sucked back into this. “The trust is gone, Shane.”
But underneath the anger and humiliation and disgust was a tiny kernel of pity. There was something about the way he described hanging onto the edge of the cliff by his fingernails. The idea of him with other women, touching them while he professed to care for her—it made her want to hurl.
And stab him with something.
“I’ve tried over the years to be in relationships, and with me there are two options: open or over. I end stuff because I don’t want to cheat. And I’ve had some success with open relationships, but they usually go bad too. That wasn’t even something I considered with you, because the idea of you with another man sickens me.”
“Yeah? Then you know how it feels.”
He nodded. “I was in agony over Kyle for a long time.”
She groaned. “For the love of God, Shane, we may as well be siblings.”
“I know, I know. My head knows that, but I have a jealous streak a mile wide where you are concerned. The therapist has been quick to point out the irony.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t be with someone who can’t be faithful.”
He looked gutted. There was no other word for it. He held up a shaking hand. “I think if I do the work, I can be . . . if you could—”
“I’d like you to leave, please.”
“I’m fixing it.”
“I’m sure you are, but I can’t take that chance.”
“Why not?” She watched his throat work as he swallowed. “Because you don’t love me?” He released her hands.
She wrapped her arms around herself. That wasn’t it. Despite everything she still loved him. Didn’t understand him, wanted to kill him, but she loved him.
“My therapist thought you, of all people, might understand.”
She recoiled. “Me? God, Shane, what did you tell him? I’ve slept with a handful of people but . . . but not like that.”
“Not sex, your eating disorder.”
His face crumpled as his gaze swept her body.
She stared, uncomprehending.
Oh.
That’s why what he was saying sounded so familiar. The hanging on by the fingernails. This was no heartache diet, this was her anorexia and exercise bulimia rearing its ugly head again after all these years. She hadn’t taken her recovery seriously, not for a long time. She’d managed with a meeting or some calls here and there during the last few years. But the emotional toll of the end of her career, the cheating, her injury. How could she have missed this?
She looked down at her body, seeing it, really seeing it for the first time. And it all fit together. The crazy self-talk she’d engaged in with her “I’m too heartbroken to eat” and “I’m not skating so I may as well kill myself with three-hour swims and extra physical therapy” excuses.
Here she was, standing at the bottom of the mountain again, like she’d been at seventeen.
My God. I’m right back to where I was before I left the circuit. Only this time instead of “if I were thinner, I could win it all,” it’s “my hip wouldn’t have gone bad.” Or, “if I were thinner, he wouldn’t have cheated.”
She barely recognized herself. How had she dropped so much weight so fast? And it was all a delusion. There was no control—not over food or exercise, not over him or her life—and the decisions about her future that had to be made.
Who did she think she was to judge him? Or Becky for that matter. She was deeply mired in the mud of her addiction and denial.
Tears filled her eyes as she stared at him.
He knew, he must’ve seen it immediately.
“I’m as fucked up as you are,” she said brokenly.
Worry mixed with hope ignited in his indigo eyes and they bored into her. “I thought you might understand. No matter how much I love you, you aren’t going to fix what’s wrong with me, the way I can’t fix you. I have to do that work myself. The way you do. In therapy. With support.”
He offered her another sip of the Coke and she took it.
“There are support groups for sex addiction?”
“My therapist suggested I avoid the groups and work one on one with him. He’s well-known in the field, but there is inpatient rehab—”
“For sex?”
His lips quirked briefly. “You don’t read the entertainment magazines, do you? I’ve known people in the industry who have been in rehab for sex addiction, gambling, you name it. The guy I’m seeing thinks we don’t need to go there, that sessions should get me where I need to be, if I’m willing to work at it. And I am. Please, Amy. Give me another chance. I can’t make too many promises here, but I love you and I’ll be honest with you.”
Looking into that beautiful, ravaged face, she desperately wanted to trust him, believe him.
He took her hand again, gently, staring down at her fingers.
A shiver rode through her body, as she sat, paralyzed with indecision.
He took a shuddering breath and looked up.
“No promises?” she asked.
“Other than my love for you and being honest with you about my feelings, the therapist advises against it.”
Yeah. That’s pretty much how her program had worked. One day at a time.
“I need time to process all this and . . . to get myself back on track.”
He sat back on his heels and took her hand. “I know. Take whatever time you need. I’ll be here, when you’re ready—if you’re ready.”
He came back an hour later with three sacks of groceries. She watched him from the window as he set them on the stoop. Then he returned to his car and drove off. Tears filled her eyes as she got out of the chair, the dizziness and fatigue making sense, and brought the food in.