By the time I pulled into the church parking lot, the service had already started. I knew I’d be walking in late, which was bad enough — but worse was how I looked. I’d raced home with adrenaline still buzzing in my bloodstream, showered in record time, thrown on a wrap dress I hadn’t worn in over a year, and barely managed to swipe on mascara without poking myself in the eye. The dress clung in the wrong places, or maybe I just felt too exposed in it after the night I’d had.
A half-eaten breakfast sandwich cooled in the passenger
seat. My coffee, still hot, was cradled in one hand as I rushed across the lot,
praying I didn’t run into anyone.
God must have a dark sense of humor.
I rounded the corner near the side entrance — and nearly
crashed right into Randy.
“Oh, God—” I gasped as hot coffee sloshed dangerously close
to the edge of the cup.
He caught me reflexively, both hands firm on my arms.
“Careful,” he muttered, eyes darting to the cup.
I stepped back too fast, sloshing more coffee onto my
fingers. “Shit—sorry. I didn’t see you.”
His jaw ticked as he let go of me. “It’s fine.”
But it wasn’t. His voice was flat. The warmth from last
night had evaporated, replaced with a stiff, uncomfortable distance.
Emma and Max stood just behind him. Emma gave me a long,
unreadable look. Not scathing, just... tired. Max, sweet boy that he was,
offered a small, shy wave.
Randy’s eyes flicked down to my hand, still gripping the
coffee cup like a lifeline.
“Rough morning?” he asked.
I couldn’t tell if it was concern or judgment. Maybe both.
“I didn’t plan on… all of it. Got home late, slept through
my alarm, you know how it is.” I forced a smile. “Didn’t want to miss the
service.”
His nod was polite, tight. “Well. You made it.”
I wanted to say something more — something about how I
regretted answering that damn call. About how seeing Vic’s name flash across my
screen had yanked me back into a mindset I thought I’d left behind. About how I
hadn’t slept after Randy walked out of the room, my mind replaying the way he
looked at me — not angry, not cruel. Just… disappointed. And somehow that had
hurt worse.
But the kids were already walking toward the doors, and
Randy wasn’t waiting.
“You good?” he asked over his shoulder.
The question was casual, but my heart stung with how easily
he said it — like the night before hadn’t happened. Like I hadn’t slept in his
bed, curled around him, still sore in all the best ways.
“Of course,” I said quickly, too brightly. “Just a little
out of breath.”
He gave me a long, unreadable look before turning and
following them inside.
I lingered on the steps a few seconds longer, breathing in
the cool morning air and trying to slow the tightness building in my chest.
Regret pressed down hard — for answering the call, for not tossing my phone
across the room the second I saw the name. For every damn thing that suddenly
felt messier than it should have.
Inside, the sanctuary was already half-full. I found a spot
four rows behind Randy and the kids. My usual seat — next to them — was
conspicuously empty.
It didn’t go unnoticed.
A few people gave curious glances, double takes, then
quickly looked away. We were a familiar fixture on Sundays — the four of us,
together, no matter what. Whether the kids were there or not, we sat side by
side. Always had. There were nods and smiles exchanged week after week. An
unspoken assumption. A pattern.
And now I’d broken it.
I sank lower in my seat.
The preacher’s words washed over me like background noise —
all forgiveness and grace, love and rebuilding — and I tried to take it in. I
tried to tell myself that one phone call, one bad moment, didn’t undo
everything we’d begun.
But I also knew trust didn’t bend easily. It snapped.
And I wasn’t sure if Randy’s had snapped or just bent too
far to come back.
I couldn’t stop looking at the slope of his shoulders. At
how his fingers drummed against the fabric of his jeans in an absent rhythm.
How his jaw clenched slightly when Emma leaned into whisper something. Her face
was set, but it wasn’t pointed at me. Not entirely. She looked at Randy like
she was trying to bore a hole straight through his skull. He caught it out of
the corner of his eye and gave her a gentle nudge, like to say, Enough.
She huffed and faced forward, clearly blaming him. Then —
just once — she glanced back at me. Her expression shifted: a brief flicker of
disappointment, not anger. Like whatever had happened, she expected more. From
both of us — but mostly from him.
After the final hymn, the congregation buzzed with chatter
and the shuffling of coats and programs. I stood, smoothing my skirt, already
plotting my exit — a quick nod to the kids, a polite smile, and out. Maybe I
could beat them to the parking lot.
“Hey!” Max’s voice shot up behind me before I could turn.
He was already tugging at my sleeve, eyes wide and hopeful.
“Are you coming to lunch with us?”
I blinked. “What?”
Emma appeared beside him, arms folded, jaw tight — but not
sharp. Just guarded. “We always go after church. Dad said we might do tacos.”
I looked up and met Randy’s eyes just over their heads. He
was watching the exchange with a kind of wary detachment, like he didn’t want
to step in either way. Like he was afraid of what I’d say.
I gave the kids an apologetic smile. “I don’t want to
intrude. Maybe another time.”
“Please?” Max looked crushed.
Emma sighed, softer now. “Come on. We already saw you here.
It's not like you’re a stranger.” Her tone lacked its usual bite. “Besides,
someone should try acting normal.”
Her eyes flicked to her dad again — pointed, unflinching.
She didn’t say it outright, but it was clear: she blamed him more.
Randy’s jaw flexed. I looked away.
“You already were there last night,” she added, quieter
still — not accusing, just… done pretending.
Max looked between us, confused but hopeful. “Come on. You
already said hi to God. Now it’s taco time.”
Emma shifted her stance and added, “Please. You don’t have
to sit next to him or anything.”
That landed hard. On both of us.
I glanced again at Randy. He was unreadable.
I hesitated… then nodded slowly. “Okay. Tacos it is.”
Max fist-pumped like we’d won a prize. Emma turned without
comment, already walking ahead.
Randy waited until they were out of earshot before stepping
a little closer.
“You didn’t have to say yes.”
“I know.”
We stood there a beat too long. His eyes searched mine,
guarded, but flickering with something I couldn’t name.
“Thanks,” he said finally, voice low. “For not making it
more awkward than it already is.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” I said, starting toward the exit. “I’m
sure there’s still plenty of awkward left.”
He gave a short, reluctant laugh — the first real thing
between us all morning.
And somehow, that sound cracked open just enough space to
hope.
The taco place Emma picked was a town staple — no-frills,
picnic benches out front, and the kind of slow-cooked meat that melted in your
mouth. Normally, I would’ve looked forward to it. But today, everything felt
like a test I was bound to fail.
Randy didn’t sit next to me. He barely looked at me. His
words were reserved for the kids, and even those came in short, clipped bursts.
Max talked about his science fair. Emma stabbed her taco with more force than
necessary.
At one point, she cut her eyes at Randy and muttered, “You
could at least pretend to be human.”
He looked at her. “Emma.”
She crossed her arms. “No. You’re the one being weird.”
I winced.
“I didn’t do anything,” he said evenly, but that only made
her scoff louder.
“Exactly,” she said under her breath. "You did something early this morning...you scared her off."
She looked at me next — not angry, just a flicker of weary
disapproval. “And you didn’t stop it.”
I blinked. “I—what?”
Emma shook her head and stood, grabbing Max’s drink cup.
“Whatever happened, just fix it. Or don’t. But stop dragging the rest of us
through it.”
And just like that, she walked off toward the soda machine with Max.
Randy and I sat there in silence, the weight of it heavier
now that the kids were gone.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “For this morning. For the call.
For all of it.”
He looked at me, and for a second, something shifted in his
eyes.
“You didn’t owe me anything,” he said quietly. “But I wanted
you to want to be there. With me. No past. No ghosts.”
“I did want to be there. With you.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s what made it hard.”
At our cars, the kids already strapped in and occupied with
their phones and leftovers, we lingered — just for a moment. The breeze kicked
up dust around our ankles. He looked at me like he wanted to say more, but
didn’t trust himself to.
Then — quiet, hesitant — he stepped forward and kissed me.
Soft. Slow. Forgiving. Nothing rushed. No urgency. Just
warmth, passionate and the tentative hope that maybe we hadn’t broken the thing we
were building. His hands on my hips, pulling me closer to him. I could feel that he was ready for heated intimacy again. As he slid his tongue in my mouth, his hands roamed my body…his hands finally rested on my breasts.
When he pulled back, I could barely breathe.
"Fuck, baby," he whispered gently, turning toward his truck.
I stood there in the heat, blinking against the sun and the
tears that hadn’t quite formed yet, knowing one thing with sharp, certain
clarity:
I knew I wouldn’t see him again like this for a while — if
not, again.
I don’t know if I should finally cut Vic loose and try to
repair what’s left with Randy — or if I should stop pretending and let Randy go
instead. Either way, I have to choose. And soon. It’s not simple. I’ve cared
about Vic for years, even if the situation has always been messy. But he’s
never leaving his wife. With Randy, there’s a chance for something more stable,
something honest — but I might’ve already screwed that up. It’s a brutal
choice, and no one can make it but me.
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