The talk

The following morning, my bedroom’s quiet felt unusually heavy, a stark contrast to the lively hum of the beach town and Randy’s constant presence. I pulled myself out of bed and into the shower, the mundane spray a sharp awakening after days filled with passionate steam. The everyday tasks of finishing my laundry and then a necessary trip to the grocery store provided a much-needed tether to reality. As I methodically unpacked the grocery bags and stocked my fridge, a sense of detached calm settled over me. But once the last item was put away, my gaze inevitably fell to my phone. A knot formed in my stomach. It was time. Taking a deep breath, I composed a message to Vince.

Me: "Can you come over later? We should talk."

A tremor of nervousness ran through me, a feeling I tried desperately to suppress. While awaiting his reply, I paced my living room, my mind consumed by a single, insistent question: How much should I tell him about Randy? About the sheer, uninhibited wildness of the past week and a half? The words formed on my tongue, then vanished, replaced by a cold dread. The thought of explaining it all felt impossible.

My phone buzzed, startling me out of my thoughts. It wasn’t Vince. It was Bob.

Bob: "Hey. Just a heads up, I told Vince about Randy."

My jaw dropped. The phone almost slipped from my hand as my fingers flew across the screen.

Me: "You what?! Are you serious, Bob?!"

Bob: "Yeah. Figured he'd find out eventually, and honestly, better from me than you waiting forever to tell him. Plus, he kinda cornered me about why I'd let you go 'off-grid' without telling anyone. I just mentioned sending Randy to check on you. Seemed like the least direct way to break the news."

I stared at the message, a peculiar mix of furious indignation and strange, grudging relief washing over me. At least that particular, daunting decision was now out of my hands.

Minutes later, Vince’s text finally came through.

Vince: "On my way. Be there in 15."

My heart pounded. There was no escaping this conversation now. I forced myself to sit on the sofa, attempting to project an air of calm despite the chaotic storm raging inside me. The doorbell rang with unnerving precision fifteen minutes later.

I opened the door to find Vince standing there, his expression unreadable, a quiet intensity in his eyes.

"Hey," he said, his voice quiet, almost a little strained. "Your brother called me."

"Yeah, I just heard from him too," I replied, stepping aside to let him in. "Come on in, Vince, let's talk. Think we’ll be comfortable in the living room."

He walked in, his gaze sweeping over the familiar comfort of my living room before finally settling on me. He sat down on the sofa, a little stiffly. "So, Bob said he sent Randy to check on you and that Randy stayed. And that you two were together." He paused, his eyes searching mine, a flicker of raw pain finally visible in their depths. "That true, Deppgrl?"

I swallowed hard, the truth a bitter, metallic taste on my tongue, but there was no point in denial. "Yeah, Vince, it's true. Randy was there, and yeah, we were together."

A heavy silence descended between us, the air thick with unspoken emotions. "Can I get you a drink, Vince?" I asked, pushing myself up from the sofa. "Something strong? I could definitely use one."

He nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on me. "Please."

I went to the liquor cabinet, my hands steady as I poured two generous glasses of whiskey. Handing him one, I sat back down, taking a fortifying sip of my own, feeling the warmth spread through my chest.

"Did you think about me at all while you were gone?" Vince asked, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with a raw vulnerability.

I met his gaze, the alcohol beginning to warm my throat, encouraging a difficult honesty. "The first couple of days, yeah, I did," I admitted, my voice soft. "But once Randy kissed me... that was kind of it for me, honestly."

He took a slow sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving mine, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "How often were you two, uh, together?"

It was hard to admit, knowing the hurt it would cause, but I met his gaze directly. "Every day," I said, leaving it at that, not elaborating on the intense, relentless nature of those encounters.

Another silence stretched, heavier than before, filled with the quiet clink of ice in our glasses. Vince finally broke it, his voice a low, resigned rumble. "So... what does that mean for us, Deppgrl? What do you think we should do?"

I took a deep breath, the whiskey burning a path down my throat, fortifying me for the words I knew had to come. "I think we should break up, Vince."

His eyes widened slightly, a flash of hurt, then confusion. "Break up? Why, Deppgrl? "

"I do love you, Vince, I really do. But... I still have feelings for Randy. I never really gave him a chance after he kept bringing his snooping kids here uninvited."

"I thought that you hated his kids," he whispered, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before downing it in one gulp.

"I do, but they’re with their mother most of the time anyway,” I explained, the words feeling feeble. "I made a rash decision without really giving him the benefit of the doubt. Vince, I’m sorry."

"Were you going to tell me?" he asked, his voice strained.

"Eventually," I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "It wasn’t going to be today, but it was going to be in the next week.”

"Deppgrl?" he said, pushing himself up from the sofa. “I agree that we should break up. It can’t be both he and I; it has to be one of us. I wanted a lifetime with you. I still do,”

He walked over to the counter, placing his empty glass down, then picked up mine and placed it beside his. He returned to me, his breathing heavy, his expression tight with emotion.

"My god, woman," he groaned, taking my face between his hands, his thumbs caressing my cheeks. He then kissed me passionately, deeply, his lips bruising mine. "I love you so damn much, but you can’t see it. Dammit!"

Without another word, Vince picked me up, carrying me upstairs to my bedroom as if I weighed nothing. He began to strip, his movements urgent, and I, in turn, started to shed my own clothes, my fingers fumbling with buttons and zippers. He laid me gently on my bed, and as I instinctively spread my legs in invitation, he mounted me, his body heavy and warm against mine. A loud, visceral scream of pleasure tore from my throat as he sank into me.