Bound to be Dirty (23 page)

“Not even . . .” He winked suggestively.

“Maybe later.” Definitely later, if things went the way she hoped they did at the stroke of midnight.

Twenty-five

D
ax settled back in his seat as their waiter cleared the empty dessert plates. He felt full and satisfied in a way that went far beyond having eaten a delicious meal. This was right, him and Lily together like this. It was like the good old days, but even better.

A different waiter appeared, bearing a tray of filled champagne flutes. “Happy New Year.” He placed two glasses in front of them, and moved on to the next table.

Dax glanced at his watch. “Ten to twelve. This is the best New Year's Eve I've had in a very long time.”

“Me too.” Her blue eyes were soft and, he thought, loving as she gazed at him. “It's been quite the evening.”

“And quite the trip. When I planned it, I was thinking about the special times we used to have, the special things we shared. I was confused about us, our marriage.”

“Me too.”

“I hoped this weekend would clarify things.” Feeling like he was jumping out of a helicopter without a parachute, he went on. “For me it has. I still love you, Lily.”

Her mouth opened and surprise—pleased surprise, thank God—lit her face.

“You're the only woman I've ever loved. I want to fight for our marriage. I don't want to let it go. Let's try to fix it. I think we can.” He took a breath. “What do you say?”

Her eyes squeezed shut for a long moment. When she opened them, tears welled and one escaped to slide down her cheek. She sniffled, and her lips shaped a trembling smile. “I say yes, Dax. I do love you. I loved you all along, but I tried to deny it to myself because I was afraid you'd fallen out of love with me. I didn't want to let you hurt me.”

“I'd never want to hurt you.”

“I know that now, my love. I trust you with my heart. Yes, I want to fight for our marriage too.”

How long had it been since she'd called him “my love”? The naked emotion on her face confirmed everything she'd said. Pure joy filled his heart. He caught that beautiful face between his hands and kissed her. Her lips quivered against his and tasted of salt as she kissed him back fervently.

When they broke apart, she said, “Oh, my. This is quite an evening indeed.” She swiped her hands under her eyes.

He caught one of those hands, linking their fingers. “We can do this more often. You need to figure out your work situation so you can take time off, and I'll take more breaks, longer breaks. Maybe sometimes you could come up, see where I'm working, meet some of the people.”

“Um . . .” She frowned slightly. “Yes, I'd like to have more getaways like this, and I'd like to meet your colleagues. But I'm not sure what you're saying. How do you see our marriage going?”

He was about to answer, when he heard loud voices calling, “Ten!” Quickly he lifted both champagne flutes and handed one to Lily. Talk about perfect timing. Glass held high, he joined the chant. A countdown to a new year and a fresh, wonderful marriage.

Oddly, Lily's face looked a little strained, but maybe he was imagining that.

“Three, two, one!” The restaurant patrons and staff bellowed, “Happy New Year!”

He clicked his glass to Lily's. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Dax,” she said softly. They both took a drink.

He kissed her again, gently, deeply, sharing his love and joy and hope for their future. She kissed him back, long and slow. He tasted salt again and, sure enough, when they finally separated her cheeks were damp with fresh tears.

She smoothed them away. Voice quivering, she said, “You were going to t-tell me how you envision our m-marriage.”

“More like the first years,” he said eagerly. “We got together as often as we could, and it was great. When we were apart, I still felt close to you. I thought of you all the time, remembered the things we'd done, looked forward to seeing you again.”

“But . . .” That frown line appeared in her forehead. “Is that your vision of a perfect marriage? Both of us on our parallel courses, but getting together more often?”

“Perfect? Well, no, but my vision of perfect isn't going to happen.”

“Tell me.”

Was there any possibility she might share his dream? His heart skipped. “Us living in some beautiful wilderness spot. A small community. A place where I could fly and you could be a doctor, and most nights we'd be home together.”

The way her eyebrows drew together confirmed that this was anything but her idea of paradise. Pragmatically, he went on. “But I know you like Vancouver, you've built your clinic there, you want to stay close to your family. That's why I said it wouldn't happen. And the next best thing would still be pretty good. Don't you think?” It occurred to him to ask, “What's your vision of the perfect marriage?”

Slowly, she shook her head. “One that . . . I guess won't happen either. Yes, being home together most nights. But in Vancouver, and I know you don't want to live there. Having a couple of kids and—”

“Kids? What?” Where had that come from? “You don't want to have kids, do you?”

She gaped at him. “Of course I do. I always have. You know that.”

He shook his head. “A long time ago, you said you did, but we were spinning all sorts of crazy dreams. You haven't said anything about it in a long time.”

“We weren't at that place in our lives. But I'm thirty-two, Dax. My biological clock's ticking pretty fast. Especially when I'm with Sophia. I'm two years older than Anthony and four years older than Regina.”

“It's not a competition.”

“That's not what I meant. This is just about me. Well, me and you.”

Baffled, he said, “At Christmas, you implied to your parents and Regina that kids weren't in your plans.”

“I was hardly going to say that I desperately wanted to have kids, but our marriage was in trouble so I didn't know if we'd ever have them, much less stay together.” She sighed. “I think the two of us would make wonderful parents. But I don't want to raise children alone, with you away so much.”

“No, that wouldn't be right. But, uh . . .”

Her eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. You want to have kids, don't you?”

“I know we talked about it once.” Back then he'd been dreamer enough to think he and Lily might have the kind of home and family he'd always secretly wanted when he was a child. “But I thought we'd both given up the idea.”

“That doesn't answer my question. Do you want to have children?”

Slowly, he shook his head. He wasn't parent material; he'd come to terms with that long ago. “No, I don't.” As for Lily, she had things to come to terms with too. “And be realistic. How could you have kids? Would you dump them with a nanny while you put in crazy hours at work? The clinic's become your baby; it takes all your time and energy. And when I suggested you hire a manager, you jumped down my throat.”

“I'd figure it out.”

“How, when you can't figure it out now? Kids deserve attention.” They deserved
good
parents. “They deserve a hell of a lot more than our parents gave us.”

“I know that!” She pressed trembling fingers to her cheeks. Her voice, though, was calm when she went on. “So, here's what you want: a childless marriage where we live separately and have fun little breaks together. Right?”

“It worked before.” Dimly, he was aware of the noise level in the restaurant, so much higher than it had been before midnight. How fucking ironic that everyone else was drinking champagne toasts and chattering excitedly while he and Lily had this conversation. A conversation that was sounding increasingly like a death knell for their marriage.

“We're older now. I want more, Dax.” Again, tears welled in her eyes. “And you can't give it to me.”

He wasn't enough for her. That was what she was saying. “You knew who I was when you married me,” he said bitterly. “Now, suddenly, I'm not good enough for you? Damn it, you should've listened to your parents all those years ago and never married me.”

She shook her head vigorously. “That's not what I'm saying! Of course you're good enough. And we did have a good marriage in the early days. But now we want very different things.”

“There's no compromise, no way to meet in the middle?”

Her blue eyes were glazed with tears, but she held her head up. “I want to be a mom.”

“More than you want to be a wife, obviously,” he shot back. “You want to be a doctor and a mom, and you don't give a damn about being a wife. Yeah, that figures. I've never come first with you. I never did with my parents, so why would I think—”

“That's not true,” she protested heatedly. “You're the only man I've ever loved. But I don't want a . . . half life, with my husband away most of the time.”

“You have a half life now. All you ever do is work. How're you going to slow down long enough to conceive a child, much less raise it?” And who would she conceive it with? Would she marry the kind of man her parents had always wanted for her? God, he hated the thought of Lily with another man.

“I guess,” she said slowly, tears slipping down her cheeks, “that won't be any business of yours, will it? You can get back to the wilderness that you love more than you ever loved me.”

The ache in his heart was a physical pain. Yes, he loved the wilderness but in the past years he'd never been entirely alone there. He'd had Lily in his heart. Even when their marriage was strained, she'd still been his wife. His anchor; his home.

Hell, his parents had taught him not to rely on other people. He didn't need Lily. He didn't need anyone. “Fuck. We should've just broken up the night I came back to town.”

She blinked against more tears. “It would have been easier. This hurts more. Getting close again and then . . .” She sniffed. “So we're breaking up?”

“I . . .” What a hell of a way to start the new year. “Seems like it's the only thing that makes sense.”

“Seems like it is.” She took out a tissue from her purse and blew her nose.

He stared out at the tables where everyone else was celebrating, anticipating a bright new year. His and Lily's champagne flutes sat on the table, nearly full. The bubbles had lost most of their fizz. The ache in his heart wasn't a stabbing pain, but a dull, empty, lonely one. He had a feeling it wouldn't stop anytime soon. Glad that he'd paid the dinner bill while Lily was in the ladies' room, he said, “Let's go. We'll beat the crowd and snag a cab.”

She nodded. “Dax, let's not be mean about . . . things. We love each other. We can work out the details in a, uh . . .”

“Civil fashion?” he asked coolly.

“I was going to say ‘friendly,' but that didn't sound right.”

“No, it doesn't. But yeah, we'll be civil.” The time for passion, for emotion, was gone.

“The easiest thing is to split everything down the middle.”

Easy. How could she call breaking up a marriage easy? But that was Lily, already businesslike. “Whatever.”

“I'll sell the condo and give you half the—”

“Jesus, Lily, that's your home. Keep the fucking condo.” He slid off the seat, unable to sit still a moment longer.

She climbed hurriedly off the other side. “But you paid at least half. That wouldn't be fair.”

“Fair? How the fuck does
fair
come into this?” He strode across the restaurant, vaguely aware of a few shocked glances, and of the quick click-click of her heels as she hurried behind him.

* * *

O
n the first day of the new year, Dax unlocked the door to the condo and stepped back to let Lily enter. She hung up her coat but he carried straight through to the bedroom, and the walk-in closet.

They'd left Whistler early, after a night of him tossing and turning on the couch in front of an ashy fireplace and her likely doing the same upstairs in the big bed. When he'd booked the cabin, he'd arranged for cleaners to come in at the end of the weekend. This morning, he left a note telling them to take the leftovers home, including most of a bottle of rum and the two bottles of wine he and Lily hadn't drunk.

It had been snowing when they left, in big, soft flakes. Flying south, the flakes turned to a sullen gray rain. Dax had kept quiet, concentrating on flying and on his own gray mood. Lily, pale and drawn, had at first tried to discuss how to deal with their property, but when he'd said, “There's nothing I want; it's your place, your stuff,” she'd shut up. The silence had continued until now.

He repacked his duffel with the few clothes he needed to take back to the mining camp. When he toted it out of the closet, Lily was standing by the window, facing him, hands clasped in front of her.

“I'll get a hotel room tonight,” he said. Tomorrow, he'd have a busy day, flying returning workers and supplies back to the camp after the holiday.

She nodded. “I'll be in touch when I've seen a lawyer.”

“You can pack up my clothes and the stuff in my desk. Stick it in the storage locker. I'll deal with it next time I'm back.” He had no home base now. Perhaps he'd look for a cabin up north for when he was between jobs. He could live in the wilderness full time.

All by himself.

He strode to the front door and she trailed after him. Face wan and strained, she stared up at him. “I'm sorry about how things turned out.” Her blue eyes were bloodshot and glittered with tears.

He nodded. “I'm sorry I can't be the man you want me to be, Lily.”

His fingers ached to touch her one final time. To catch the tear that overflowed. To sift her silky blond hair through his fingers. To press his lips to her trembling ones. But he wasn't that strong a man. And so he just opened the door and stepped through it.

As he closed it again, he heard soft words. “Can't be or don't want to be?”