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Roger thought he smelled a little musky -- like Rafa and sex -- so he bought himself some time by taking a fast shower and changing clothes. The shower almost took longer than it should have when his traitorous body decided it wanted Rafa again, but he was too tired to do much. He quickly took care of matters, leaving him even more tired but remembering the encounter at the restaurant with renewed emotions.
When he came back downstairs Mirka was waiting for him.
This was harder than he'd anticipated, if that was even possible. Roger had practiced the conversation in his head on the drive back to the house. The trouble with imaginary conversations was that when you had a real one the other person didn't always react the way you thought they might.
Mirka watched him, a little impatiently, he thought. And was that suspicion in her eyes? Had she guessed? Did she know? Was the overwhelming guilt he felt colouring his perception of his wife's feelings? He hadn't even told her yet...
“Maybe we should sit down.” Guiding her with a gentle hand at her lower back Roger settled them both in the living room. He sat beside her on the couch.
“Rog, what's going on?” Now she just looked worried. Roger felt like the worst excuse for a human being.
He looked at his hands resting on top of his knees, palms down, nails digging into his jeans.
“I had lunch with Rafa.”
“And?” Mirka started to smile but it faltered, and her brows drew downward. “Roger, tell me.”
He looked her in the eyes; she deserved that much. “We had sex.”
Her face darkened. When she didn't say anything he continued, “I didn't make a conscious decision to do it. It just happened. He was there. I wanted him. He wanted me, so we did it.”
She shot to her feet and walked away to the far side of the room to stand in front of the windows, her back to him. “Tell me.”
He didn't understand. “Tell you what?”
She spun around to face him, her hands in fists at her sides. “Tell me what you did to him. Did you fuck him? Did he fuck you? Did he go down on his knees for you, Roger? Everyone knows how he worships you. Did he let you take him from behind? Did he blow you?”
Roger went to her to try to calm her. He reached out, trying to take her by the shoulders but she resisted and moved away from him. He followed but she kept twisting away from him. He only stopped when it felt like he was chasing her and agitating her further. She kept a wingback chair between them, hands gripping the top of it, and stared at him like she'd never seen him before. Like she was afraid of him. Tears streamed down her face.
His heart breaking under his guilt and sorrow Roger sank onto the couch. He felt sick to his stomach and his back was tightening up again.
“You don't really want to know what we did,” he spoke quietly.
“Yes, I do!”
“Mirka, please don't torment yourself. I made a mistake. A big one...”
“That's for sure!”
“...and I am so, so sorry. But I can't help how I feel about Rafa.”
“Do you love him?”
Roger wasn't sure if it was because she asked the question in a reasonable tone, losing some of the anger and sounding genuinely curious, or if it was the nature of the question that caused him to stop cold. Did he love Rafa?
“Are you in love with him?”
“He's a good friend.”
Mirka brushed at the tears on her cheeks. She seemed to have gotten past the storm of her fury. “Do you have romantic feelings for him?”
Romantic? Their sexual chemistry was undeniable and they were good friends. Romance? He didn't think of Rafa that way.
Mirka made a small sound that caused Roger to flick his gaze in her direction. She seemed satisfied about something, nodding her head.
Annoyed, he snapped, “What?” Reaching for some tissues he wiped his face and blew his nose.
“I would tell you to sleep in the spare room tonight, but that mattress would be bad for your back. So I'll sleep in there and you can have the master suite.” She frowned, as he gaped at her. “What? I'm not heartless. I still love you. Why do you think I'm so furious with you?”
“Because I broke my promise to you.”
She stared a moment and then threw her hands in the air and swept out of the room. Roger watched her leave, more confused than ever. Should he go after her?
“Please leave.” Her voice carried out from the kitchen. “Just go out for a while. I need time to think.”
That answered that question. He picked up the car keys and his cell and left the house.
#
It was quite possible that Stephane dug in too deeply and then ripped the offending muscles right out of his back. At least that's how it felt to Roger. He groaned loudly and tried to stay relaxed.
“What have you been doing?” Steph asked. “You were looser than this yesterday.”
Roger had driven around aimlessly for about an hour, until his back told him he needed help. He'd phoned Stephane and asked if he had time to work on him. Steph had ordered him to come to his hotel room. As soon as Roger arrived his friend and physio had taken one look at him and told him to take his shirt off and lie down on the portable table that travelled with them.
“Roger?”
“It's nothing. I just moved funny.”
More digging and ripping out. Roger winced.
“It's not nothing. I can feel how tight you are.”
Opting for part of the truth, Roger said, “Mirka and I had a fight.”
“Ah.” Silent for a minute or so, Steph said carefully, “What did you do?”
“Why do you think it's my fault?”
“We're men, Rog. We never do anything right, according to women.”
His chin resting on his arm, Roger said, “Well, it was my fault this time.”
“So, what did you do?”
How could he tell Steph that he had sex, in a restaurant, with another man? He couldn't, so he shook his head. “It's complicated.”
“Must be. Your back just locked up again.”
“Yeah.” He could feel it. He was tired of the pain, both physical and emotional.
Eventually Stephane worked enough of the tension out of him to let him leave. Before Roger walked out the door Steph gave him a brief one-armed hug. Unexpected, but it made Roger feel a little better.
#
It was dark before he returned to the house. The lights were on. He supposed that was a good sign. It was pretty late.
Mirka sat in that same chair she'd used earlier as a shield.
“Steph called and said you were with him.”
Roger couldn't tell by her voice if she was still angry. “I went for a massage. Back still hurts.” He pulled his keys, cell and wallet out and set them on the table next between the couch and the chair he chose to sit in. He stretched his legs in front of him and closed his eyes.
“Rafa won his semi. Did you see?”
“No. Didn't watch it.”
“I suppose I shouldn't have been so surprised – what you said, earlier.”
Roger halted in rubbing his eyes and lowered his hand. He waited, figuring it was best not to speak right now.
“You did tell me a few years ago that you were attracted to him. To Rafa.” After a moment she continued. “I don't know if I can forgive you, Roger. This isn't about breaking your promise to me – about him. This is about breaking the promise you made before we moved in together. It's about the nature of what promises are all about. You lied to me, Roger. You know I can't handle that. I hate it when people lie! My own husband!”
“I know,” he admitted quietly. “Saying I'm sorry isn't going to fix this, is it?”
“You said you would never lie to me. When we first got together you said you would not lie and that, even though you were bisexual, you would always be faithful to me.”
“And I meant it. I meant it then and now, even though it's obviously too late for that.” He got up and went to her, sitting on the floor in front of her. He took a chance and reached for her hands. She let him hold them, but left them limp in his grasp. “I can't explain it. I didn't plan what happened. It just did. I'd call it an accident but that's not right. My feelings, my attraction to Rafa is very strong. They...I was overcome. I cannot apologize enough. I never meant to hurt you and I'm just sick that I did.”
Tears streamed silently down her cheeks. “I keep thinking it's my fault.”
Roger was shocked. “Why?”
“If I had woken him up and made him go home, maybe this wouldn't have happened. But I can see and feel the – the vibe you two have. It would have happened no matter what I did. Oh, Roger. Am I not good enough for you?”
He rose up on his knees, so he could get closer. “You are everything to me. I love you. With Rafa it's just sex.” Even as he spoke the last sentence he knew that was a lie. Damn it. That's all he seemed to be doing lately, even to himself now.
“Is it?”
He stayed silent. There was no romance between them. No hearts and flowers. Despite being what he had jokingly called himself over the years half-gay, he didn't think of Rafa like that. Yes, he loved him.
“I'm not in love with him.” Mirka raised one eyebrow. “But, yes, I do love him.”
Mirka started to stand up, but Roger held her down with a light touch.
“It's not like how I love you.”
“That's what every husband says who is caught having an affair.” She looked disgusted with him.
“It's the truth. I've never even seriously looked at another woman or a man since I met you.”
“That's what scares me. Why now? Why Rafa?”
“I don't know.”
“Does it have something to do with how you two play each other on the courts?”
“That actually could be part of it, maybe. You know how it is out there. Sometimes magic happens. I can't explain it.'
“I don't want him around here again. Or anywhere that we are.”
“Okay.” He supposed that would be easy enough to arrange. “But I will see him at tournaments and other events. It can't be helped, and I won't give up my friendship with him.”
He could tell by the narrowing of her eyes that she didn't like that last point, but she didn't argue. Roger squeezed her fingers and stared into her eyes. They sat like that in silence for what seemed like ages, before she pulled her right hand free from his and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. He pressed his cheek into her palm and was rewarded with the tiniest of smiles. When he bent his head to kiss the hand he still held Mirka pushed his head down gently, until it rested on her knees. She petted his hair over and over. Roger could hear sniffles. He wanted so badly to take her in his arms but was afraid to break the spell of this truce. It felt so fragile.
The doorbell rang, startling them both. Roger jerked his head up, feeling Mirka tense under his hands. They looked at each other and laughed at their reactions.
“I'll get it.”
“Yes, you go be the man of the house.” That Mirka joked about it made Roger happy. The tension he'd been living with bled away instantly. He kissed her soundly on the mouth, before getting to his feet and going to find out who their visitor was.
When he opened the door Rafa stood there grinning broadly.
“Hola, Rogelio!” Rafa strode across the threshold, threw his arms around Roger and hugged him tightly, before depositing a sloppy kiss on his cheek, just missing his mouth. Roger smelled alcohol on Rafa's breath. Obviously he had been out celebrating his win against Berdych and that surprised Roger, as Rafa was normally careful not to drink until a tournament was over.
Surprised didn't cover how Roger felt at Rafa's arrival and he could sense Mirka's anger storming up behind them in the hallway.
“Mirka!”
Roger turned in time to see Mirka fold her arms across her mid-section. Her body language was screaming “Keep away!”
And there went the last vestiges of Roger's newly found sense of peace.
This could only end badly.
# end