Unleashed (The Elliott Brothers #2)

Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

E ight days had passed since I last heard from Slade, and when he finally called, he asked to meet for drinks at McSorrel’s Pub near his office. I agreed, though the pit in my stomach wouldn’t settle. Now, sitting at a small table in the corner, I absently spun the glass of fruity white wine in my hand. Slade was late—just by a few minutes—but still, I checked my watch again. The door creaked open, and I spotted him making his way over.

Dressed in a sharp black suit, a pink shirt, and a silver tie, he looked every bit the part of the man I’d once been so proud of.

“Morgan,” he said, his voice soft, tentative. “May I kiss you?”

I hesitated for a beat before jutting out my cheek. He leaned in, barely brushing his lips against my skin. It felt distant, hollow. He sat down, and just as he ordered a whiskey from the approaching waiter, the tension between us thickened.

He gazed at me, his expression strained. “I miss you,” he said, voice low and tortured, like each word weighed a ton.

I swirled my wine, not meeting his eyes. “Everything turned to crap in such a short time.”

Slade’s jaw tightened, guilt flashing across his face. “It’s my fault,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “You don’t have to say it.”

I took a breath, the question gnawing at me. “Slade… are you cheating on me?”

His face went pale, and for a moment, the world seemed to freeze. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I would never,” he said, but his words came out too quickly, too rehearsed.

I leaned in, my voice a sharp whisper. “Then why were you coming out of a hotel room with a woman?”

Slade’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his gaze falling to the table. His silence was deafening.

“I… I thought about it,” he finally confessed, shame weighing heavy on every syllable. “I’m ashamed to admit it, but I didn’t go through with it. I couldn’t. You deserve better than that. I knew it was wrong, and I regret even thinking about it.”

My chest tightened. “Who was she?”

“One of the interns we didn’t hire,” he said quietly, his eyes pleading for understanding.

“That doesn’t exactly make me feel better, Slade,” I shot back, my pulse racing. “It makes me think I should worry.”

Slade’s hand gripped his whiskey glass as the waiter placed it down on a thick cocktail napkin. He downed a gulp before speaking again. “I need you back,” he said, his voice cracking. “I don’t sleep well. I can’t think of living my life without you. I waited so long for you to be mine, and I fucked it all up. Please… tell me this isn’t over.”

I took a long sip of my wine, needing the liquid courage to respond. “If we do this… we need to see a professional. There’s so much hurt in such a short time, and I can’t pretend everything’s okay.”

Slade nodded, gulping down more of his whiskey. “I know. I was going to suggest it. I’ve already told Allan he needs to handle all the overseas stuff. I won’t travel anymore.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And what if I got pregnant? You’d be traveling, and you might miss the birth of our child.”

He leaned forward, his eyes widening. “That would never happen. If I knew you were pregnant, I would’ve stopped immediately. Wait... are you?”

“No, I’m not,” I said, watching the fleeting hope in his eyes dissolve. “But the fact that I even have to ask this…”

“I still want to have a baby with you, Morgan,” he whispered, his eyes dropping to my hands as I picked up my glass again. He blinked, and his tortured expression returned. “Your rings…”

“They’re at Erika’s,” I said softly. “I didn’t pawn them, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

He sighed, a weak smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I certainly hope not.” Then his tone grew serious. “When are you coming home?”

I set my glass down and looked him in the eye. “I need space, Slade. I can’t just jump right back in. We need therapy first. Then I’ll decide.”

He reached across the table, gently taking my hand in his. “I miss you so much,” he whispered.

“That big apartment feels so empty without you.”

A small laugh escaped me, though it was humorless. “You lived there long before we got together.”

“I know,” he said, squeezing my hand. “But now it feels different. Cold. Like it’s missing something—missing you.”

I pulled my hand back, staring down at the table. “I need some time for myself. I was thinking of going on a hike before I come back to work.”

His brow furrowed. “A hike? Now? It’s too cold.”

“You think I haven’t hiked in the cold before?” I asked, my voice edged with frustration.

He shook his head, his tone firm. “This is different, Morgan. It’s not summer.”

“I’ve hiked in snow and cold before. It’s nothing new to me.”

Slade’s jaw tightened. “No.”

I glared at him, my voice sharp. “You can’t just say no. I’m not here for you to order around. I’ve lost so much of myself over the past few months.”

His eyes softened, guilt clouding his features. “I know. I see it… the spark’s gone. And I hate that. I want it back.”

“Then let me have my independence,” I said, my voice softer but resolute. “Let me do this on my own.”

He sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. “Can’t you just wait a few weeks? Until May?”

“And what difference does that make? There could still be snow in the mountains,” I shot back, crossing my arms.

“But less than there is now,” he insisted, his voice calmer.

I exhaled slowly, my resolve wavering. “Fine. What do I do in the meantime?”

Slade straightened, hope flickering in his eyes. “We go to therapy. We try to reclaim what’s left of our marriage.”

I nodded, the weight of everything pressing down on me. “Agreed.”

He leaned forward, eyes full of hope. “Will you move back before the hike?”

I shook my head slowly. “I’m not sure. Baby steps, Slade. Baby steps.”

He smiled weakly, the pain still etched across his face. “I understand.”

I was once again caught between two lovers, and the strain was starting to wear on me. Slade had been putting off therapy, citing work as the reason. "Allan's overwhelmed," he'd said, leaving me alone while he rushed between meetings. I barely saw my husband anymore. But then, there was Michael. Attentive, sweet Michael, who texted me little poems and song lyrics that made me smile despite myself. It wasn’t fair, hiding from both of them—Slade didn’t know about Michael, and Michael had no idea I was still trying to salvage my marriage. But I knew, deep down, Michael was the one I wanted.

One late evening, as I worked alone in the office, my phone buzzed. Slade’s name appeared on the screen.

"Baby, have dinner with me tonight," he said, his voice unusually soft.

I couldn’t help the annoyance that slipped into my tone. "Where the hell have you been all day?"

"Meetings downtown. We've got issues with the harbor project," he replied, sounding tired, but still avoiding the real question.

"I haven’t heard from you since this morning," I said, irritation bubbling up.

"Yeah, I know. It’s been a long day." His voice shifted, a subtle plea hidden in the casualness. "Come to our apartment."

"For what?" I asked, my frustration biting. I hadn’t been back there in days, avoiding the space that used to feel like home but now felt foreign, like everything was in limbo.

"Dinner," he said firmly. "I want to be alone with you."

I hesitated. This wasn’t a good idea, not with everything unsaid between us. "Slade, it’s not?—"

"Just come over. Stop giving me a hard time," he interrupted, his tone sharpening.

I sighed. "Fine. I’ll be there in half an hour, but I’m not staying."

"It’s Friday," he said, as if that explained everything.

"So?" I snapped. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"You can stay out past your curfew," he teased, a chuckle in his voice.

"You're impossible," I muttered, despite a small smile tugging at my lips.

"That’s what they tell me."

"Let me get my stuff together," I said, already shutting down my laptop.

The office was quiet as I gathered my things, only a few colleagues still hunched over their desks. They glanced at me, nodding briefly before returning to their work, oblivious to the mess my personal life had become. I couldn’t stop thinking about Michael—his last text had been a line from a song that had made my heart ache. But now I was headed back to Slade.

When I finally reached the apartment, it was just before seven. I opened the door to darkness, save for the soft glow of candlelight scattered around the living room. The air was thick with the smell of something delicious.

"Slade?" I called, cautiously stepping inside.

"Come in, baby," his voice drifted from the dining area, low and inviting.

I hesitated by the foyer, my hand hovering over the light switch.

"Don’t," he warned softly.

I dropped my hand, squinting in the dim light. "What is this?"

"A thank you," he said. "For working with me. For giving us a chance."

I slipped off my coat, tossing it over the couch with my purse, trying to read his mood. As I stepped toward the dining area, I found him seated at the small table we’d added months ago. It was set with our best china, the silverware neatly arranged, and he... he was wearing an apron over his blue slacks and white shirt. The sight almost made me laugh.

"Dinner is served," he said, standing and pulling out a chair for me with a flourish.

"What did you make?" I asked, a little warily, as I sat.

"Filet mignon, jasmine rice, and roasted asparagus," he said, sitting across from me, his eyes softening as he watched me.

"You remembered I love roasted asparagus." My voice came out quieter than I’d intended, touched despite myself.

"Of course I remembered." He smiled, though there was something strained beneath it. "You said you were starving, right?"

I nodded, realizing how long it had been since we’d had a quiet moment like this, just the two of us.

"And dessert," he added, leaning back slightly with a smirk, "but I didn’t make it. I bought it."

I raised an eyebrow. "Chocolate mousse cake?"

He gave a teasing grin. "You’ll just have to wait and see."

For a moment, it was easy to forget the distance that had grown between us, easy to lose myself in the warmth of the candlelight, the effort he’d put into this dinner. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was temporary—that Michael’s texts would be waiting for me later, pulling me in a different direction. As Slade poured me wine and raised his glass, I forced a smile, not ready to face the decisions that lingered in the shadows.

Slade groaned, his breath hot against my neck. "Shit, Morgan, you're so tight. It’s been too long."

"Harder," I demanded, my voice muffled as I buried my face into the pillow. "Slade, harder."

His hips slammed into me, the sharp sound of skin meeting skin filling the room. His fingers dug into my sides, a rough grip that sent a shockwave through my body. I hated how easy it was to give in to him—how he knew exactly what to say, what to do, to break down my defenses.

Dinner had been a seduction from the start. All my favorite dishes, and then that damn chocolate cake. I should've known the moment he fed me a slice, my willpower would crumble. Now, here I was, twisted in his sheets, letting him claim me all over again.

I clenched the bedsheets, nails digging in as Slade moved inside me, his rhythm steady and unrelenting. It had been weeks since we last had sex. Weeks since I’d let myself even think about it. Exhaustion had taken over, mentally and physically. I hadn’t even bothered with my vibrator; it buzzed so loud I worried Erika and Lincoln, who lived only a few blocks away, might hear.

Slade suddenly stopped moving, just when I was on the edge. My breath hitched as frustration clawed at me. He bent over, kissing a slow line down my spine. "I missed you," he whispered, his voice a rough growl that vibrated against my skin.

"Please," I whimpered, teetering on the brink.

His hands moved from my back to my breasts, fingers finding my nipples and pinching them lightly. I gasped, squeezing around him involuntarily.

"Easy, baby," he hissed, "unless you want me to come. I want this to last."

"I’m so close," I pleaded, breathless.

Reluctantly, he let go of my breasts, lifting his weight off me before he started moving again. I squeezed my eyes shut, chasing the release I desperately needed. A few more strokes, and I was unraveling, coming undone beneath him. My body shuddered as I shattered into a thousand pieces, a mix of relief and pleasure flooding through me.

Slade pounded into me a few more times before he grunted, his body tensing as he followed me over the edge. He collapsed onto the bed, still inside me, his warmth pressing against my back. I let out a soft sigh, the tension in my muscles slowly ebbing away.

“That was incredible,” he panted, his breath hot against my neck. “Stay with me tonight.”

His words lingered, tempting me. Staying with him was so easy to fall into, but Erika’s voice echoed in my head, warning me to keep my distance. She’d tear me apart if she found out I gave in so easily. She wanted me to leave Slade—to divorce him—and I was still wavering, standing on the line between walking away and staying.

“It’s not a good idea,” I murmured, my voice tinged with guilt.

Slade pulled out of me and rolled to the side, frustration simmering in his voice. “Why not?”

I sat up, drawing the sheet around me as I tried to collect my thoughts. "I don’t even know if sex was the right choice. We haven’t resolved anything."

“I’ve admitted I was wrong," he snapped, the edge in his voice unmistakable. "I’m making changes. What more do you want from me?”

“Everything,” I said softly, turning to face him. “I want to make sure this isn’t just a temporary fix. I need to see real changes, Slade. I’ve come back to work, and I’m here with you tonight. That should count for something.”

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. “Those aren’t changes, Morgan. You belong here. We’re married.”

“Slade, please," I whispered, my voice tight with emotion. "Just give me time.”

“Fine,” he bit out, his jaw clenching. "But I need a commitment from you soon."

I narrowed my eyes, feeling the sting of his words. “Is that a threat? I’m your wife, not some girlfriend you can give ultimatums to.”

“I’m just telling you what I need,” he shot back, his tone defensive. "Don’t listen to rumors."

“Rumors?” My chest tightened as I studied his face. “What rumors, Slade?”

He hesitated, a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps—crossing his features. “Nothing serious. Just the usual office gossip.”

I crossed my arms, feeling the weight of something unsaid between us. "Is that it? Or is there more you’re not telling me?"

He looked away, and for the first time, doubt began to creep in. Was I missing something? Had I been ignoring the whispers in the office, too focused on our problems to hear what was being said?

“I’m dealing with it,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “But it’s nothing to worry about.”

I didn’t believe him. Not entirely. But I couldn’t fight anymore tonight. I slid off the bed, gathering my clothes from the floor. “I’m leaving.”

“Morgan—”

“No, Slade. I’ll be back on Monday. We can have lunch or something, but I’m not moving back in. Not yet.”

He watched me dress, the frustration palpable in the air between us. “You’re not making this easy for me, you know. I miss my wife. I miss having you in my bed.”

I buttoned my blouse, meeting his gaze. “Soon. But we still have therapy to start. We haven’t even begun to tackle the real issues.”

He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Fine. Are you sure you’re okay to get home?”

“I’ll grab a cab. Erika and Lincoln live nearby, so I’ll be fine.”

I fastened my belt, feeling his eyes on me as I finished getting dressed. "Are you still planning on that hike?" he asked, his voice softer now.

“Yes," I replied, grabbing my coat. "It helps me clear my head."

“I don’t want you to go alone. Let’s go together.”

“No,” I said firmly. “I need this for me.”

He didn’t argue, but I could see the worry etched into his expression. "At least let me put a GPS tracker on you," he said, half-joking. "So I know where you are. It’s not about control, it’s love."

I shot him a disbelieving look. “I’m not a dog, Slade.”

He smiled weakly. “No, but you’re my wife. And I need to know you’re safe.”

I sighed. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Slade walked me to the door, lingering in the dimly lit foyer. He kissed me softly on the cheek, his arm wrapped around my waist. “I wish you could stay.”

I gave him a small smile. “Small steps, Slade. We’ll get there.”

He nodded, blowing out the last of the candles as I slipped out the door. “I can agree to that,” he called after me, “but I don’t have to like it.”