The Way Back

Fault Lines

The blonde sank into the bubbly, warm water and let her head rest against the luxurious spa bath pillow. Her lips parted, and she let out a content sigh, breathing in the calming, stress relieving scents of eucalyptus and spearmint. The lavender candles scattered about the bathroom eased her tensions and cleared her mind more. Stevie opened her eyes at the sound of his resumed pacing outside the door. She shook her head and wished Libba was still at home. Her precious daughter had gone back to Oakland days ago. Spring semester classes were beginning soon. She jumped, sloshing water, as Lindsey's body thumped against the locked door. Stevie was unable to find peace, listening to his head repeatedly thud against the wood. She blew out air, knowing it would be simpler if Elisabeth was at home. She had been a buffer between her parents after the new year. To a certain degree, Stevie felt guilty for using her child as an instrument of avoidance. She knew she and Lindsey had agreed to have healthy, constructive discussions if either one had an issue in the renewed relationship, but she was fatigued from the talks. He wasn't listening to her. He wasn't truly hearing her reasoning or maybe he was hoping to change her mind. Either way, she was drained and annoyed.

"Stephanie, c'mon," Lindsey implored from his sulking spot in front of the bathroom door. He glanced at his wristwatch. She'd been in the bath for nearly an hour, evading him. "You cannot stay in there all night," he said, sticking his ear to the door to hear any response from her. Her stubborn silence incensed him. "Goddammit, Steph," he muttered, slamming his open palm against the wood. Lindsey hoisted himself off the floor and left the house, seeking refuge in the guesthouse.

Inside the guesthouse, he rummaged through bureau drawers until he found his stash. He took a joint out of the bag, tossing it back into the drawer. Lindsey had relocated his supply as soon as Stevie made the arduous decision to get clean. It was safe and out of the way; she never came into the guesthouse. He collapsed onto the sofa, lazily puffing. He propped his feet onto the ottoman and tilted his head back, blowing smoke rings. He didn't need a bubble bath. The burning joint he rolled in between his thumb and index finger was his relaxation remedy. He gazed at the carved beams of the ceiling, examining every element of the lumber and hoping the high would give him fresh insight. The man couldn't wrap his mind around why she continually shot his suggestion down for an entire week. After all, he thought the idea would be best for them as a couple and as a family. But not to her. He felt the herb working its magic, serene contentment draping his face. Lindsey lost track of time after the second joint. He trashed the evidence and tucked away the plastic bag, heading back to the main house as raindrops fell on him.

As soon as he stepped inside, music floated to his ears. A smile broke across his lips, remembering how she and him would lounge around after her shifts at the diner listening to that album over and over. He listened to her harmonize with Don and Phil Everly. Lindsey leaned against the doorway of the bedroom, observing her perched on the bed in her silky robe. His intense gaze followed her slender hands smooth lotion over her shapely legs. She straightened, opening the robe and letting it fall to her shoulders. He watched her massage the cream into the ivory skin of her ample breasts. He shifted in his stance as his jeans grew tight.

Please baby, have a heart 'cause can't you see you're torturing me, torturing me...

He groaned softly and walked to her, hearing her gasp in surprise at his presence in front of her. He dipped his body, crashing lips against hers heatedly and pushing her back onto the bed. His hands roamed over her skin, burning into her. He kissed down her neck.

"Lindsey," she murmured, biting her lip. Stevie instinctively arched her back as his mouth sucked on the sensitive part of her neck. She didn't want him to stop, but it would break one of their rules – no using sex as a band-aid. "No, Lindsey."