Never Too Late (A "Teamwork" Story)

Excerpt:
...Emotion slammed into Emily Keating. She’d been semi-fine until now. But seeing the carved fertility goddess crumbled the professional wall she’d thrown up. She remembered the day she’d first held the carved soapstone. The gray stone was cool in her hand now as it had been then. She could feel it through her white cotton gloves. The pendulous breasts and burgeoning hips identified it as a fertility goddess. She’d looked at it as a sign at the time, right when she’d asked for guidance. How could she have known things would go so horribly wrong?

Her vision swam with tears. Poor Simon. She’d blamed him for so long. If he’d been home, if he hadn’t been so focused on work. She never appreciated the pressure he was under to learn his father’s business and take over its management. Emily remembered when she’d finally realized she had been equally at fault. It had hit her like a jolt of electricity. Simon might have chosen to work that night, but she was the one who’d chosen to spend her anger on cataloguing the artifacts. She was the one who’d chosen to take their son and daughter along, when the nanny was fully capable of caring for them and keeping them safe in their own beds. And for what purpose? To prove to Simon she was the better parent, that she could do her job and take care of the children at the same time.

In the aftermath, she’d deserted Simon when he needed her most. Knowing him as she did, Emily should have realized he’d want justice, that he’d do anything to achieve it. She should have supported him, helped him. Instead, she’d walked out and tucked herself away in the oh-so-safe world of academia. And never been more lonely or heart-broken.

It had taken a year for her to realize what her grief and anger had cost her. By then, it was too late. All the crying in the world wouldn’t fix it. She’d made it quite clear during the divorce how she felt.

“If you love me, truly love me, you’ll leave me alone.”

Those words would be carved on her tombstone. Poor Simon. She’d given him little choice. Expecting him to come storming after her and sweep her into a crushing embrace was fantasy. He truly loved her. He left her alone, while her heart and body ached from the loss.

Emily thought of going to him, telling him she’d made a horrible mistake. Each time she stopped herself, fearful of what she might see in his eyes—hate where love once reigned. So she took her deepest fantasies to bed with her at night. In the darkness she could pretend Simon still loved her, still couldn’t wait to bury his face between her legs, still clutched her tight as that impressive cock slammed into her. She’d tweak her nipples, pretending it was his fingers that pulled them to life. She’d jam the vibrator deep, imagining his penis thrusting hard and fast. And in the dying embers of her orgasm, she’d curl into a ball and weep at all she’d cost herself.

She glanced at the crates around her, knowing in her heart this was Simon’s doing. Did it mean he still cared? Was he reaching out to her through someone else? Or was he simply fulfilling a promise? Emily didn’t know what to think or guess.

Answers. I need answers. I need guidance…a sign.

She let the tears drift down her cheeks as she stripped off the cotton gloves. “You tried to help me once before,” she whispered to the idol. “You did help me. I’m the one who ruined it all.” She scooped it into her hands, caressing her thumbs against the ancient curves carved there. “Help me again, please. I swear I won’t screw it up this time.”

The sound of soft footsteps pulled her head toward the door. Her eyes widened in disbelief. Her heartbeat nearly drowned out her thoughts. She clutched the idol harder, praying she wasn’t seeing things, afraid to move for fear the illusion would dissolve.

“Simon?” her voice squeaked out...