Compromised

Previous Chapter

Ry POV

It was Saturday morning, and I had just picked up the bus from the depot and was on my way to meet the Rainbow social group, who had hired it for the day. We were going to the Yarra Valley area, with two wineries, a gin distillery, and a well-known brewery as our major stops for the day. If we had time, we would also stop at the well-known chocolateria.

Mick got home earlier than expected last night, and he was in a mood. He said the place wasn’t as busy as expected and that Jess was being annoying, so he decided to leave early. I knew I would talk to Jess during the week and get the real story.

I drove up to the pickup point out front of Xeom, a Vietnamese restaurant that we frequented on the weekend. I was happy to see Brian, the host from Rainbow Social, waiting, and a cluster of happy faces looking forward to mixing with each other and enjoying some time at the wineries and breweries, no doubt.

A day away from the apartment, away from Mick’s restless energy, felt like exactly what I needed.

My phone buzzed as everyone was getting on board. A text from Mick: Hope you have a wonderful day, handsome. I stared at it, my chest tightening slightly. Mick didn’t usually text when I was working, and he certainly didn’t do it in that particular tone, casual, almost teasing. I typed back a simple thumbs-up emoji and shoved the phone into my pocket.

With everyone accounted for, we headed towards the Eastern Freeway, the easiest way to reach the Yarra Valley.

Brian asked if we could listen to a playlist he’d created. I added his phone and told him he was ready to go. He started playing tracks from the new Madonna album, prompting a few whoops and cheers from the group.

I started wondering why Mick would all of a sudden text me when he’d never done it before. I decided to check in with Jess after we stopped at our first winery.

The first winery was a sprawling property with manicured grounds and a cellar door that smelled of oak and fermentation. I parked the bus in the designated area and watched as Brian led the group to the wine tasting area; everyone followed with the enthusiasm of people finally let loose.

I grabbed my phone and stepped away from the crowd, leaning against the bus with one foot propped against the tyre. I pulled up Jess’s contact and fired off a quick message: You around for a catch-up this week? Need to chat about Mick’s mood last night.

The response came faster than expected. Oh, mate, yes. Things got a bit weird. Will fill you in.

My stomach twisted slightly. Weird could mean a lot of things when it came to Mick. I stared at the phone for a moment longer, Jess’s words sitting heavy in my gut. Weird. The word hung there like a question mark.

I typed back: How weird? But before hitting send, I decided against it. Better to hear it in person, where I could read his face and get the full picture without Mick potentially seeing my messages if he checked my phone, which he wouldn’t, but the paranoia was starting to creep in anyway.

I shoved the phone back into my pocket and headed toward the cellar door, where the group was already deep into their first tasting. Brian caught my eye and waved me over, a wine glass already extended toward me. I accepted it with a smile I didn’t entirely feel; the Pinot Gris was crisp and cold on my tongue.

The group was in good spirits, laughing and swapping tasting notes with the kind of easy camaraderie that made me envious in a way I couldn’t quite name. They were here to enjoy themselves, uncomplicated and present, while I was mentally untangling the knot that was Mick’s sudden text.

I took another sip of the Pinot Gris and let the conversation wash over me. Someone was telling a story about a disastrous date at a Melbourne bar, and the group erupted in laughter. I smiled at the right moments, nodded along, but my mind kept circling back to that text. Hope you have a wonderful day, handsome.

It was such a small thing. A kind thing, even. So why did it feel like the ground had shifted slightly beneath my feet?

The day moved on at a fast pace, and we were on to our last stop when I had another text from Mick, “How’s the day going? Hope you’re having fun. Can’t wait to see you tonight.” Now I really was getting a sick feeling in my stomach. This was something Mick never did, not unless I was running late. I sent a text back: See you later tonight; should be home by 7pm.

Mick POV

After Jess had caught Andy and me coming out of the toilets, he ignored me. The rest of the shift was rough. I wanted to ask Jess not to say anything to Ry; I wanted to tell him I wouldn’t see Andy again, although I already knew that was a lie, but any attempt to talk to him just fell on deaf ears. He just wasn’t ready to talk; he still had the angry look on his face whenever I came near him. I decided to leave early, as it had quietened down a bit since the last drag act of the night.

The following day, Ry had left early for his Yarra Valley trip; I was still asleep when he left.

I spent the morning doing mundane things like cleaning, vacuuming, and washing clothes. I tried to contact Jess, but he still wasn’t picking up his phone or answering my texts. I decided to try his place, I needed to talk to him, to sort this out.

I pressed the doorbell. He came to the door, and when he realised it was me, he said, “Fuck off.”

“Come on, Jess,” I said. “I just need a couple of minutes.”

He looked at me, still angry, but let me in. “So how long have you been cheating on your husband?” he asked. I’m not cheating on Ry, I told him. No, then what was that in the toilets last night? “What were you two doing, just comparing dick sizes?” he said. Okay, well, technically I did, but it didn’t mean anything; it was just a one-off, just a quick blow job. It just got out of control, but it means nothing.

You are such a fucking liar, Mick. I know you’ve kissed him at the club. Twice. You think people don’t see? In that place, there are eyes everywhere, Mick. If I hadn’t yelled at you to come out last night, you would have been there a lot longer, and it wouldn’t have been just a blow-job.

Fuck, we’d been seen. I love Ry, I told Jess. “Please don’t tell him,” I said.

Do you have any idea what you have in Ry? He’s a fucking catch. He’s funny and kind, and he loves you. I don’t get why you’re so determined to throw that away. He doesn’t deserve this shit.

I looked at Jess and started to wonder if there was something other than just best friends happening between him and Ry. I’d never considered it before. Jess was 19, with blue hair and piercings; his friends mostly dressed the same and had different-coloured hair and piercings. Ry was 35, and I honestly didn’t think he would get along with Jess. I have to admit I was surprised when they started hanging out together.

I followed Jess into the kitchen. He was making coffee. Do you want one? He asked. Okay, thanks, I told him. I noticed a picture of him and Ry on the fridge, one of those small pics you get at a photo booth. They had their arms around each other, laughing. I felt a bit put out by it. He handed me the coffee. When was that? I nodded at the fridge. He looked a bit sheepish; that was ages ago, at the Kylie Bar night. You were working, remember? Ry did ask you, but you said you had to work.

I vaguely remembered it; another Friday night, I was working at the club; another Friday night, I’d missed going out with Ry.

Please don’t say anything to Ry about Andy, I asked. “Oh, so he has a name.” Jess laughed. This just keeps getting better. For someone who told me it was a quick one-off, now his name is Andy. And have you and ‘Andy’ still been texting since last night? Jess asked.

No, I told him, although that was a lie as well.

“Show me,” he said.

“Show you what?”

“Your phone.”

I want to see if you’ve been texting, fuck off, Jess, I told him, you’re not seeing my phone.

“Just get out, Mick,” Jess said. “You’re a fucking cheating cunt, and you’re not going to change. Just get out.”

“Don’t tell him”, I said to Jess. “If I ever see him at the club again, I’m telling Ry. I mean it.” He stepped closer. “I’m his best friend, and you’ve got me keeping secrets from him. This is the first and last time, Mick.”

Fuck, at least he agreed to not say anything. I stopped at the bottle shop on the way back, picking up a bottle of the Barossa Shiraz that Ry loved, the expensive one that we only bought for special occasions. I set it on the kitchen counter and checked my phone.

6:47 PM. Ry should be home soon.

I ordered some take-out from Ry’s favourite Italian place, then moved through the apartment with restless energy, straightening things that didn’t need straightening. The couch cushions. The stack of magazines on the coffee table. I caught sight of myself in the hallway mirror: sharp cheekbones, the careful fade I’d had done last week still clean, and I looked away quickly.

The thing with Andy had been stupid. Reckless. But it was fucking hot; if I was being honest with myself, I wasn’t planning on stopping, but I had to be careful; people have affairs all the time without getting caught, no more hook-ups at the club. It had been thrilling, hooking up with a gorgeous man who found me attractive, fuck he looked so good.

I’d been texting Andy all morning, despite what I’d told Jess. Nothing explicit, just casual messages, enough to keep the line open. Andy had sent a photo an hour ago, shirtless in what looked like a gym changing room, with a simple message: “Thinking of you.” I had stared at it for far too long before deleting it, then immediately regretted the deletion because now there was no proof it had existed, which was ridiculous, since that was the whole point of deleting it.

I refreshed my phone again. 6:51 PM.

The flat smelled like expensive wine and garlic bread from the Italian place. The Barossa Shiraz sat on the counter like an offering, like I could buy my way out of this. I moved to the window and looked out at the street below, watching for the familiar shape of Ry’s car.

The takeout containers sat on the counter, still warm. I’d timed it perfectly, or I would have, if traffic had cooperated. I glanced at the oven clock again. 6:59 PM. One minute, maybe two or three, depending on traffic.

I caught myself straightening the wine glasses when I heard a key in the door. Ry was home.

The door swung open, and Ry stepped inside, still in his work clothes, his shirt collar slightly loosened from the drive. He looked tired but present, and for a moment, just a fraction of a second, I felt the full weight of what I’d done settle across my shoulders like a physical thing.

“Hey,” Ry said, his eyes taking in the apartment. The wine. The takeout containers. The deliberate staging of it all. “This is nice.”

I moved toward him with what I hoped looked like natural warmth, not the performance it was. “I wanted to do something special. You’ve been working hard lately.”

Ry set his keys on the hall table, and I watched my husband’s face carefully, searching for any sign that Jess had already told him that this was all about to collapse. But Ry just looked confused in that soft, kind manner, not used to me making a fuss.

“You deserve it,” I said, and the words came out smoother than I felt. “How was the Valley?”

Ry was already moving toward the kitchen, drawn by the smell of the takeout. “Good. Really good, actually. The group was in great spirits.” He paused, looking at the wine bottle. “The Barossa? That’s, that’s the expensive one.”

“Only the best,” I said, following him. I felt the familiar knot in my chest tighten as Ry’s eyes moved across the scene I’d so carefully constructed. Was Ry looking at me differently? Was there a slight shift in his expression, something that suggested knowledge? Or was I just seeing what I feared?

“What’s the occasion?” Ry asked, and there was genuine warmth in his voice but also something else, a careful curiosity, like he was testing. “I don’t need an occasion to spoil my husband,” I said, trying to keep my voice light.

My phone pinged on the kitchen bench, and Ry looked over at the notification. “Who’s Andy? Someone I should be worried about?” Fuck I thought, why did I leave my phone there? I forced a laugh. “No, Andy’s just a supplier. He’s just trying to set up a time to meet to see if he can help with some of our booze for the club,” I told him.

A supplier texting you personally, that’s unusual, isn’t it, Ry said, looking at me with a strange look on his face, isn’t that something you pay Donna to look after? Yeah, it’s nothing. I took the call initially during the week but didn’t have time to follow up, so I thought I’d handle it.

Fair enough Ry said, but you’re always complaining you don’t get enough time to yourself; you need to give these types of tasks to your staff, Mick; you need to trust them; that’s what you’re paying them for. Yeah, I know, I told him.

Ry moved toward the dining table, and I watched him set down his bag with the careful precision of someone trying not to overthink everything. The Italian containers released another wave of garlic and tomato sauce into the flat. It smelled good. It smelled like an apology I hadn’t yet made.

“I’m going to freshen up,” Ry said, already unbuttoning his shirt cuff. “Give me five minutes?”

“Of course,” I replied, and the moment Ry disappeared into the bedroom, the knot in my chest loosened just slightly. I picked up my phone from the bench where it had been sitting and saw Andy’s text still glowing on the screen.

I took a quick look at it: Let’s catch up somewhere away from the club. I deleted it quickly, then pulled up the message thread and deleted several others before stopping myself. This was paranoid. This was the behaviour of someone who was already caught.

I set the phone down and carried the containers to the small dining table in the adjacent room, the one we usually only used when we had people over. I followed with the wine bottle and glasses, the Barossa feeling heavy in my grip. The label read 2015, a vintage Ry had mentioned once, months ago, in passing. I’d remembered it. I always remembered the things Ry said.

Andy POV

I knew I had hooked Mick that first time at the club, that first look; he thought he was being subtle, glancing at me. I returned his glance. I don’t think he was expecting me to catch his eye. Mick was totally my type, tall, handsome, looked like he worked out at the gym, plus he had that air about him, like the room was something he owned rather than something he was just working in.

The thing about being handsome was that you learned early how to use it. I’d learned it in high school, then refined it through my twenties. A smile here, a lingering look there, the way you positioned your body in a room so that light caught you just right. It wasn’t vain, exactly. It was strategic. It was survival.

Mick had been easy to read from the start. The way his attention had locked onto me across the club, that moment of recognition when two people acknowledge they’re playing the same game. I’d smiled. I’d let him look. And then I’d turned away, just enough to make him wonder if he’d imagined the whole thing.

That was three weeks ago.

Since then, I’d been methodical. I knew he was married; I’d clocked the ring on his hand the first time we spoke properly. That should have been a deterrent, but it wasn’t. This wasn’t the first time I’d played this game, but it was the reason I had moved from Sydney to Melbourne.

I’d played this game before, but never with this much at stake. Mick had money, status, and was the owner of the club. He also had a husband who, from what I could gather, was completely oblivious. That made it easier.

The texts had been carefully calibrated. Not too eager, not too distant. Just enough interest to keep him thinking about me while he was at home, while he was with Ry. I wanted him distracted. I wanted him thinking about what we’d done in that bathroom before his brother Jess had interrupted us, about what we could do again if he was brave enough.

I’d sent the shirtless photo from the gym an hour ago, knowing he’d see it, knowing he’d delete it immediately because that’s what men like Mick did when they were scared. Predictable. That was the thing about married men: they were always predictable once you understood what they wanted.

My phone buzzed; it was Mick. Ry’s home. Suspicious. Go dark for tonight. Fair enough, I thought, I had to think of the long game. I set my phone down on the bench and leaned back, satisfied. Mick would be fine for the night. He’d be careful now, paranoid even, which meant he’d be easier to control. Men like him always were; the moment they thought they might get caught, they became slaves to their own fear.

I pulled up my banking app and scrolled through the numbers there, a habit I’d developed since moving to Melbourne. The account was healthy. The job at the club was just a cover, anyway. The real money came from other arrangements, other men in other situations. But Mick was different. Mick had potential.

I stood and walked to my apartment window, looking out at the Melbourne skyline. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that would be gone in an hour. I thought about Ry, about the photo booth picture Mick had mentioned of Ry and Jess and the uneasy feeling it had given him when he saw it.

I wondered if anything was happening there; it would be funny if Mick’s husband was fucking his brother, but I doubted it the way Jess had reacted at the club. If Jess was fucking his brother’s husband, why would he care if Mick was fucking someone else on the side?

No, that didn’t make sense. Jess was angry because Mick had broken his trust, not because of some twisted love triangle. I was probably overthinking it.

I poured myself a drink and settled back into my chair. Mick had casually mentioned during one of our conversations that the club had done well and was looking to expand. That meant capital. That meant access. That meant leverage.

The thing about men like Mick was that they always thought they were in control. They thought they were the ones making the choices, seducing you, taking what they wanted. But the reality was different. Once you understood what they needed; validation, excitement, the illusion of being desired by someone who wasn’t bound to them by years and habit, you had them. You had them completely.

Mick POV

After dinner and a couple of glasses of wine each, we sat down to watch some TV, a reality dating show. It was funny, the waiter was chatting up one of the guys on a date who was a famous Rugby player, with the female date looking on, amused. I put my arm around Ry and kissed him. I needed him to know things were normal, that I was looking out for him. He kissed me back, we continued watching the dating show, and he started dozing off.

I’m going to get some sleep, he said. It’s been a long day. I knew what that meant: no sex. Fuck, I was horny, and not for this quiet, domestic warmth. My thoughts were already back with Andy, the thrill of it, the heat of his skin, the memory of his cock against my face. I needed that again.

I grabbed my phone and texted Andy, responding to his earlier message about catching up somewhere else other than the club. I asked if he wanted to get some lunch during the week, and we could go somewhere we would not be recognised.

Andy replied within minutes: Lunch sounds good. Tuesday? There’s a place in Richmond, quiet, where we won’t run into anyone from the scene.

I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Tuesday was three days away. Three days of pretending everything was fine, of sleeping next to Ry, of managing the careful performance I’d constructed. I could do that. I’d been doing it already.

I typed back: Tuesday works. Send address.

The response came with a pin to a small Italian café on Swan Street. I committed it to memory, then deleted the entire thread. I sat in the darkness of the lounge room, the glow of my phone the only light, and felt the weight of my own duplicity pressing down on me like a physical thing.

From the bedroom, I could hear Ry’s breathing beginning to deepen into sleep. I set the phone down on the arm of the couch and leaned back into the cushions, listening to the ambient hum of the television, the canned laughter from the dating show still playing. Three days. It wasn’t long, but it felt impossibly far away and dangerously close all at once.

I should go to bed. I should lie down next to my husband and pretend to sleep, pretend that my body wasn’t thrumming with anticipation and frustration in equal measure. Instead, I sat in the darkness a while longer, my phone dark in my hand.

The thing was, I’d always been good at compartmentalising. Work stayed at work. Home stayed at home. But Andy was bleeding into both now, occupying the space between them, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep this from coming out.

Would Ry understand if I wanted to date someone while we were married? We’d never discussed an open marriage. I’d always understood that I loved Ry, and he was enough, but lately, with Andy, things had changed. What if I brought up the subject, and he jumped to the conclusion I was already having an affair and left me? All our finances, property, and the club were co-owned, fuck I didn’t want to think about what would happen if he left me.

I should end this. That’s what the rational part of my brain kept insisting as I sat there in the dark, phone heavy in my hand. The rational part that sounded increasingly like Jess’s voice, like Ry’s voice, like the ghost of the man I’d thought I was before Andy had looked at me across the club three weeks ago.

But the other part of me, the part that had been restless and bored and hungry for something I couldn’t name, was already counting down the hours until Tuesday.

I stood and moved quietly to the bedroom doorway. I could just make out Ry’s shape under the doona, one arm thrown across his pillow in sleep. Even exhausted, even in the dark, Ry looked peaceful in a way that made something twist in my chest. This was the man who’d chosen me. Who’d built a life with me, fuck what was I doing?