HI. Okay, guys, I know it's ridiculous even for me to start another story when I'm knee deep in stories. BUT this has been planned for a while, because it's the debut of my digital age remote posting OMG which means, if it works, that I can start more frequent updates now that I'm tighter on time. Btw, you can blame Birdieq for this story, because I used it as blackmail to get her to update Life Ain't Always Beautiful. This is an Addek story, so feel free to bounce and read one of my other-ship stories if you're in a winter mood but Addek isn't your cup of hot buttered rum.

OH And I promise I'll be updating my WIPs very soon - probably even faster if you like this one. (Hey, Addison's not the only manipulative one.) I've rambled enough - hope you'll read and enjoy.

Thursday, 8:27 p.m.

Mark's not here yet.

Derek's not here either … but that doesn't surprise her.

Mark's absence does.

Derek is the one who lives here, but Mark has come over every one of the past three nights and found Addison alone each time.

Plenty of nights before that, but the past three nights stand out. He knocked on the door of the brownstone on each of those nights, always between eight and eight fifteen, never using the key they gave him years ago.

On Monday, he said your husband takes you for granted.

And on Tuesday, he said you deserve to be happy.

And on Wednesday – which was yesterday – he said I think I'm falling in love with you.

No, he asked it, like a question: what would you say if I told you I think I'm falling in love with you?

She didn't answer.

And now it's Thursday. Now it's tonight.

Now ... it's already twenty minutes past the time Mark usually knocks.

She sits in one of Derek's old shirts and sweatpants she's had since med school, not sure whether it's for comfort or so that if anything happens she'll have it as an excuse, I was relaxing, I was wearing old clothes, I never led him on.

... it's ridiculous and in a way it makes her feel even more culpable, actually, even if they haven't actually done anything, so much so that she considers changing.

He's not coming, it seems.

Did she scare him off, the other night? When she looked into his sad eyes and whispered oh, no, Mark, we can't, and he dropped a fraternal kiss on the top of her head and said you deserve better, Addie, you really do.

They haven't done anything.

This should make her feel better but it actually makes her feel a little nauseated that she even has to say it to herself. That she even has to think it. They haven't done anything they hadn't done for years and years, with Derek too before he checked out, flopped on the couch in the den watching the news, or Letterman, or games on the weekends. She used to love watching the Yankees settled between the two men, Derek's hand resting on her thigh or one of his arms flung around her; Mark would yell at the screen and Derek would mutter under his breath and between them she would just watch, enjoying the double commentary.

They got so worked up.

That all seems like a long time ago now. Derek hasn't been home before eleven any night in the last two weeks; he slept at the hospital Monday night and last night. Tuesday night he came in after she was asleep; she didn't turn out the bedside light until past midnight and she pretended to be asleep when he padded into the bedroom, still hearing Mark's voice in her head from earlier that evening.

You deserve to be happy.

That night, Mark brought over a pizza like they were still twenty-five and she felt all that grease curdling in her stomach. Her knees were drawn up to her chest; she blamed the heavy food for her discomfort. She was waiting for him to pass by the bed but he surprised her by leaning over her curled body and brushing some of her hair away from her face. She couldn't pretend with him this close so she blinked her eyes open and he whispered, it's okay, go back to sleep, Addie.

Derek was halfway out the door when she got downstairs the next morning, keys jangling, impatient; when she galloped to his side he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek before slamming the door shut behind him.

And then this afternoon she stopped by her husband's office, and he was engrossed in something, and he glanced up quickly, she gave a little wave, he nodded, and that was that.

Your husband takes you for granted.

She glances at the time. Mark isn't coming over, it seems. He's reliable.

Consistent.

Persistent.

So she did scare him off, then, with her hesitation, her fears. It's better this way, isn't it? He's been so good to her, checking on her, helping her, noticing her … but he's still her husband's best friend. And she's a married woman.

She's a married woman sitting alone on the couch with her knees drawn into her chest, sipping a glass of wine the price of which she knows enough now to be embarrassed about, she's scrubbed off every bit of professionalism from her day along with her makeup. Loose, drab clothes, bare face. Maybe she's more naked this way. Maybe she needs more protection.

Bargaining with herself, she wonders if he's still going to show up. He's never come this late, but maybe there was an issue with one of his patients. She'll just change her clothes … she'll change and then maybe he'll get there.

She's actually halfway up the stairs when she finally hears a rustling at the front door.

Finally.

She doesn't know if she's relieved or scared.

I did this, she thinks, I summoned you here. She glances at the time, feeling powerful.

8:46.

He made her wait, but she won't let herself think, worry, or fear. Not now.

Bracing herself, she flings open the door without looking through the peephole.

"Mark, what took you so-"

But it's not Mark.

"Don't say another word," an unfamiliar voice growls but she couldn't even if she wanted to. She's too shocked to do anything but squeak with alarm as the door is forced open and leather-clad hands shove her back through the foyer, a second pair of hands slamming the front door shut ... sealing them all inside the brownstone together.

to be continued

I have no idea if the formatting works on my phone but I'm gonna cross my fingers. What do you think? Are you on this ride with me? I have a lot planned and ready to go if you are ...