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Because…
I’m waiting for him to leave.
Again.
Waiting for this moment to be over, for the words to not mean anything, for him to find a reason…
To go.
To retreat.
To leave me to my empty bed and my half-broken soul.
He sighs, his hand sliding forward, wrapping around my belly, drawing me against his heavy frame. “I did a number on you, didn’t I?”
I cringe inwardly. “Stef?—”
“I’ll make it better,” he says. “I’ll make it up to you.”
Make up for what exactly? Breaking my heart? Divorcing me? Putting us all through this shit only to force his way back into my life, my home, my heart?
Fucking why?
But I don’t get to make sense of it, I don’t get a chance to ask those questions?—
Or maybe I’m too chicken shit.
Because when he draws me more securely back against him, when he wraps that arm tightly around my middle, I…settle.
The sleep that’s been clinging to the outer edges of my periphery crowds in. The exhaustion that’s been drawing on my every cell since I came home from the game a few nights ago takes over.
I fall asleep.
And I do it hard.
* * *
I wake having absolutely no idea what time it is, just feeling like I’ve slept for a hundred fucking years.
I’m stiff as shit—my body feels as though I’ve been ridden hard and put up wet.
Very wet, considering the orgasms Stefan gave me.
But I’m alone in bed now, and I can’t lie, my heart hurts a bit at that.
Sighing, I roll over, alternating between relief and wondering what in the fuck I’m doing—allowing my ex-husband to fuck me senseless while admitting to him that I’ve never loved another.
And doing it all without answers…and without a man in my arms when I wake up.
“It’s one in the afternoon,” I mutter, snagging my cell, seeing the time on the screen. “Of course he’s not going to be here.”
What’s he going to do?
Lie next to me and watch me sleep?
I love the man, but that’s too much closeness, even after all this time together. And apart.
And together.
