It’s nothing. So you’re sharing a bed with your wife for the first time.
No big deal.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
KAYLA
SEAN AND I ARE IN THE SAME BED.
I repeat: I am in a bed with my actual, literal, husband, to whom I am legally and lawfully wedded, till death do us part.
Or till I have residency.
Oof. That thought stings worse than a wasp.
Till death do us part. Let’s focus on that.
I slide under the covers first and Sean cuts the lights right before sliding in next to me.
And by ‘next to me,’ I mean he’s practically falling off the other side.
Neither Sean nor I are what you’d call pocket-sized. I may be lean, but I’m tall. And Sean is big and broad and deliciously burly, and there is no way we should be able to fit into a queen-sized bed without something touching.
Yet, here we are. Defying the laws of physics.
I’ve come to love this bedroom. It’s small, but not cramped, even if most of my clothes are still in storage at Tripp’s house. And my work clothes are mostly in a garment rack shoved in the corner of my office at the stadium. But it’s cozy, and since I bought sheets with an actual thread count, I sleep well.
Normally.
Tonight, I doubt I’ll sleep at all, and not because Sean’s here. But because he’s so obviously tryingnotto be.
It’s become so easy to feel married. We have a shared rhythm and have shared secrets. We laugh and flirt and lean on each other like we’ve been doing it for years. But something shifted earlier, and now, here in the dark, with space and silence hanging heavily in the air, it feels like we’ve taken two steps back.
Married, but not together.
“Cap, you know you’re allowed to be all the way in, right?”
The subtext was unintentional.
But hearing those words out loud makes my throat tighten, like someone’s cinched a belt around my lungs.
Sean shifts closer, but not all the way.
“Sean,” I say. I don’t know if I’m disappointed or hurt. He’s been different since my family left. Or maybe since right before, when I asked him if he wanted to go to Chicago with me. Is he sensitive about me paying for things? Have I underestimated how much he’s done out of duty these last couple of months?
When my family showed up, I felt like we were more real than ever. Sean and I laughed at my brothers’ dumb jokes; we caught each other’s eye after my mom said something unintentionally dirty and had to look away to keep from laughing; he kissed my temple after taking my plate to the sink.
It felt so real.
But maybe it’s not as real as I thought.
Maybe Sean’s been going along for the ride and I’ve forgotten I’m simply a detour.
I feel myself curling up, feel my stomach revolt against every ounce of food in it. I turn away from Sean, wishing I could shrink into nothingness?—
“Hey.” His hand lands on my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say, but it comes out like a whimper.
