She’s still wearing her gray scrubs, and her hair is still up in a messy bun, but fuck me, she’s beautiful, and my heart pounds seeing them both back at home.
“Hi, Daddy,” Willow whispers, and I frown, seeing the tears staining her cheeks, and I slowly stand.
“Little dancer, why don’t you head on upstairs and put your things away while Mama talks to Daddy,” Clark says softly to ourdaughter, and I can’t even melt at the fact she’s here right now and not in that fucking apartment. Instead, I’m concerned about Willow.
Why was she crying?
“Okay,” Willow whispers, and she does as she’s told, but with less enthusiasm and fear hits.
Does she not want to be home?
“Is she alright?” I ask as soon as she’s out of sight, just as my phone buzzes, and I check it quickly.
Crash:
Kids secured all unharmed thankfully, the pests have been terminated.
“She feels guilty,” Clark says, gaining my attention, and I look at her with a frown while her eyes are on my phone, doubt etching her beautiful features.
Fuck, she thinks it’s my mistress.
“That was Crash, five foster kids went missing on a trip,” I quickly explain before she gets the wrong idea, the years I made her think I was sleeping around are still in her pretty head before I demand softly, “Why does Willow feel guilty?”
“Are the kids alright?!” she gasps instantly, my question going over her head.
“They’re okay, Crash with the help of the Dark Angels have gotten to them safely, now Willow, buttercup,” I say, and she blinks a few times before her eyes go to the stairs, then come back to me.
The pain in her eyes buckles me before she chokes out, “She told me she hated me this morning, after overhearing my brother and mom. Apparently, I broke our family up according to Mom.”
Fucking Clarisse.
My jaw ticks as I clench my teeth hard, but Clark ignores my reaction as she sighs and drops her keys in the dish near the door before she walks over to me. I don’t move, not sure what she’s up to, but when she stops before me and cups my cheeks, fuck.
Warmth spreads through me, and I slowly close my eyes as I put my hands over hers, not wanting to lose her touch. She allows me my moment before I open my eyes when she rubs her thumb along my scruff.
Her eyes tear up when they lock with mine before she says strongly, “You didn’t rape me,” and all the air is sucked out of me as I feel winded.
I shake my head as my emotions begin to pull and I choke, “Clark…” But she grips my cheeks harder before I can protest, and she snaps, “Miles!”
The sound of my name on her lips electrifies me, in that moment, everything is perfect.
“You didn’t rape me,” she whispers, and I try to choke back the emotions running through me.
“Then why can’t I get that feeling out of me, buttercup?” I ask, and absolute pain radiates from her beautiful dark green eyes.
She shakes her head before pulling mine down, and our foreheads touch, my grip on her hands tightening.
“Is that why you’ve barely communicated with me? Because of how you feel?” she chokes, and I fuck, I hate the pain in her voice, I hate that I’ve got to tell her this.
But I want my wife, I always have, I just didn’t see it.
“I’ve been seeing a therapist for the past year since I finally gave in to my feelings. I’ve been pushing you away further this past year because I needed to fix myself before I could be with you.”
My confession confuses her, her brows furrowed, and I let go of her hands on my cheeks, and I wrap my arm around her waist,and I squeeze her tighter to me, enjoying the warmth of her body up against mine.
Ensuring our eyes are locked, I confess, “Buttercup, I haven’t touched another woman since that night with us, because I’m in love with you.” I place a gentle kiss against her stumped lips, sparks instantly flashing between us and I beg, “Come to therapy with me in three days, so I can finally get all this shit off my chest, so I can finally be open with you and so you can understand why I’ve pushed back. Then make a decision about the divorce, please.”
Though if she still decides she wants the divorce, I’ll be tying her toourbed.
