Page 19 of Everlasting Vows

I snatch my towel from the rack and wrap it around my body. Looking at the ground, I take one step back and another and another until it feels like the Grand Canyon is between us, and I know it’s my fault. But I don’t want to give in so easily. Not this time around. I’ve been too much of a pushover for too long. Too much of a people-pleaser. This time around, I’m going to do what I want and fuck anyone, including Nix, who doesn’t like it.

“Abbi?” The uncertain rasp in Nix’s voice has my eyes snapping upward.

“I can’t, Nix.” I shake my head. “I can’t pretend you didn’t break me. I can’t let it go so easily just because you’ve decided to show up for a day or two.” I fling my arm out to the side, then slap my thigh. “It’s going to take more than bringing me breakfast and showing up for dinner to make this right.”

He takes a step toward me, and my heart pounds in my ears. “I know, Abigail.” He bends his knees to bring his eyes level with mine, and the sincerity I see there almost undoes me. “I know I’ve been selfish and neglectful. I’ll spend the rest of my days making up for my mistakes, but you’re going to have to let me do that. You can’t shut me out when I try to connect with you. When I try to make things right. Or we’ll never find our way forward.” He gently grips my fingers and links his through mine. “You’ll never understand how deeply sorry I am for doing this to you. To us. But I want to make things right.” He crouches lower to capture my gaze again, but his face is blurry through my tears. Reaching up, he wipes beneath my eyes with slow, gentle strokes of his thumb while he cups my face with care. “You’re the last person in this world I ever wanted to hurt, and you’re the last person in this world I’ll ever love. I’ll do anything to make this work. To make you love me again. Because, Abbi, I’ve never, not for one second, stopped loving you.”

A sob erupts over my lips, and my knees almost buckle. If it wasn’t for Nix cupping my face, I’m certain I would be in a puddle on the bathroom floor. He thinks I don’t love him anymore. How can he think such a thing? It’s because I love him that I need to leave. It’s heartbreaking to be in a relationship when you’re the only one in love. It’s fucking demoralizing and humiliating to be ignored day in and day out.

His arms slide around my shoulders and beneath my knees, and he lifts me off my feet. Cradled against his body, he carries me into our bedroom and sits, holding me like a child.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice breaks, and his warm breath puffs across my cheek.

My body shakes with the devastation moving through it, and he tightens his hold. I soak in his attention, his unique scent, his warmth, while he presses soft kisses to the top of my head. It would be so easy to fall into him. To lose myself in his kisses. Take comfort in his body. The thought that I could lose myself in him so easily is jarring.

Still, after all this time and neglect, I’d choose him over myself.

The thought kills me inside. I’m not as strong as I want to be, and the knowledge devastates me.

My body trembles, and the tears trail heavily down my cheeks as if they’ll never stop. I don’t want to break down in front of him. He doesn’t deserve my tears. He doesn’t deserve to witness my heartbreak.

He left me.

Alone.

In a marriage meant for two.

I’ve never felt so lonely. So abandoned. So neglected. And that’s saying something after the way I grew up.

I don’t want to give him any more than I already have, so I push away from him. Shoving at his broad chest, I stumble to my feet and head toward my drawers, tearing random clothes from them. I grab a pair of panties, then lock myself in the bathroom without a word.

I need a minute … or thirty.

Dropping my clothes onto the counter and hooking my towel over the shower door, I climb into the shower and turn the water to scalding. Standing with my back to the spray, I draw deep breaths of warm air. How dare he put me in the position he did. What did he expect? What did he think would happen?

Did he think I’d just go along with everything and all would be forgiven? Did he think I’d take one look at his stupidly perfect body and fall to my back with my legs wide open in invitation?

I’m worth the effort. Damn it.

It’s taken me this long to realize I deserve to be a priority in my own life and, as a bonus, I should be a priority in my husband’s life. I’m tired of accepting the bare minimum, and I finally understand I’m not asking too much when I want more.

For my own mental health and well-being, I can’t go backward when I’ve come further than I ever imagined I would.

I grab my loofah and douse it with soap, then scrub my body like it’s the enemy. I had a moment of weakness, curled up on Nix’s lap. One that would have cost me dearly if I’d acted on my attraction to him and my need to soothe him to keep the waters smooth. But look where that’s gotten me so far. A woman closer to fifty, finding her voice for the first time. I huff out a disgusted breath. I can’t back down. I refuse.

Taking my time, I wash my hair and shave my legs, then dry my hair and moisturize my body from top to toe. Feeling more centered and determined to make Nix work hard to save our marriage, I leave the bathroom. Our end of the house is quiet, and I wonder if Nix left. There’s no reason for him to stay here if I’m being difficult, when he could easily stay at his office in one of the two suites he has set up for his employees.

Metal scrapes against china, followed by a thud and the closing of the trash can. I guess that answers my question. I pad down the hallway and step into the kitchen to find Nix bent over the trash can, clearing the second plate of food. His hair is wet from the shower he must have had, and he’s wearing gray sweats and a long-sleeved T-shirt that hugs his muscular form. The sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, leaving his forearms bare. He knows I have a weakness for his forearms. The way his muscles flex and tense. The thick veins that decorate the inside. The dusting of hair. Damn him.

He stands and turns, an apologetic look softening his features, his shoulders curled inward, making him look smaller; less imposing. “I figured I’d clean up.” He shrugs. “I’ve ordered pizza. It should be here soon.” The uncertainty in his voice is unfamiliar, as is the self-doubt shining from his eyes. He’s always so confident and self-assured. He’s a leader, and I’ve always been the follower. The dynamic between us has shifted, the ground unsteady beneath our feet, and I don’t know where it leaves us.

I step further into the kitchen. Should I apologize? He’s trying to be more present, and maybe I overreacted, but I have so much pent-up anger at our situation.

He wants to connect. He says he wants to make things right between us. But can I trust him?

“Sorry,” we both say at the same moment.

He steps closer to me, but still leaves a significant amount of space between us. I have to bite my bottom lip to stop it from quivering. When his eyes meet mine, they’re full of pain and sorrow that almost splits me down the middle. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m the one who’s so fucking sorry, Abbi. I’m the one who fucked up. Again. I had no right to assume we could share such an intimate moment when we’re on the brink of destruction.” He steps forward a little more, and I press my fingernails into my palm, sending a shock of discomfort through me to prevent myself from reaching out to him. He looks so broken. My stomach twists and turns like soft clay being molded, and if my heart were made of pottery, it would crack. “I … uh … I was hoping we could share a meal and talk over our day. Maybe make some plans for the backyard for Prue’s wedding?” Hope shines in his eyes, softening my heart.