Page 78 of Everlasting Vows

He does whatever he needs to do on the computer, then hands me a room key. “I’ll charge the room to the card we already have on file.”

“Thanks.”

Ice flows through my veins, but this will be safer for Abbi. I didn’t miss her flinch when I touched her, and I refuse to make her more uncomfortable than she already is. She’s terrified of me now. And who wouldn’t be. She was fighting for her life against her husband. I’m supposed to fight her battles for her, but how do I fight them against myself when I’m the villain. It’s safer for her if I remove myself from the situation. As much as I loved sleeping next to her the last few nights, her safety is more important than my comfort.

I make my way to the elevator and back to our room, pausing when I reach our door. How am I supposed to face Abbi after what I did to her? One minute I was choking an insurgent, the next her panicked voice filtered in, sounding like it was coming through a long tunnel. At first, I ignored it, determined to kill the bastard who almost killed Murphy.

I shake my head. Why did my brain go there? As if I would know who was responsible for the attack on Murphy’s team?

But then her voice broke through the red mist, dragging me from my night terror and into true terror.

What if I hadn’t woken? What if I’d …

I can’t finish the thought. I refuse to. She’s here, and she’s okay apart from some horrific bruising to her throat that will make it hard for her to swallow or talk for the next few days. Her bloodshot eye look awful, but they’ll go back to normal in a few days provided I haven’t done irreversible damage. I wish she’d let me take her to the hospital.

“Fuck!” I huff, pressing my forehead to the cool timber door. My eyes and throat burn, and the feeling of ants crawling all over me is refusing to recede. I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow the sawdust in my throat, then swipe the keycard before I think about it any further. My need to make sure Abbi’s okay overrides my need to hide from her.

The sound of the shower running reaches me as I push inside, and relief surges that I have a few more minutes before I have to face my wife. I place the items on the coffee table and then strip the bed so when housekeeping arrives, I can just grab the fresh sheets and give them the soiled ones. I’m in the process of bundling them into a ball when there is a sharp knock on the door.

“Housekeeping.”

That was fast. I quickly carry the bundled bedding to the door and swing it open, then hand the balled-up sheets to the young man. “Thanks. Can I just have the fresh sheets? I’ll make the bed myself.” If Abbi walks out of the bathroom while he’s making the bed, she’ll be embarrassed, and she doesn’t deserve to feel any of that.

If he’s surprised I want to do it myself, he doesn’t show it. “No problem. Do you need a fresh mattress protector too?” he asks with a warm smile as he stuffs the soiled sheets into a cotton bag.

I dip my chin. “Yes, thanks.”

Without question, he hands me a completely fresh set of bedding. “No problem, Sir.”

“Thanks,” I nod, then remember I should give him a tip. “Hold on a second.” I hold up one finger and head into our room, dumping the fresh linen on the bed and grabbing my wallet, dragging a twenty out. I hand it to the young man with another thank you as the shower stops running and then remake the bed so Abbi can try to get some more sleep.

I’m folding back the top sheet when the bathroom door opens and Abbi appears in a cloud of steam. She takes in the scene and then drops her eyes to the floor, her hand coming up to rest gently at the base of her throat, drawing my attention to the bruising that’s already forming. “Sorry, I … uh …” she whispers, a definite rasp to her voice. She winces, and I watch her try to swallow.

Shame overwhelms me, and I drop the sheet, grabbing the pillows and fluffing them up. “Don’t worry about it.” She shouldn’t feel embarrassed about what happened. It was completely my fault. “Come and sit. I’ll grab the ibuprofen and a glass of water.”

She sits carefully, watching my every move as I tuck the sheet around her, then pull up the blankets. I grab a fresh glass of water and drop two pills into my hand, then take them to her. “Here, take these.” I drop them into her hand and she swallows them, then I hand her the glass of water. My stomach churns as I watch her struggle to swallow again.

Because of me.

Because of my recklessness.

Because I desperately wanted to sleep next to my wife.

While she sips her drink carefully, I grab the arnica and the instant ice pack I purchased. I hold up the tub of arnica. “This may help to reduce bruising. Do you want to rub it on, or can I do it for you?”

My shoulders curl inwards, the muscles drawing tight, as I wait for her answer. Will she trust me enough to care for her, or will she do it herself, so I don’t have to touch her? It feels like minutes drag out for hours while I wait for her to decide. I wouldn’t blame her at all if she chooses to do it herself, but it would help to reduce some of the guilt swallowing me whole if I could be the one to tend to the injuries I caused.

She shuffles closer to the middle of the bed and pats the space beside her. “Do you mind?” she rasps.

Relief relaxes some of the tension across my shoulders. “Not at all.” I gingerly sit beside her, keeping space between our bodies, and unscrew the lid of the ointment. Scooping a generous amount, Abbi tips her head back with another wince so I can apply it to her throat.

I lean across her body, resting my free hand on the other side of her, ensuring there’s space between me and her hip. Then, as gently as possible, apply the ointment to Abbi’s swollen throat, which is now the color of the peonies she loves so much.

Anger burns deep inside me with each stroke of my fingers on her tender flesh, and tension draws my muscles tight again, pulling my shoulders close to my ears. I return my focus to helping Abbi before I lose my composure. Dipping my fingers back into the pot to get more ointment, my arm accidentally brushes Abbi’s breast, and she sucks in a sharp breath. I wonder if she’s sore in other places after fighting me off.

“Are you sore anywhere else?” I murmur.

She presses her lips together as if she doesn’t want to tell me, and the backs of my eyes heat.