Page 93 of Everlasting Vows

Closing my eyes, I replay the last couple of hours. The way our bodies moved with the familiarity of years together. The way she held onto me like I was her only lifeline tethering her to this earth, and the way she kissed me like she’d never let me go. Her breathy moans in my ear and the way her soft skin felt beneath my hands. The tremor in her body when she fell apart and the way she called my name.

“She’s so damn beautiful,” I whisper into the empty room.

So don’t fuck it up, asshole, my mind reminds me.

Awareness creeps in around the edges of sleep, and I immediately know I’m not alone. My body turns rigid, tightening my hold on my wife. She presses her butt into my groin and sighs while I fall into a pit of confusion.

What the hell is she doing in my bed?

When did she crawl into my bed?

How did I not feel her climb into bed with me?

What was she thinking?

How could she risk her life like that?

Did I hurt her in my sleep?

I hold her close, ruminating over a dozen different scenarios that could have happened while we slept. I drag my hand over her hip, ready to roll out of bed when her fingers tangle with mine, holding me in place.

“Stay,” she murmurs, her voice sounding rough.

I can’t deny her, so I settle back and she rolls over to face me. Her eyes flutter open, revealing the warm brown color I love so much, and that damn burst blood vessel reminding me of the night before, like I’d ever forget. She skims her eyes over every part of my face, and I wonder if she can see the questions bombarding me. She brings her fingers up to trace the contour of my face, while I drag my fingers lazily up and down her spine. She seems okay.

Her eyes lock onto mine; sadness mixed with understanding. “You left,” she says. There’s no accusation in her tone, but her voice sounds brittle.

There’s no use denying it, so I nod. “I did.”

“Why? I asked you to stay.” Her fingers stop moving, and she cups my cheek.

“You know why,” I grumble, unsure what she finds so unclear about our situation. “I’m trying to keep you safe from me. I don’t want a repeat of the night before.” I drop my eyes to her throat, noting the bruising is worse today. “I don’t want something worse to happen.”

I note the tightness around her eyes as she swallows. She’s still in pain. We shouldn’t have gotten carried away last night. It probably wasn’t helpful for her recovery. I should feel guilty, but I can’t find it in me. Last night was truly special.

I stop drawing lazy patterns along her spine and use my fingers to tuck her hair behind her ear, then softly skate my fingers over her throat. “How are you feeling this morning?”

She presses her lips together for a long moment. Abbi’s fantastic at burying her true feelings deep below the surface and going about her life as if everything is okay, even when it’s not. She admitted to me that she needed to stop doing that in our marriage because she realizes it isn’t helpful. It was an issue in our marriage, of which she took ownership. By not sharing her true thoughts and feelings in real time, expectations can’t be met and change can’t happen. She promised to step outside her comfort zone and always be honest with me in the moment, but I can see she’s holding back when she shouldn’t.

Her gaze drops away from mine, so I use my finger beneath her chin to tip her face back up to mine gently. “Talk to me, Abs,” I coax. “How are you feeling?”

Her tongue darts out to lick her lips. “I’m fine.”

Alarm bells ring in the back of my head. Any red-blooded man knows the word fine is the kiss of death. When a woman says she’s fine, she’s most definitely not fine, and men should go on high alert because all hell is about to break loose.

I chuckle darkly. “Now tell me the truth. Are you in pain? Do you think you need to see a doctor?”

She huffs and tries to pull out of my embrace, but I tighten my hold. We need to have this discussion. I know I hurt her the other night, and she won’t recover from her injuries in one day. Harry even said they’ll get worse before they get better—as they have, judging by the dark purple bands around her throat—and that I should keep a close eye on her.

Maybe I should have stayed with her so I could monitor her. But what if I’d fallen asleep? Then what?

“I don’t need to see a damn doctor, Nix. I’ve told you this already. Stop worrying about my throat. It looks worse than it feels,” she says sharply, then presses her lips into a firm line as if she’s said more than she meant to.

I’ve put in and continue to put in a lot of work to make up for my shortcomings, and I need Abbi to feel safe enough to step out of her comfort zone with me. Something she’s obviously reluctant to do, because I can sense something’s wrong, but she’s not telling me.

“Okay, but I do worry about your injury.” I comb my fingers through her silky hair, catching a couple of tangles from sleep. “I worry about you. I’ll always worry about you. You can’t ask me to stop.”

Silence draws out between us, and I fear she’s going to shut down.