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Talia was all fire and grit when I first turned up, but as the days passed, and I forced my way back into her life, she dialed it back. For an attorney, she really hates confrontation.

When our house comes into view, I try to see it through her eyes. I wince at the memory. This wasn’t her dream home. Talia didn’t need wealth and extravagance; she needed a present husband. A partner. I flipped our world upside down overnight until she didn’t recognize me. I didn’t recognize us.

We’re playing house in a place that didn’t feel like home.

I trade the sticky August evening for the cool air-conditioning. The flowers just about survived the walk. I should get them in water, but my feet carry me through the house in search of her.

As expected, she’s in her office, only she isn’t working. Cheek pressed to the desk, lips parted, she snores softly with her hand tucked under her chin. My heart aches at the sight of her. How many nights did she spend like this, alone, and with no one to carry her to bed?

She hardly stirs when I slip my arms under her, the flowers hanging awkwardly from one hand. With her head tucked under my chin, I carry her upstairs. Déjà vu hits me like a freight train when we pass our bedroom, but I stand strong and enter the guest room she’s been sleeping in. Only when I carefully deposit her on the mattress does she wake.

Grumbling into the pillow, she blinks up at me, eyes glassy. “Hey, baby.”

For a fleeting moment, I forget, leaning down to kiss her. But then she freezes, rising from the sleepy haze. She didn’t mean to call me baby.

I pull back, ignoring the stabbing pain in my chest. “Sorry for waking you.”

She sits up, movements stiff. “Thanks for saving my spine.”

I let the silence linger, watching Talia as her gaze dances from my face to the flowers. I’d do anything to know what’s going through her head. We’re getting nowhere, and perhaps we need to go back to move forward.

“I left,” I announce, and place the flowers on her bedside table. They’re not quite the same as the ones I bought her on our wedding day. “I left because you told me to, because I’ve always wanted to give you everything. Even if you didn’t ask for it. Leaving was my mistake, but you’ve made your own. We’re both guilty of hiding from the truth, and I’m done.”

“Done?” Her voice cracks, a sliver of panic in her eyes. She misunderstands my words, but god, if it doesn’t give me a small shred of hope that she isn’t done fighting for us.

“I’m done ignoring the ugly truth.” I slump onto the edge of the bed. “I don’t think I ever asked you what you thought about it all.” I turn, finding her misty gaze lowered to her hands. “That was my first mistake.”

“I should’ve told you how I felt, but you were so excited, and I was so proud of you at first.”

“At first? You’re not now.”

“Two things can be true at the same time. I’ll always be proud of you, but I miss my husband.”

I clench my jaw. “I’m right here.”

“For now. We both know this is only temporary. Then what?”

Then the label will drag me here, there, and everywhere. They’ll squeeze every drop of life from me until my term is up. I can’t ask her to wait for me, not when she’s given up so much already. But I also can’t give her up. I’ll be there. She’ll be here. Two ships in the night with no clue when they’ll next pass.

I hate this. I hate this so much. I want to scream that I despise being on the road and away from her. That all the fame and attention can go to hell. I barely survived the tour. Being apart from her for so long was excruciating, my heart won’t survive another year.

“A lot can change in six weeks.” I fist the bedsheets. We don’t even have six, and I’ve spent the better part of my first two weeks sleeping.

“Like your fear of needles.” She glances at my ribs.

Phantom pain blooms against my rib cage as I remember the feel of the tattoo gun. I almost passed out three times and had to go back the next day for them to finish it. Apparently heartbreak and anger will cure your lifelong fear.

The corners of her mouth pick up. “It’s still weird seeing you with a tattoo.”

“Funny. I was just thinking it’s weird how hard it is not to kiss you right now.”

“Tate…” Her warning is flat and lifeless. “You have to stop saying things like that.”

“You know I’ve never been one to hold back.” I stand, gesturing at the tulips. “Flowers wilt and die, Tally Girl. Me and you, we’re timeless. Date four. Tomorrow afternoon. Wear something comfortable and pack your swimsuit.”

TWENTY-FOUR

TALIA