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But it doesn’t matter, because it’s easy.

So, so easy.

I definitely don’t spend over an hour trying to go to sleep after saying an obviously not rushed good night. I play it cool. I don’t overthink it at all.

At least I don’t lie to Dr. Natalie.

Small wins.

Tuesday night he comes back down from doing the boys’ nighttime routine to tell me he didn’t take any days off from the gym except for Sunday, and he wants to be lazy after it took the boys longer than usual to fall asleep.

So instead of telling him, “Okay, I’m going to go to the gym by myself,” or maybe, “Then I’ll just head to my room for the night,” I stay with him in the living room and sit on the same couch as him as he looks for a movie to watch since there are no hockey games tonight.

It’s a normal thing to do.

Totally normal.

He stops when he sees Meet Joe Black, and I agree to watch it with him.

Why?

I know why, I just don’t want to acknowledge it.

It’s been a while since I’ve seen it, but I remember the plot perfectly, and that’s why it’s easy to spend most of the movie staring at Tucker instead of the screen.

At some point we move closer. Not deliberately, I don’t think. It’s just shifting and getting up to get more drinks, just to come back and squeeze closer. Or maybe it is deliberate, because we sure as hell don’t move apart.

The point of no return is when Tucker asks me if I mind, then goes to lie down. Head away from me and feet on my lap.

I find the courage to tell him I do mind, actually, then plop myself right over him, head on his chest, legs tangled together.

I regret it when I realize I can’t look at him without making it completely obvious, but I can’t move now. I just settled.

My heart starts to jackhammer inside my chest, so much so that I fear he can feel it, seeing as I’m, you know, lying on top of him.

It takes me until Bill is laying into “Joe” about kissing his daughter to feel like I don’t have to force myself to breathe normally, but I get there.

Tucker wraps his arm around my back and that helps me melt into him.

It feels good, too good, to have him around me, so solid, so easy, so⁠—

Nope.

I jump away and look around the room because that’s the only option.

That cuddling session was more intimate than we have any right to be. What the fuck are we doing? What were we thinking?

I mumble something about being tired and flee like a coward with good instincts.

I might hate myself for it, but I know it’s the right thing to do.

Yeah, it’s fun, but when has fun ever done anything good for me? It’s a fleeting emotion that leaves you lower than it found you, and I don’t need anything more to bring me down.

I’m battling the walls of the well I jumped into when I met Henry, and I will . . . not . . . slip.

I tell myself it’s normal.

The next day with the boys is normal for sure.