I turn away. With my back to her and my eyes set forward, I refrain from saying something that could be used against me in court. Or that she’ll use as ammo for the rest of the night. I leave.
I’m heated, and my head starts pounding. I’m about to be out of the “watch zone” as the instructions they gave Delaney stated. She has repeatedly claimed to be the one there for me, from the hospital to being here in my apartment. So it’s not out of the realm to have her here during that time period. But after, she’ll have no reason to stay. And since she’s not here for the sparkling conversation, my guess is she’ll leave.
Hunting again for my phone, I keep thinking I’m missing a piece of the puzzle, the one that tells me what’s in it for her. Money? Feels too basic for this woman. Look at her. She could marry some old guy and inherit his net worth without trying so hard.
I’m young, only thirty-four. Healthy. I take care of myself. She’d be in it for the long haul with me. Since she doesn’t seem to like me too much, I’m thinking it’s not money.
Sex?
Nah. She could get any guy she wants. That is if she can stay hinged long enough to round the bases. After that, she’s home free.
I’m checking under the couch cushions when I hear her come into the room behind me. “Can’t we both just share the marital bed like we did last night?”
Standing up, I turn to look at her. She’s still wearing the leggings like they’re pants and not made exclusively to work out in or lounge around the apartment. My Harvard shirt looks incredible on her, but it doesn’t change the fact that I have a feeling it'll go missing from my closet for good if I turn away from her for a second.
A flood of pink deepens her cheeks under my gaze. The tip of her tongue dips out to lick her lips, and she shifts, putting more weight on her right than left. Is it possible she really does belong here? If I ignore my own instincts like they don’t scream the opposite, I’d say yes. She appears to be at home here and with me.
Holy shit. I’m married.
A quick spell of dizziness has my brain spinning. I sit down on the couch that I didn’t have time to put the cushions back in place before I needed a place to land. The realization leaves me lying flat on the couch, eyes closed.
“Are you okay, Warner?”
“I’ve been better.” The sound of her socks sliding against the wood has me peeking my eyes back open. Kneeling beside me, she stares at me like I’m a science experiment gone wrong. She has a real talent for making me feel worse. I close my eyes, needing some space, and since I can’t get it in my own apartment, I’ll escape mentally.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been on vacation. Digging deeper, I’m not sure I’ve gone on one since my dad died four years ago. I wince from the feel of her ice-cold fingertips gliding across my forehead. “You’re burning up.”
I open my eyes to see her just inches away from me. Pushing myself up, I reposition to sitting and then feel my head with the back of my hand. “I don’t feel hot. Anything would feel hot to those cold digits. You need some gloves to bundle up in this tested-for-exact-comfort-during-the-day seventy-two degrees?”
Resting back on her heels, she says, “You mock, but I think you should get a professional opinion. Do you have a thermometer?”
“You’re my wife, supposedly, and now you’re my nurse?” I slip out over the arm of the couch, avoiding her perimeter to retrieve the first-aid kit. She’s making me feel like I have no sense of myself anymore. If I have to prove her wrong, I will.Happily.
“It actually hurts my feelings when you say things like that, Warner.”
It’s not her words. Sure, there’s a lot of nonsense to weed through the things she says, but there’s meaning in some of it, like now. My bullshit detector tilts, throwing off the balance I live my life by—that I’m always right. What if I’m wrong this one time?
I glance over my shoulder to see her still sitting on the floor waiting for me to return like she has nothing better todo. It’s that there that fucks with my head. The soft corners of her eyes, the gentle smile that doesn’t take over but provides reassurance, and the slope of her shoulders in comfort that she’s found here. She looks like she genuinely cares. And belongs.
That’s more than I can say for anyone else in my life. Where are they? My mother. Jimmy. I thought for sure my office would have filed a missing person’s report by now. Well, even with me emailing, it’s still out of the ordinary for me to miss work.
Do I give them the grace of my not having my phone?
Jimmy and I don’t talk every day. Would I have noticed if he’d been out of action for a couple of days? Probably not. Should I? Yeah. He’s my best friend.
I only see my mother once in a blue moon and at events and the occasional meal if she can squeeze me into her busy schedule. I could be gone for months, and she wouldn’t know any better.
But Jocelyn would. I didn’t even receive a reply other than “Take care of yourself.” Which is nice—I’ll give her that—but the lack of emails and contact from her is strange.
Shit . . .unless they all know my wife is taking care of me.
No fucking way.Is there really no way?
Turning away, I walk down the hall, scraping my fingers through my hair. In the bathroom, I search the medicine cabinet for antacids to help with the budding distress in my stomach. But I grab the thermometer because I know there’s no medicine to help with this affliction. It’s time to face Delaney head-on, standing my ground, and with honesty.
I can’t live in these conditions any longer. The stress she’s causing is worse than the concussion.Integrity, Landers.There’s no need to hurt her more than she claims she already is.
Walk in there. Tell her the truth. And call a car so she can return to living her own life instead of continuing to flip my world upside down.
