Alone, even with Holly curled up warm along his side.
Abandoned, maybe, even though, yeah, what he’d done amounted to the worst thing. He probably deserved that one.
Angry, even though he didn’t want to admit it, because it was a selfish, self-serving anger. He didn’t deserve to feel that.
And accepting because hope never did anything but hurt him. Acceptance couldn’t quite live in the same space as hope, at least not when it came to him and Tick.
He touched a fingertip to the screen so it came to life again, the text still there, taunting him.
He held his finger down on the words, on Tick’s name, swiped to the left when the red square appeared. The text vanished,TickandThank youswallowed up by Andy’s meme-laden text thread about marriage and parenting. He reached to lay his phone on the nightstand.
Yeah, he didn’t need that. He’d already accepted the reality, the loss, and he had a hope he could live with, misty little visions of a life with the woman sleeping beside him.
That was enough for now.
Chapter Twenty-Two
December
“You’re officially the best son ever.” A hand on his thigh, Holly leaned in to murmur against Colt’s ear, only loud enough for him to hear with the excited chattering of the Municipal Auditorium’s crowd around them.
“Made your future mother-in-law happy.” With a chuckle, he shifted in his seat, draping his arm along the back of hers, engulfing her in warmth and cedar and ocean salt. The smallish seats, covered in rich goldenrod velvet, meant his leg brushed hers every time he moved. A single brow crooked, he cast a glance down the row at their mothers and Mrs. Lenora. “Not to mention my future mother-in-law.”
She made a noncommittal noise of amusement, unsure as always how to respond to those oblique references to their mothers. Two months in, Mr. Take-It-Slow hadn’t proposed, hadn’t given her a ring, hadn’t even told her he loved her, but he talked like their being married was a done deal. The disconnect made her want to gut him some days.
With one finger, he traced an idle pattern on her biceps, sensation spiraling out from the simple touch, the way her body reacted whenever he touched her. “We should try out that new coffee shop on Broad after.”
“Sure.” She shrugged, eyeing the way he circled his other fingers over the left front pocket of his jeans. He’d picked up the habit in the last few days, as well as an edginess that made her nerves sing. His antsiness made her antsy, especially since the spat they’d had earlier in the week, when he’d folded her scrubs straight out of the dryer instead of hanging them. That had come on the heels of him fussing the night before because she hadn’tunloaded the dishwasher at his place before work, had been scattered and left their dishes in the sink after he departed.
Maybe the new had worn off for real, taking the honeymoon effect and hormones with it.
Maybe his being married to her was anything but a done deal, and he was too freaking nice to say anything since he’d promised her he wouldn’t leave.
Or maybe he was hanging around because the sex was still hotter than July.
They were good together, finetuning the physical aspect of their relationship. Fantastic sex didn’t mean he loved her the way she needed to be loved, though. She’d learned that lesson really,reallywell.
He cared about her, yes . . . but she needed more, a more she didn't have the language to ask for.
His thumb nudged her bottom lip, dislodging her teeth from the soft flesh. “What are you worrying about?”
She darted a glance at him, not quite meeting his insightful gaze. “Just thinking.”
“Huh.” That monosyllable that said so much and so little at the same time made her want to disembowel him tonight, too. He couldn’t just tell her how he felt? His hand tightened on her arm in a gentle squeeze and let go. The tender little reassurance brought a hot prickle to her eyes, and she blinked hard, grateful for the lights going down, the music picking up as Rick Springfield took the stage, because he saw so much and the vulnerability lately was gut-wrenching.
And she had no one to work it out with verbally. Lorraine and Barb wouldn’t get it – they’d both been teenagers when they’d fallen in love, and face it, David and Del defined sappy devotion. The last thing she wanted was Mona worrying because Holly was doubting the durability of the relationshipthat thrilled her mama. Normally, Tick would be her go-to, but talking about Colt with him was a no-go. She could only imagine how that conversation would play out.
Instead, she was slowly driving herself insane and probably taking Colt with her because she was so on edge that everything he did – or didn’t do – made her nuts.
Like this evening out. The idea was perfection, because his date ideas always were, personal and considerate. He’d snagged great seats, included their mothers and her mama’s best friend because, of course, they all loved Rick Springfield from their youth. He’d swapped his truck for Pete’s Mercedes SUV and played chauffeur, so no one had to worry about parking. He’d made Mona happy, and she loved that, loved him for it.
And wanted him to love her back, more and more every day.
She wound her fingers tightly together in her lap, hands clenched the way her heart did when she considered that he might not . . . ever.
Sensation prickled over her cheek, and she turned her head to find him watching her, a slight frown wrinkling his brow.
“What’s wrong?” he mouthed, and she shook her head.
