I scowl, and she grins. “Get out so I can,” I look anywhere but at her, “do my business.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Marshall.”
“Don’t call me sir.”
“Okay, Killjoy.” She laughs, genuinely this time, and the ache in my chest loosens. But not the one in my back and side. I groan as a new tsunami of pain crashes into me. Hayden’s laughter comes to a screeching halt, and she’s quick to assist. “Here. Let me help you up.”
There is no point in denying her help. I can’t get up on my own.
I need her. “Okay.”
With her uninjured hand, she aids me in standing. Most of my weight leans onto the handrail in the bathroom, and I am back on my feet in a matter of seconds. “Thank you.” I drop my gaze, unable to meet her eyes. Amidst the exhaustion, embarrassment, and excruciating pain, Hayden has stood tall by my side. Even as I thanked her by (accidentally) slamming her hand into the thick door.
She’s the bravest soldier fighting on the frontlines in my army of one.
Hayden is walking out when I snap my head up and call out her name. She spins around, eyes wide with concern.
“Hayden, I—” What am I trying to say? What words are hiding in the depths of my consciousness? What is this that I’m feeling?
“Yes?”
Unable to formulate a coherent thought to tell her just how grateful I am for her, I speak skin-level words. “I’m glad you’re here.”
My bones ache, but not because of illness. At least, not the physical kind.
She tugs her phone out of her back pocket, and I notice the screen is cracked. Is that what she dropped earlier? “Say it one more time. I’m going to record it and replay it every time you go all surly cave man on me, okay?”
I narrow my eyes and scowl. She laughs, and then Hayden and her sass finally exit the bathroom.
Careful to make sure the door is firmly shut this go round, I untie my gown and begin the excruciating process of passing this dang kidney stone. I think I’ll put the stone in a jar of acid and watch it crumble after what this thing has put me through today.
Maybe that’s a bit harsh, but that’s me. I’m harsh. And apparently the cause of mywife’sexhaustion.
The words sting more than I think they should, and I know now, as clear as day, what I have to do.
I have to consider the possibility that I have real feelings for my real wife.
Because if I’m being one-hundred percent honest with myself, I don’t think I would have made it through this without her.
And there’s no universe where I would choose to go through it without her if given the opportunity.
Chapter Nineteen
Hayden
Chronic stress and dehydration. According to the doctor, that was the cause of Darcy’s kidney stone. Thankfully, he passed it due to the apple cider vinegar and ample amounts of water the nurses (and I) kept forcing down his throat.
Eight hours and countless awkward bathroom situations later, we sit on opposite sides of a private jet and refuse to acknowledge each other’s existence. After the first show in the hospital bathroom, I can never look at Darcy Marshall the same. I would say it was highly unpleasant, seeing him so sickly. But the reality? The man is fine wine. An eleven-year difference between the two of us doesn’t amount to much when he has a body that looks like it stepped out of a fitness magazine. He’s lean but has muscles in all the right places. And he can rock a hospital gown like it’s nobody’s business.
And that backside of his. Mm. Good heavens. Lord, have mercy!
“Gah, Hayden. Shut up. Quit lusting after your husband,” I chastise myself under my breath. I would lust away if he was trulymine, but this whole marriage is a sham, regardless of what the law says.
I sneak a peek at him across the aisle. When I see he is safely gazing out the window, I allow myself to fully turn my head in his direction. He’s back in a suit—a lighter navy blue that complements his complexion well—with his blond hair gelled back in a way that screams, “Run your hands through me.” I mean, wearemarried. I could simply flip a switch in my brain and act on my intrusive wifely impulses. I could make us real. Two months is long enough, right?
No. “He’s annoying. He’s rude. He’s dirty words you shouldn’t say. He’s prickly. He’s incorrigible. He’s your opposite. He’s sour and vexing,” I whisper, listing all the reasons I can’t continue to entertain the thought of Darcy asmine. We would never work on an emotional level together, and that’s why this marriage has to staystrictly platoniceven if I think we'd make beautiful children together.
Whoa. Never thought I’d string those two words together in a sentence.
