“OMG!Adrianna, instead of hiding like a freaking coward, just tell the sexy rockstar you’re in love with him!”
I blink at her.
“You’re deranged,” I whisper.
“I’m right,” she singsongs, sipping her latte like her work here is done.
After snagging a few more titles for my TBR pile, I left Larry and her bad advice and came home.
Back to the present and my stupid, messy heart.
And now I’m home, sitting in the bedroom staring at the empty spot on the bed where he hasn’t slept for weeks, hearing Larry’s voice echoing in my skull.
Just tell him.
Tell him I’m in love with him.
Tell him I never stopped.
Tell him I want our marriage to be real.
But I can’t.
Because what if his silence is the answer?
What if I had finally given him what he’d wanted all along—an out?What if my letting him go without the guilt of him being the first to leave, is all he needed?And what if this time, he doesn’t want me back?
So now?
Now I just lie in this big ass bed all alone every night, surrounded by antique furniture and fresh quilts and all the ghosts of teenage dreams, while my husband—my rockstar, my childhood sweetheart, the man I never stopped loving—keeps a polite distance like he’s scared to spook me.
And I am losing my goddamn mind.
Because he’s still here.
Because he’s steady.
Because he’s perfect.
Because maybe he’s trying.
But mostly because he’s making it so damn easy to love him all over again.
And because I have no idea why—after marrying me, touching me, worshipping me, promising me safety—he won’t just get his fine ass back into this bed and touch me again.
I stare at the ceiling one night, frustration twisting in my chest.
Enough is enough.
Tomorrow, I’m getting answers.
Even if I have to hunt my husband down in his own damn studio to get them.
ChapterThirty-Two
Nathan
I’m going crazy.
