I ran into Maxim’s arms the moment he arrived home. But once we’d hugged and I’d viewed his bruise, an unusual awkwardness settled between us.
“Your face looks like mine did,” I said, trying to break through the tension.
He focused all that potent energy on me. “Nah. My eye won’t swell shut.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“Ida Jane…”
Hope made my heart quicken. “Yes?”
He opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it again. “I’m glad you handled Dillon.”
Defeat settled in my chest. We weren’t us. We were off-kilter, and I hated it.
“Yeah. Those moves you taught me came in handy. I, ah, made dinner. Mixed green salad with salmon.”
“I already ate.”
I stepped back. “Right. Yeah. It is late.”
He winced. “If I’d known, I would have preferred your dinner.”
But to know, he would have had to have communicated with me, and neither of us had been good about that. I’d sent him the video, he’d called to make sure I was okay. We’d discussed Blade’s bruised muzzle and shoulder, and he’d said he had to go.
The chasm between us expanded.
“You’re not wearing your wedding ring,” Maxim said.
I looked down at my naked fingers. “No. I’m not.”
Maxim worked his jaw, his eyes clouding with hurt. “Why?”
“Because it didn’t feel right to wear—not when…” I couldn’t say the next words and my throat ached from holding back tears.Not when you’re going to let me go eventually.
He hadn’t said that, of course. But he’d lied to me, and that was a fundamental issue; one I was struggling to comprehend but knew was rooted in my time with Dillon. If he’d cheated and been so much different after I started to show an actual backbone, did that mean Maxim would change, too?
Those thoughts refused to settle and my anxiety grew each time they reared up.
“You don’t trust me,” he said, his tone clipped.
“How can I?” I exclaimed. “What else should I know about you that you’ve kept from me?”
He narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “I’m going to bed,” he said before turning on his heel and leaving me in the living room, still unsure where we stood.
And angry that we were in this awful limbo. I wrapped my arms around my waist and trudged up the stairs.
* * *
Later that week,after I arrived home via rideshare, I stood in the kitchen, unsure what to do. Maxim had offered to pick me up from work, but I’d rebuffed him. I wasn’t sure why, and at this point, I knew I was hurting myself. I just didn’t know what to do to make the anguish and humiliation about Maxim’s sordid past go away.
He wasn’t helping with his cold, broody silences. I set my purse on the hook Maxim had installed for me and slipped off my shoes, my gaze zeroing in on my husband, who was sprawled on the couch, reading.
I moved toward him, wanting to break through the barriers between us. Blade rose from his bed and shook, sending a plume of dust and fur into the air. I wrinkled my nose at the mess.
“Who’s going to clean that up?” I asked, pointing an accusatory finger toward the dog fur flying in lazy waves around the room.
Why did I saythat? I didn’t actually care about the dog’s mess—okay, Idid,and I didn’t want to be the one responsible for it—but more I was out of sorts from the tension between us.
