That has to mean something.
The thought sends a jolt through me, burning through the exhaustion like oxygen hitting a flame. Because whatever else I’ve screwed up, I know this about myself: I don’t quit when something still has a pulse.
She’s still my wife.
This is still my family.
I twist the shower handle, steam rising again, and strip down.
Fifteen years ago, I won the heart of the prettiest girl in school. This time, it’s going to take a hell of a lot more than handing over my letter jacket.
I need a plan.
And this cruise—ridiculous, inconvenient, badly timed as it is—is the one place I still have access to her. Six days. No offices. No exits. No excuses.
And with Ashley’s decision to keep our impending separation private—to present ourselves to her family as a happily married couple—certain things are going to be expected.
I won’t have to resist the urge to touch my hand to her back when we enter a room, pull her close, murmur softly in her ear. Gestures of intimacy that used to come naturally.
This ruse—Ashley’s ruse—will give me the chance to draw out more of those shivers I know so well. The ones she pretends she doesn’t get from me anymore.
We’ll have to look right to the people who matter. Close enough. Convincing enough. The kind of together that doesn’t invite questions.
This is my last shot.
Not to force anything. Not to push.
Just to remind her—slowly, carefully—who I was before everything went sideways.
Before I let my mistakes hijack every damn part of my life.
The hot water rolls down my back.
For months, I’ve been reacting—putting out one fire after another—scrambling to hold everything together while it all fell apart anyway.
This cruise, technically, is to celebrate her sister’s wedding.
But for me, it’s so much more. Six days to win my family back.
A challenge I can’t lose.
Step one: Give her all my attention.
Step two: Make her forget all the questions I can’t answer.
Step three: Make her remember why she married me in the first place.
Step four: Don’t let the dirt I’m mired in touch her or the boys.
No matter what.
The water on the back of my neck is too hot, but I don’t move.
I can’t tell her the truth.
Instead, I’ll do what I do best. Smile when she wants to fight. Listen when she wants to lecture. Remind her who we were—before the secrets.
I shut off the water, grab a towel, and catch my reflection in the hazy mirror. The guy staring back looks tired as hell, but determined.
