The second she opened the door, I knew she’d been crying. Her hair was tousled–not in the fun way–her clothes were wrinkled and I’m almost positive I heard her slide up the door like she’d been resting on the floor until I knocked.
I’m honestly surprised she let me in.
Everything felt as close to neutral as it was going to get… until I had to open my big fucking mouth and make it all worse.
I should have known she wouldn’t want an apology after all these years, but I couldn’t stop myself from letting the words fall from my lips, closely followed by a failed attempt at an explanation.
It’s complicated.How was that ever going to help?
It’s the truth, though. Although, it’s considerably less complicated than it used to be. My father’s voice has quieted over the years. Some due to his declining health and inability to bully me. Mostly due to a lot of therapy.
I thought I did the right thing. I’ve spent the last twenty years telling myself I lost her because I couldn’t keep her safe. Because I wasn’t strong enough… or man enough.
Jesus Christ, I’m an asshole.
I was too stuck in my own misery to consider how my actions would affect her.
I can’t believe she’s been carrying this with her… all this time. I’m not really sure what I thought would happen, but it’s not…this.
I know she pushed me away, but I step back into her anyway. She starts to take a step backward in response, but I stop her by leaning down and wrapping my arms around her. Her muscles freeze but I refuse to let it deter me. This woman–my wife–needs some fucking consoling and I’m the only one that can give it to her right now.
When she begins to shake, I pull away to grab her hand and direct her to the side of the bed where I quickly lift her in my arms and lay her gently against the mattress. There’s a tiny voice in the back of my mind that says I should cover her up and leave. Do I listen? Nope.
I slide in next to her, unsure if I should pull her body back to mine. Does she even want the comfort I want to give?
Shit. I should ask.
Before I can, Raegan’s arm reaches out and grabs onto my damp shirt, pulling herself toward me until her face is nestled against my chest and our legs are so close I have no choice but to lift my leg to encompass hers.
I cup the back of her head and hold her to me, placing a soft kiss at the crown of her skull.
“Don’t get any ideas,” she mumbles against me as I lazily stroke her soft as fuck, fiery hair. It’s just as gorgeous as I remember. It even smells the same… like a field of sunflowers. "You're just… here.”
I can’t blame her after she told me what myleavingdid to her. I deserve it and more, but fucking ouch. The sting is still painful. I know I fucked up and ruined her. I have to live with that. But for now… I’ll hold her and pretend she’s stillmybeautiful angel.
It’s been about forty-five minutes since she passed out and I’m unsure if I even still have a right arm anymore. It started going numb about forty minutes ago and I lost all feeling in it not long after that.
I just can’t seem to let her go and I’m afraid if I shift her to get my arm back, she’ll wake up and the bubble we’ve been in will burst around us.
I know she hates me, but I’ve spent a significant amount of time longing for her… wishing I could go back and do things differently but ultimately knowing she was better off without me. It wasn’t until she showed up outside my office at Gravity, that I realized exactly how much I missed her presence. She was stunning all trussed up like she was, with her hair up tight and every piece of clothing precisely placed and perfectly fitted to every delectable curve she still has. But it was nothing compared to the sight of her when I walked in here tonight. She was a walking contradiction to her earlier self. It makes me wonder if she’s been doing this all these years… masking her pain behind a disguise.
Like a much hotter and much more feminine version of Jekyll and Hyde.
Her body shifts in my arms giving me just enough space to pull my arm from underneath her. Thank fuck.
“You’re still here.”
“I am,” I reply hesitantly. I can’t tell if she’s glad or mad, and it honestly terrifies me.
She pushes off of me and awkwardly scoots up until she’s sitting with her head resting against the wall and I follow suit, lining myself up next to her, yet again.
Christ. What am I? A desperate little puppy dog searching for any scrap of affection she may have in her heart to afford me?
A heavy sigh leaves her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
There’s a bare spot of flesh on her thigh, where her skirt has ridden up and I’m suddenly concerned my hand may find its way to that spot, so I fold my arms across my chest to prevent it. I don’t have to guess she’d be less than thrilled.
My brow cocks up as I turn to look at her. “Shouldn’t have done what?”
