Page 173 of We Drank the Dawn

“What?” I stepped closer, gently prodding. “Tell me.”

He tipped his gaze toward the sky. “No matter how I say it, it’s going to sound like complaining.”

“Just complain then.”

A sad smile twitched at his lips. “I’m…trying to imagine what you look like right now.” He opened his mouth to say more, but suddenly closed it, shrugging instead.

“Is it difficult? To imagine things?”

He shook his head. “No. I can imagine fine for the most part, but I think trying to imagine things sometimes hinders me from actually enjoying them. Because I get too stuck in my head.”

“So, why are you trying to imagine me then?”

He sighed. “Because I really want to see my wife right now.”

His words made my chest hurt.

“I’ll never be able to watch water trickle over your skin…or watch you shampoo your hair…or shave your legs…” His shoulders lifted on a big, deep breath. “That’s extremely depressing if I think about it too long.”

Panic flashed through my heart. Because I didn’t want him to feel depressed, I took a breath, about to say…wait…what was I about to say?

It won’t always feel so heavy, Peter.

Other responses flooded my brain. Things that sounded, on the surface, uplifting or positive. But each and every one fizzled out before they fully formed on my tongue. All I could do was stand there and blink at the man I loved. Beads of pond water still slowly traveled the strands of his hair and water spots marred his gray hoodie.

For a moment, I closed my eyes and imagined never seeing him ever again.

His full pink lips, his chocolate hair, his strong jaw, his shoulders, his hands, his smile.

In the dark, my heart squeezed with pain.

Peter had told me many times how heavy these changes were, and I trivialized his pain when I tried to pump him up or provide solutions, didn’t I? When my answer to his grief and fear was here just try this, it probably felt like I assumed he wasn’t already doing everything he possibly could to cope.

Once again, I could see now how my responses had unintentionally shut him down. How my relentless positivity had caused him to stop sharing his deepest hurts with me. A stabbing pain shot through my heart as I imagined how I’d feel if I were living Peter’s reality.

What would I want?

My eyes fluttered closed then I whispered. “My eyes are closed. Because I’m trying to imagine how it would feel to never see you again.” I shook my head. “But I can’t even force myself to imagine it.” I opened my eyes, finding his face. “Never seeing you again would break me.”

Peter’s shoulders fell on an exhale, the sound tinged with soft relief. My response actually made him smile, lifting the sadness in his expression. Then he asked, “Can you narrate a little?”

“Of course.”

His smile grew bigger as he leaned against the frame of the shower.

“Well”—I looked up, noting the moon’s light—“it’s pretty dark in here aside from the moon. Your head and shoulders have a wash of moonlight on them, and I think my hair does too. The shower head is a little loose, so it’s spraying water at weird angles.” I looked down. “My toes are painted pink but they have mud on them right now. Steam is lifting into the sky, which is good because you promised a steaming shower after jumping in the pond, and I won’t lie—its the only reason I jumped.”

He smirked. “You only jumped for the shower?”

“Yes, specifically because I thought you’d be in it. With me.”

His eyes darkened as I stepped forward and lifted his hand, placing it on the swipe of gritty mud still clinging to my breastbone. “I have mud right here, too.”

His fingers flexed, moving over the flecks of dirt, following the trail between my breasts to the top of my stomach. My eyes rolled back as his hand left a trail of glowing heat.

Peter pulled his hoodie off and stepped into the shower, water spraying over his bare torso and soaking into his jeans. His lips were parted, eyes hooded with want. “Is there shampoo?” he asked, his voice low and scraping.

I turned to the little shelf, finding half a bottle. “Here.” I put it in his hand.