Page 83 of Road to Absolution

CHAPTER 18

Accepting the Layers

Can bliss last forever? Absolutely, but not without interruptions or life getting in the fucking way…

“How do you feel?” asked my wife early the next afternoon.

We had spent another whole night and morning together. Truth was, I didn’t want to leave her side. I wanted to stay hidden away. That way I didn’t have to face the mess my life had become.

“I’m fine. Why?” I was still in bed.

Lying beside me, facing me, she nibbled on her lips. “You, um, had a rough night… Maybe if we talked about the—”

I rolled out of bed. “I’m going to jump in the shower. Need anything?”

She exhaled, rolling to her back and staring at the ceiling. “Just you.”

A part of me yearned to crawl right back into that bed and spill my fears. The other part of me said, Hey, Non-Boxer Boy, do me a solid and step out of your little girl panties and into your big boy ones. Okay? For real, man up already.

Into the shower I went. Since that gave me too much time to think, I sped through the process. Once out, I just stood there in a towel, not sure what to do next.

Lilah watched me from the bed, such sympathy on her face.

I rubbed my hands down my damp face. “I’m fine. Please stop.”

Needing to see anything other than the pity on her face, I grabbed some boxer briefs from a dresser drawer. Tossing my towel aside, I put them on then went to the closet.

I knew V had been busy in there. Everything was neat and organized, but my jeans weren’t folded how Lilah did it. She was so particular about keeping things tidy.

Jeans…

I grabbed a pair, realizing I hadn’t worn any since the night of the accident.

Accident…

I inhaled deeply, frustrated that even something so simple as a pair of jeans could somehow make my thoughts go back to an incident I would have paid mad cash to forget.

“Maverick?”

I stared into the closet, at all my clothes, wondering if they would ever be anything more than reminders. Feeling a little lost, I answered, “Yeah, baby?”

“Could you do me a favor?”

“Anything you want.”

“Could you, um… be nice to my friend?”

Coming out of numbness, I faced her. “Odd question.”

She nibbled on those luscious lips. “A special friend.”

The jeans in my hand crumpled and rolled in my tightening grip. “How special?”

“Art kind of special?”

Wrong answer. Putting the jeans on, I coyly asked, “Are we speaking of the man who is in love with my wife?”

“Maverick, honey, he’s not. I’m just a good distraction from what he’s running from.”