Page 165 of His Surrender

Behind us, Liana makes a small sound from the playpen.

Dean’s eyes open immediately. “I left her in there.”

“She’s okay.”

“I shouldn’t have put her down when I was⁠—”

“She’s safe.”

I turn enough to look into the living room.

Liana is sitting among her toys, one soft block clutched in both hands. She watches us with wide, curious eyes, but shows no sign of distress.

I slip my fingers through Dean’s. “Come on.”

This time, he lets me lead him.

We move into the living room slowly, stepping around the shopping bags I abandoned near the front door. Red tissue paper lies scattered across the floor, and one of the gifts I bought for his father has fallen halfway out of its bag. The sight of it makes guilt cut through me again.

I was so pleased with myself when I left the last store.

I imagined coming home, showing Dean everything I’d bought, and eating dinner beside him while we laughed about how out of control I was.

Instead, I find the dinner untouched and the man I love barely holding himself together.

Dean lowers himself onto the edge of the sofa. I sit beside him, close enough that our thighs touch, but he leans forward immediately and braces his elbows on his knees.

His hands hang between them. They are still trembling.

He notices me looking and curls them into fists.

I place one hand over his back. The muscles beneath his sweater are tight enough to ache beneath my palm.

For several minutes, neither of us speaks.

The apartment settles around us. Christmas music continues playing at a low volume, absurdly cheerful against the silence. The tree lights blink red, gold, and white across the floor. Somewhere below us, a car horn sounds, followed by another.

Dean’s entire world seems to have shifted anyway.

I rub my hand slowly between his shoulder blades, trying to offer comfort without crowding him. I do not know what he needs. I am not even sure he knows.

Eventually, I ask the question that has been sitting in the back of my mind for weeks. “Why does this keep happening?”

His back stiffens beneath my palm.

I wish I could take the question back the moment it leaves me, not because I do not need the answer, but because I see how deeply it lands.

“I’m not asking because I’m angry,” I say quickly. “I just need to understand.”

Dean stares at the floor.

I continue, “This has happened more than once. When I didn’t answer running late with Liana. Tonight.”

I move my hand from his back to his arm, wrapping my fingers around his forearm. “You don’t just get worried. You panic.”

His throat moves as he swallows.

“Dean, what are you afraid is going to happen?”