Page 52 of Promise

I’m a mess.

The red wine stain on my T-shirt and the fact I’m in my ex-not-ex-husband’s arms proves it.

Dart takes me right into the bathroom and sets me down beside the tub. Then he turns on the hot water and plugs the drain. He finds a jar of bath salts on the back of the toilet and drops in a hearty amount. He tests the water, adds some cold, and turns for the door. He stops just before leaving, lights a candle, and then reaches for the doorknob.

“Try to relax, baby.” He turns off the light and leaves me in only the dim glow of the candle.

With shaky hands, I remove my ruined shirt and fumble off my shorts, knocking my knee on the edge of the tub.

I’m clearly having a moment, but I sink into the growing depth of the perfect temperature water and sigh. Closing my eyes, I inhale the fresh scent that matches my favorite lotion, reminding me of sunshine and fresh meadows.

Within minutes, the tub is full enough, and I stretch my toes, thinking I can turn off the faucet with them. Instead, I kick over my shampoo bottle, and it lands outside the tub with a loud thud on the tile floor.

I lean forward, turn off the faucet, and retrieve the shampoo, when suddenly, there’s a knock at the door.

“Trin? You okay in there? I heard a thud.”

I quickly cover my breasts, as if he can see me through the door.

“Yep. I’m good.” My voice squeaks. I sound guilty of something. However, I’m simply conscious that I’m naked. Very naked, in the bathtub, and my husband is on the other side of the door.

He’s seen me naked thousands of times. He can’t even see me right now, but I’m still sitting here, hands tucked in my armpits, hardly covering my boobs, with my knees pulled upward to shield another part of me.

“Trin?” Through the slim light beneath the door, I can almost see his feet. He’s taken off those boots I worried would drag glass through the house.

“Yeah?” For some reason, I can’t pull my eyes from the door, staring at the outline of his toes in the sliver of light.

Silence continues, before there’s a shift. A sound like he’s knocked his head against the door.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yeah.” My brows pinch, and I lean on the edge of the tub, crossing my arms on the cool porcelain and resting my chin on my forearm.

“You know, when I left, this is kind of how I thought we’d communicate.” He chuckles softly.

“Through a door?” I lift my head, my voice rising as well, followed by a weak chuckle. What a silly thought.

“No.” The word is muffled, and he repeats it louder, stronger. “No. I thought we’d talk on the phone, like we used to do.”

Those nights before we were married, when I worked late but he asked me to call him when I got home. We’d talk until I was nearly asleep. The phone on my pillow. His voice in my head.

“What would we have talked about?” I lay my cheek on my forearms, wondering what he thinks we’d say after he left.

“Maybe we’d just talk about all that happened.”

“Instead of facing each other.” My voice is tight, almost muffled against my skin, and I don’t think he has heard me because he doesn’t speak for several seconds.

“Just thought it might be easier. Easier not to look into each other’s sad eyes and say some truths.”

He isn’t blaming me for the sadness. He knows why it existed. He never faulted me.

Or did he?

“Like what?” I ask, turning my face back toward the door. Curious, despite my position. Naked. In the tub.

“Like I missed you. Like I loved you no matter what.”

Back then, he’d said the same thing. Baby or not, he was still going to love me. I’d been the one who grew determined, obsessed almost. It had to work.