Page 44 of Everlasting Vows

He looks at me boldly, as if waiting for me to argue. “If you truly want to save your marriage, you need to give Abbi what she wants.” He raises his hands and drops them on the arms of his chair with a thud, then pushes to his feet. “And she wants inside your head. No matter how dark or messy it may be in there.” He comes to a stop beside me, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I suspect some of your issues may be a result of your failure to address your trauma. Maybe you don’t trust yourself in the deepest corners of your mind, but you need to trust your wife. As difficult as it may be for you, you need to give that to her. You need to let her support you.” He pats my shoulder. “You never know; it may actually help. Of course, I’m here for you whenever you’re ready to work through that trauma. You can practice with me before opening up to your wife. These things often get easier the more you do them.”

“Not my strong suit,” I grumble.

Harry chuckles. “You’re not alone, Nix. Many men find it difficult to share their burdens. Especially men like you, who have held positions of leadership. You’re expected to deal with issues and find solutions without fuss. Push on and push through no matter how difficult or traumatic the situation. Don’t show any weakness. Your men look to you for guidance, and any sign that you’re unsure or struggling in a situation, especially one of life or death, can mean a loss of trust in your ability to lead them. It means you don’t have time to deal with the trauma because there’s always another problem to solve or issue to deal with.”

His words resonate so deeply with me. I almost feel stupid for not realizing it myself.

“The thing is, Nix, if you don’t deal with this unresolved trauma—talk with someone about it, whether that person is me or Abbi—it’ll build up to the point where it will cause more damage to you and those you love. Irreparable damage. Damage that can’t be undone. I don’t want to see that happen to you.”

I swallow the boulder-sized lump in my throat caused by the emotion etched deep into Harry’s features. His concern for me is evident in the extensive furrows across his forehead and the sadness in his eyes. I look up at the clouds moving quickly across the sky. “I have no idea where to even begin.”

“Start by sharing something small with Abbi. People underestimate the power of small steps, small gestures, small measures of forward momentum. If you think about the big picture, the final goal, the big gesture, it’s easy to become overwhelmed and do nothing. That isn’t helpful. You need to build a bridge between you and Abbi, and if you think about the construction of an actual bridge, the workers don’t build the entire structure in one day or even one week. They make steady, incremental progress over a long period. So, I want you to think about something small you can share with your wife to begin building a bridge between you. Something that will give her an insight into who you are as a man … now. Because, let’s face it, neither of you are the same people you were when you met as teens.”

My mind races with something I can share that won’t be too dark for Abbi. “I don’t want to traumatize her.”

He draws a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling. “Sometimes not knowing what someone’s experienced is more traumatic, because our minds are very creative at spinning the very worst possible scenarios … which, more often than not, can be worse than the actual event that took place.” He sighs and moves back to his chair, and I follow him to mine. “Can you think of something you can share? I don’t expect you to go straight into talking to her about the explosion, but I’d like you to build up to sharing that event with her. She has the right to know about the things that have shaped you into the man you are today. The man she’s married to.” He’s quiet for a long moment, then he leans forward. “A good place to start might be why it’s so important to you to ensure your family is financially stable. It will help her to see why you work so hard to build your business.”

Possibilities unfold in my mind like a movie reel, one after another, but the idea of laying myself bare to my wife causes a sharp pain behind my ribs. “I’ve always wanted her to see me as strong, capable … confident. If she really knew how many times a day I question myself and my ability to provide for her and our family, my lack of self-belief, would she still want to be with me? Nobody likes a weak man.”

“On the contrary, it’s not weak to share what makes you tick … the things that shaped you. Good or bad.”

“She knows we lost my dad when I was eleven and that it left us in a financial hole that my mom had to work two jobs to dig us out of. I’m not sure what else I’d need to share about that time. I would assume she understands why financial security is important to me. To us.”

He crosses one leg over the other, turning his body more toward mine. “Abbi may know the surface stuff surrounding that time, but she may not realize how deeply that time affected your psyche and shaped your core values. I’m sure she sees what a hardworking man you are and that your work ethic is strong, but without the history outlining the emotional impact that time had on you, she only has half of the story.” He leans forward. “To create real intimacy with Abbi—which is what she’s asking of you—you must share your story on a deeper level. Dig into your emotions, hurts, and trauma. The way the explosion set you on this path to double down on ensuring you secure a strong financial future.” He raises his eyebrows. “It may be the only way to save your marriage.”

15

NIX

I step onto the front porch and adjust the cuffs at my wrists, then ring the doorbell. It only takes a few moments before I see her outline heading toward me through the frosted glass of the double front doors, but it feels like it takes forever. I can tell she’s uncertain of who’s at the front door by the quiet, cautious way she’s moving. I wanted our evening out to truly feel like a date, so I made my way out of the house without telling her. I want to woo my wife. My truck is washed and parked in the driveway, ready for our escape.

She pauses at the screen on the wall that displays our front porch area. “Good girl,” I murmur.

Within seconds, the front door flies open, and Abbi literally steals my breath. A soft pink knitted dress hugs her curves down to her knees, and while it isn’t revealing with its crew neck, it leaves nothing to my imagination. I know exactly what’s hiding beneath the fabric—well, I used to know. My eyes drop to her feet, covered in high-heeled black boots that come a short way up her calves, leaving roughly twelve inches of her sexy legs exposed for my perusal. My eyes continue to trace a path up her body, noting the curve of her hips, which is more pronounced these days than it used to be, and the soft roundness of her stomach that never quite went away after carrying our two babies no matter how many exercises she did. She hates that part of her body, but I adore it because it shows how incredible she is. I used to love resting my head there while she scraped her short nails through my buzz cut. We’d talk about the kids and our hopes and dreams for them well into the night whenever I was home on leave. She’d catch me up on the little details of their lives that were too insignificant to mention during our timed calls, and I’d soak up just being with her and the soothing sound of her voice.

My gaze travels further, noting the way the soft fabric falls over her breasts and higher to her beautiful face. Abbi can be red-nosed and puffy-eyed, suffering from hay fever and I still consider her the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, but when she’s made up for an evening out, she is in a class all of her own. Her raised eyebrows and wide gaze peer at me as if she can’t make sense of what she’s seeing. Her mouth drops open a little, and I know I’ve caught her off guard by knocking at the front door to pick her up for our date.

“Abbi,” I breathe as I drag the bouquet of pink peonies out from behind my back. It’s a similar arrangement to the one she carried down the aisle toward me on our wedding day. I chose it to remind her of our happier days, hoping to set the tone for this evening. It’s only the second time she’s allowed me to take her out since she asked for a divorce, and I want to make tonight memorable for her and hopefully make some progress toward permanent healing.

Her beautiful dark eyes drop to the flowers and then snap back up to my face. My smile is rusty, feeling stiff and foreign on my lips, so I try to push the edges of my lips up higher, hoping I don’t look like a serial killer.

“Nix?”

I hold the flowers up a little and step in close to press a kiss to the silky skin of her cheek, then move my lips closer to her ear. “You look beautiful,” I whisper as I gently glide my hand down the length of her hair. She has it curly tonight. When I pull back, her eyes glow with warmth beneath the golden porch lights, and my lips tip up in a genuine smile when I see the look of wonder on her gorgeous face.

“Th-thank you. I-I didn’t expect any of this.” Her eyes drop to the pink blooms in her hand, and a slow grin exposes her dimples. “These are beautiful; they remind me of my wed⁠—”

“Wedding bouquet,” I finish, and she nods.

“Let me put these in water, and I’ll be back!” She spins on her heel and rushes back into the house, and like a gentleman picking up my date for the first time, I don’t step foot over the threshold, waiting for her to return. However, being a gentleman only goes so far, and my eyes devour the sight of her tight, curvy ass in that skin-tight dress. Damn!

I already left a vase filled with water on the counter, so I know she won’t take long. Tonight is an important night for us—not that Abbi knows my intentions—and I don’t want to mess up anything. I want everything to be perfect. My stomach twists and turns as I think over some of the things I want to share with Abs tonight. I only hope it helps us to build a bridge between us, as Harry suggested.

When she returns to the front door, she’s a little breathless, and her cheeks hold a pretty pink hue. She tucks her long, dark hair behind her ear and smiles shyly. “Thank you again.”

“It’s the least you deserve,” I tell her with a morose smile. Guilt has been festering inside me for weeks. Her request to end our marriage was a huge wake-up call. One I’m not taking lightly. The mistakes I’ve made won’t be repeated if I can help it.

She grabs a coat and her purse, then locks and closes the front door. When she turns, I’m waiting with my arm outstretched, ready to take her hand. Once I have her hand secured in mine, I tug her close and press a kiss to her temple, holding my lips in place for a few precious moments. My eyes drop closed, savoring the peace I feel being this close to my wife. Grateful that she’s giving me another chance to make things right between us. I open the door to my truck and help her inside, dragging the seatbelt across her body to ensure she’s safe.