Page 59 of Everlasting Vows

I remember that night as if it happened yesterday; the feel of his big hands tightening impossibly further around my throat. I feared for my life as I fought for breath, but I also had an innate trust that my husband wouldn’t end my life if I could just wake him from his night terror.

I grip his hands in mine and kiss each palm tenderly. “But that was years ago. Things were still so fresh for you. Enough time has passed that I think it’s worth trying again. You’re in a different place now. A better place. You’re more settled.”

He scoffs and pulls his hands from mine to shove them through his hair. He holds them there and looks down at me, distraught. “But I’m not. I still have night terrors. Not as often, but they still happen at random times. And … and when I wake in the morning, my bedding looks like I’ve gone ten rounds in the boxing ring. I don’t trust myself, Abs. I need you to understand that I”—he shoves his thumb into his chest—“Don’t. Trust. Myself.” His body deflates, and he cups my face as if he’s holding the most delicate porcelain in the world. “Not with the most precious person in my life.”

His pain bleeds into me and becomes mine. “Nix,” I murmur.

He leans forward, and I push up on my knees. We meet with a soft swipe of our lips, and my entire body sighs. “I’m so sorry, Abs. I promise I’ll do better. Be better,” he whispers against my lips as his hand glides beneath the fall of my hair, and he tilts my face back.

Pressing his mouth back to mine, he kisses me with apology and promises, and I return it with acceptance and compassion—something that’s been missing in our marriage as I focused on all the things I wasn’t getting from Nix. We linger in the moment, kissing and tasting. Gently, sensually our mouths and tongues move together, sharing our breaths in and out with an intimacy that’s effortless.

His lips soft beneath mine, the bristles of his beard abrading my skin remind me of days and nights spent kissing this man. He deepens our kiss, swiping my tongue with his, and a needy moan scrapes its way up my throat. His fingers twist in the strands of my hair, and he angles my head to his liking and pillages my mouth, sending shivers down my spine and goosebumps scattering across my flesh.

When we finally pull away to catch our breath, our eyes lock, and I stare into my husband’s anguished gaze. “I love you, Abbi.” He presses his forehead to mine, scrunching his eyes closed and shutting me out of his tortured cell. “So much,” he grits.

My nose tingles, and my throat burns, but I push out the words he needs to hear. “I know and I love you. So much. I miss you. Miss us together. I want that again.” I press my lips to his. “I understand you don’t trust yourself, but I trust you. I know to the marrow in my bones that you would never hurt me intentionally. I need you to know that. I need you to hear me when I tell you I trust you implicitly.”

He smiles wistfully, his eyes glossy. And when I see how close he is to crying, my own tears fall over my lashes. My heartbreak for my husband and what we’ve lost trails over my cheeks in rivulets of pain and longing. Nix gently slides his fingers through my hair and tucks it behind my ear. “I’m going to talk to Harry tomorrow. Ask him what I can do.”

“What we can do.” I take his hand in mine and kiss his palm. “We. We need to work through this together.”

Cupping the side of my face, he tilts my lips back to his for a languid kiss that lingers for long moments. Then he tugs me to my feet and tucks me into bed, leaving me alone in our bedroom again.

I curl into a tight ball and fall apart. Partly for myself and the loneliness that’s drowning me, but mostly for the lost look in my husband’s eyes as he walked out of our bedroom.

SESSION FOUR

After a quick text to Harry to find out if he would be available this morning, to which he responded he could be if I needed him, I jumped in my car and made my way to The Bunker as soon as humanly possible. In too much of a hurry to climb the steps, I leap onto the portico and yank the door open in one swift move that surprises even me. I don’t even stop to grab coffee, too antsy to wait for it to be made. Too antsy to get some damn answers.

I bulldoze my way into Harry’s office and come to a crashing stop when I find it empty. My chest heaves as I spin on the spot as if I’ve somehow overlooked the man hiding in a corner of the room. Pushing my hand through my hair, frustration floods my bloodstream and tension radiates from my body in a wave.

Damn. I didn’t figure on beating him here.

The urgency that tightened my muscles is replaced with disappointment. My shoulders sag and I blow out a long, heavy breath. I walk closer to the window and peer out at the community garden to check if he’s out there. Craning my neck, I look around, but can’t see him anywhere, but I think it’s too cold for anyone to be wandering outside. I remove my jacket and toss it over the back of my usual chair.

“Ah, the hero of the moment. Your face has been all over the news.” Harry steps deeper into the room, holding out a steaming cup of coffee to me, which I accept with gratitude. I don’t want to talk about that right now. It’s the furthest thing from my mind. “You dealt with that situation admirably, but need I remind you it’s no longer your job,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone while raising an eyebrow at me and I don’t know how he did it, but I feel as if I’ve been chastised.

I shake my head and huff. “I just wanted to take my wife out on a surprise date, and the situation was blocking my way to Abbi. It didn’t matter in the end; by the time it was handled, Abbi was home and I missed my opportunity,” I grumble, causing Harry to double over with laughter. “It’s not fucking funny,” I snap.

“Maybe not. How is dating your wife going?”

“It would be better if I didn’t get waylaid. We’ve had a couple of dates that have gone well enough. I’ve opened up a little and Abbi’s been as open-hearted as she always is.” She’s always been too good for me.

He stands straight, still fighting a smile, and holds his hand out toward one of the overstuffed chairs. “How about you take a seat and we can chat.”

I do as he suggests, both of us getting comfortable, then sip my coffee. Harry sits and waits for me to start; he’s exceptional at sitting in silence while I gather my thoughts. “I need to be able to sleep in the same bed as my wife,” I blurt.

His white eyebrows shoot up. “Where do you currently sleep?”

“In the guest bed,” I grunt quietly, embarrassed to admit that I’m too fucking scared to sleep in the same bed as my wife. Too ashamed that I’m failing my wife at a fundamental level.

He pushes deeper into his chair as he studies me, and it takes everything in me not to squirm like a child under his watchful gaze. “How long have you been sleeping separately?”

“A while,” I mumble as I fight to hold still.

“How long is a while, Nix?” he probes, not willing to let it go.

I turn away from him, staring out of the window, unseeing. That night will always haunt me. The way I put Abbi in imminent danger at my hand is not a memory that can be easily forgotten. “Pretty much the entire time I’ve been home.” I push the words out past my shame.