Page 8 of Everlasting Vows

My legs still feel like Jell-O after my workout as I step off the elevator. Trying to outrun my thoughts was impossible when they play on a constant loop. I can’t escape the upheaval of my life. The loss of my marriage. The grief of losing a husband who’s unwilling to fight for me. For us. My throat tightens, and I blink rapidly to beat my emotions back. I don’t want to fall apart at work. It’s the only place that feels solid right now.

The office is quiet and still at this early hour, and I plan to use the time to get ahead of my work and keep on top of Pam’s while she’s spending her mom’s last days at the hospital. I can’t imagine her heartbreak when she’s so close with both of her parents. My jaw clenches as my mind shoots to my relationship with my parents. Or, better still, lack of relationship with them.

I stop in the staffroom to make myself a cup of coffee and heat up a pastry leftover from yesterday’s shareholder meeting. Too many carbs. Leaning my butt against the counter, a sleepy memory of Nix carrying me to bed floats across my mind as I nibble my pastry. I snuggled into his broad chest, enjoying his familiar warmth, then curled around his pillow when he placed me on the mattress. It reminded me of sweeter times after the kids were in bed, and he’d carry me to our bedroom to make love before curling around each other and falling into a blissful, satisfied slumber.

His actions were sweet, but they didn’t make up for his lack of communication to let me know he’d be late coming home. That our marriage wasn’t important enough to come home on time for once. It hurt all the more because he seemed determined to be home to discuss our marriage.

Actions speak louder than words, and his actions are shouting through a megaphone from the rooftops.

I needed to be out of the house before he woke this morning. I didn’t want to face him. I couldn’t. I’m still fuming after he stood me up last night. Thinking about it now, my hands shake as I take my cup out of the coffee maker. How dare he pretend to care … pretend to want to fix things between us, and then fail to show up. Again.

“Ugh,” I growl as I stalk toward my work station.

My steps falter when my eyes land on a familiar figure standing by my desk. I would know his shape anywhere. “What the hell?” I whisper under my breath. Why does he always have to look so fantastic in a suit? Who am I kidding? He always looks fantastic, no matter what he wears. It makes no difference. He knows that seeing him in a suit is my kryptonite; he’s not playing fair. My heart kicks up speed, and the whoosh of blood in my veins fills my ears. My gaze is trapped in his, and neither of us moves. I’m not sure I’m even breathing at this point.

The elevator dings and the doors swish open, followed by sharp, confident footsteps on the stone tiles. Oliver comes into view, carrying his briefcase. His step stalls for a second when he spots me, and he dips his chin. “Morning, Abbi. You’re in early today.”

I smile awkwardly. “I wanted to start early so I can keep on top of Pam’s work. Save bringing in a temp.”

His eyebrows rise, and he nods his approval. “Thank you, Abbi. Appreciate it. Pull in one of the juniors if you need.”

“I will. Thanks, Oliver.”

The muscle in Nix’s jaw flex, and it’s at that moment that Oliver notices my husband leaning against my desk, a familiar paper bag next to him. I’m surprised he actually remembers The Break Room is one of my favorite places. They make the best bagels, fresh every morning. I haven’t had one for ages and my stomach, as twisted up as it is, lets me know how eager it is to become reacquainted with their delicious treats.

Oliver deviates from his path and heads toward Nix with his hand outstretched. “Nix. Good to see you.”

“You too.”

His eyes flick between me and Nix, obviously reading the tension between us. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.” He turns back the way he came. “Thanks again for stepping in for Pam. Have a productive day.” He strides confidently to his office and closes himself inside.

If Nix weren’t here, I’d head back into the staffroom to make him a cup of coffee, but the need to know why Nix has decided to show up at the office wins out.

He steps away from my desk, a tentative smile touching his lips. His uncertainty is unfamiliar and knocks me off kilter, making my already shaky legs almost give out. When he’s close enough, he reaches out, slides his fingers against mine lightly, then links our fingers as he leans in to kiss my cheek with soft tenderness. Without guidance, my eyes drop closed as I soak in his clean, familiar scent. Being this close to him feels like home, and I hate that it still feels that way for me when he’s hurt me so deeply. An ache squeezes my chest, making it difficult to catch my breath.

“Morning, Abbi,” he grumbles, his hot breath warming my skin. “I missed you.” Whatever. His eyes track over my face in an angry path as if I’ve pissed him off. Join the club.

“Morning,” I mumble in return. I wasn’t the one who didn’t come home until late last night. He can say he missed me all he likes, but he made his choice. And it wasn’t to spend time with me.

What he fails to understand is that I’ve missed him for years. First, it was his military commitments that often kept him away from us. I understood his deployments were part of the job and out of his control. Now it’s his choices that cause him to be absent, which are within his control. Mostly.

Holding my hand, he takes the coffee from me and leads me back to my desk, then pulls out my chair, guiding me to take it. “I brought you breakfast.” He drags the bag with the familiar label closer, pulling a package out of the bag with care, and hands it to me. “Egg and avocado on a poppy seed bagel, right?”

Surprise rips through me; he bought my favorite.

He remembered.

“Yeah,” I stare at it longingly, then sigh as my stomach swoops. It’s such a simple gesture, but his remembering my favorite bagel makes me feel special. I’m a simple girl. I don’t need a lot, but I do need my husband to pay attention to me sometimes, and knowing he remembered something so basic as my favorite breakfast bagel from my favorite café makes my heart feel a little lighter. Hope squeezes through the gaping cracks in my heart, and I glance back up at him, finding his eyes on me. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he grumbles.

If he thinks he can fix our marriage by turning up to work with my favorite bagel after he stood me up last night, he’s got another thing coming. I won’t let him off the hook so easily. And I won’t change my mind.

“Nix—”

“I’m—”

We speak simultaneously. His jaw tenses as he gestures for me to go first.