42. Chapter 41
Chapter 41
Layne
Over the following three weeks, the pain eased up a little but, combined with the fatigue, remained debilitating. I spent the days in bed, praying, doing breathing exercises which supposedly calmed the nervous system, and trying to read or listen to audiobooks. My brain, however, felt like it was about to catch fire every time I focused on something, so I couldn’t even distract myself from the pain. I longed to draw, but didn’t have the strength to hold a pen, let alone sit upright. Eating, brushing my teeth, or even getting dressed was a battle that left me depleted every time.
Psalm 73:25-26 became my anthem. Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.
One night I woke up and felt the urge to go into the living room, so I crawled out of bed and quietly opened Keaton’s bedroom door. A shade lamp bathed the furniture in a soft light.
“—I don’t know what else to say . . .” Keaton’s low voice came from behind the brown leather couch. With the backrest facing me, I could only see the top of his head. What was he doing, and who was he talking to?
Holding my breath, I kept eavesdropping.
“But I guess You know my request. Same as always. Please heal her, God.”
My eyes widened as I bit down on a gasp. Keaton was praying ?
I tiptoed closer—and froze.
Didn’t dare move.
Not even breathe.
My husband was kneeling on the wool rug, hands folded on the couch and head bowed. An open Bible lay on the coffee table behind him.
An unspeakable joy and warmth flooded my heart. He was praying for me. At one a.m.
The urge to run to him and fling myself into his arms was overwhelming, but I didn’t want to interrupt his heartfelt chat with Jesus.
“I’m failing her on so many levels.” His voice turned raw. “Heck, I even endanger her.” He muttered a curse. “Sorry, I know I shouldn’t say that word in Your presence.”
I grinned. Was this really my husband?
“Just . . . keep her safe. And give me wisdom how to help her. Amen.” Sniffing, he lifted his head. And stilled when he saw me. For a moment, he just looked at me, then came to his feet. “Why’re you up? Is everything okay?” He rounded the couch and came to me.
I nodded. “I felt compelled to come into the living room, and . . . thank you for praying for me.”
Looking down, he roughed a hand over the beard he’d grown over the past two weeks. His raven hair was a mess, like he’d forcefully gripped it. “You should go back to bed.”
Before I could get a word out, he lifted me up and carried me back to his bedroom, where he lowered me onto the mattress. For once, his touch wasn’t as painful, and I relished his strong arms cocooning me, even if it was just for a few seconds.
“Good night, Layne.” He brushed his lips against my forehead. He lingered there, the smell of his cologne as comforting as his caress. The connection I felt to him went deeper than any I’d ever had with a man, and we hadn’t even gotten physical yet. That’s what hardship did. It brought a relationship to a level beautiful moments never could.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He eased back, the light coming from the living room too soft to read his expression. “For what?”
“Being a gold digger.” There, I said it.
“What?” He huffed. “Did you get this from some social media troll?”
A deep sigh escaped me. “I literally married you for your money, Keaton.” He didn’t need to know that Delilah had said this, but she was right.
“Thought we talked about this. You’ve been living here for three months, and you haven’t spent a cent except for your McFlurries and a donation to a veteran organization. Didn’t even make a dent in my savings.”
I rolled my eyes. “Do you always have to brag like that?”
“Just stating facts.”
“Maybe, but I can’t even escort you to events anymore. I not only eat your food and live in your house, I’m also a burden to you now.”
Silence stretched between us, and my heart sank. Every passing second he said nothing cemented my fear as truth.
“You’re not a burden, Layne, you’re a blessing,” Keaton said quietly.
“Ha, yeah right.”
“Layne.” He cupped my face. “Before I married you, I thought I had it all: money, any woman I wanted, respect.” He scoffed. “Then you come along, always that smile on your face and exuding contentment despite having nothing except debts and a chronic illness.”
I laughed. “I’ve never heard anything more accurate.”
“I’m serious. More and more I understand that what I have is worthless compared to your treasure.”
“What you see is Jesus.” I covered his hand with mine, but had to drop it again because it was too exhausting. Speaking was getting harder, too. “He gives me the strength to keep going. The peace despite the storm raging around me.” It was true. I couldn’t even comprehend myself how I hadn’t long gone crazy or become depressed. It was a miracle.
“Yeah, but you keep clinging to Him when you have every right to walk away.” Keaton placed his hand on my leg and squeezed lightly. “That strength is coming from you.”
“I could never walk away from Jesus. He’s all I have.”
“What about me?” I couldn’t tell in the darkness, but it sounded like he was mock-pouting.
I chuckled. “And you, of course.” My amusement evaporated as fast as it had come. I wouldn’t have him for much longer.
“There, that’s better.” A grin was audible in Keaton’s voice. Apparently he didn’t share my thoughts. “Okay, bedtime. Night, babe.”
Regret pummeled me when he straightened and headed for the door. “Wait. Is the Psycho still out there?”
Keaton stopped with his back to me. “Most likely. Haven’t heard from him in a while.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You’re safe here, Layne.”
“I know. I’m worried about you.”
“No need. I won’t stop looking for him until I find him. I will eventually. Now get some rest.” With that, he shut the door.
I stared into the darkness. What if the Psycho got Keaton before Keaton got him?