Chapter Thirty-One
Lyndsey
Being back from Texas feels like my life should be back to normal.
It isn’t. And yet Aiden and I have found our own version of normal.
His house is a dream and living here is like a vacation, with beautiful views of the land around the back of his house and the large tub in the spare room I have moved into.
Plus I get the great view of Aiden working out.
His home gym is my favourite part of the house, for sure.
Do I work out? Hell no, but I’m going to do yoga in the corner while I watch Aiden lift weights and run on a treadmill.
I have to stop myself from drooling while he runs shirtless, the sweat dripping between his abs drives me crazy.
I want to lick it up and then I gross myself out.
Still, I’m there every morning waking up earlier than I would like to just to get a glimpse of my husband’s tattooed torso and arms pulsating.
It adds a new layer now that I understand some of his tattoos.
A pair of angel wings to represent his parents.
A small flower to represent Eden. The Shakespeare quote “That as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out”: a line said by Celia in As You Like It.
The matching tattoo he has with Alice. Each one tells the story of his family and his love. Seeing what his body can do is art.
The way his muscles clench, the skin tanned and reddened, makes me understand how people write sonnets.
If I could carve him out of marble, I would never be happy with my work because nothing could come close to emulating his perfection.
Damn, I need to get laid. I want my husband to take me to bed and show me the stars but we aren’t even in the same bedroom right now.
For all I know, most married people might not share a bed.
The closest to a conventional relationship I have ever seen is Liam and Ellis and they aren’t even married yet.
Plus they were apart for ten years and got pregnant from a one-night stand and that is the closest I have to healthy love.
It wasn’t even until I saw how devoted Liam is to Ellis that I realised how fucked up my parents’ marriage is.
The arguing and the passive-aggressive silence shouldn’t be normal.
Whenever my mom made my dad mad, he would act like a petulant teenager, slamming doors and icing her out until she would beg for his attention and affection.
I thought that was normal because it was how I was raised.
I would follow her, I did everything I could to keep my dad happy.
I would make sure he ate first and that I didn’t bother him in the mornings because he was a monster before coffee.
I learned to tiptoe around my own house and growing out of that was hard.
Then I saw how Liam worships the ground Ellis walks on and it showed me that men can love their partners.
Truly love them. Not love them for cleaning and cooking, but love them because they exist and that is enough.
Hell, even in most sitcoms the husband hates his wife, she is always the butt of the joke.
But it doesn’t have to be that way. It shouldn’t be that way. I’m finally figuring that out.
Even while dating a woman I never really considered marriage because I thought there was no affection there.
If I tied the knot, that would mean that I was giving myself over to my partner and telling them they could stop caring.
They would have got me and not needed to try any more.
It was irrational and I even knew it then but deep down I thought that would be my future no matter who I married.
So I told myself that would never be me.
I would never marry and give someone that power over me.
Now here I am. Married and sleeping apart from my husband.
Granted, he isn’t my chosen husband. Unless you count drunk me making the decision for sober me.
Still, I have managed to become what I was scared of.
And yet I’m happy. There is so much quiet affection between us.
We have a routine. One we never even discussed.
After he works out and I pretend to work out while ogling him he makes breakfast. I was worried he would try and push me to eat a bunch of healthy food but my husband has a sweet tooth.
We have waffles – yes, they are protein waffles but I can lather mine in maple syrup to make them more enjoyable.
While he makes those, I make us coffee so we can eat together.
We talk about anything. About our weird dreams the night before.
About our families. About what our plans are for the day.
After breakfast he runs upstairs to shower while I clean up the mess.
Seeing how he cooks, it’s only fair that I clean up.
Even if he tells me every day that I don’t have to do it, I do anyway.
He is refusing to let me pay rent so I have to pull my weight somewhere.
It also helps to keep me busy instead of picturing him shower.
I have to stop myself from imagining the way he suds himself up, his large hands rubbing over the expanse of skin.
Then I jump into my own shower to cool my thoughts.
As much as I try to resist I touch myself picturing him joining me.
Pinning me against the cold white tiles, taking me hard and quick, needing to fuck me one last time before he has to leave for the day.
It’s a great way to start my day, up until I remember how I’m still in the shower alone.
That is a sharp comedown. By the time I’m clean and dressed Aiden is waiting for me downstairs with lunch he made for me to take to work.
Ever since I got here, he has driven me to Bloom and Blossom.
It is on his way to the stadium but I know he should probably leave earlier to beat the traffic, though he has never complained.
We drive together with the radio low to fill the silence in the car.
At first it felt awkward. I had so much guilt about all the drama I have brought into his life, I was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop and for him to snap at me.
Every day I become a little less on edge and am starting to enjoy our quiet drives.
Knowing that no matter how busy our day gets we’ve had this time together. Just enjoying each other’s company.
On the days when he has a game I come home to an empty house.
It still feels wrong to be in the house alone but Aiden has told me a thousand times to make myself comfortable.
I make some food and I always make enough for two.
Even if I tell him I did it accidentally he knows I’m lying.
I just hate the idea of him coming home hungry and having to make himself something when he has already worked so hard all day.
The difference between me and my mom though is that I’m doing it because I want to make his life easier, not because if I don’t he will make my life harder.
Plus my husband always gets hungry at night.
He calls it his midnight munchies, so having leftover food means he doesn’t wake me up cooking something for himself in the middle of the night.
My favourite nights are the ones when he comes home early.
The nights we eat together and sit in the TV room.
He watches game tapes and I read my Kindle and again there is quiet between us but I love it anyway.
It makes me feel incredibly domestic. Sometimes he pulls my feet over his lap, digging his thumbs into the arches of my foot.
Neither of us mention it, too scared to ruin the moment.
When he gets through his tapes he sits with me anyway.
After a few nights of this I convinced him to watch some Real Housewives with me.
If any of his teammates asked he would tell them that it is stupid, but I know the truth.
He is outraged about their in-fighting and is fully invested in them.
I caught him looking them up on social media, he denied it but I know what I saw.
He told me one night that he never really watched a lot of TV growing up.
He was always too busy training or keeping his sisters entertained, so that even when he had time for himself he was working on his form.
Looking up the best skates or the newest teams in the NHL, it was his entire life.
Now he enjoys that I force him to stop. To take time for himself where he isn’t beating himself up for things he can’t control.
Even after spending our evenings together, once it is time for bed we go into different rooms. I shouldn’t complain.
The room I’m staying in is beautiful, the bed is huge and comfortable, but it is oh-so lonely.
After spending every night in bed with him in Texas, now the bed just feels cold and empty around me.
Every morning I wake up in the centre of the bed holding a pillow to my chest after dreaming that he was holding me close.
The master bedroom is just next door and every night I think about knocking on his door.
I imagine walking in there and crawling into bed beside him, demanding that he hold me.
But I don’t. If he rejected me I don’t think I would survive the embarrassment.
I definitely wouldn’t be able to stay in this house and, as much as I love Ellis, there is no way I’m crashing at her place.
I love her kids but I love them when I get to come home to the quiet at the end of the day.