Chapter 4 #3
He shifted, his voice a little louder now. “I get why you’re mad, okay? But you have to understand?—“
“Don’t,” I cut him off, my eyes finally snapping open as I sat up. “I don’t want to hear you defend her again.”
Chris sat up as well, frustration clouding his face as he rubbed his tired eyes. “I’m not defending her, Beth. But she knows the business in a way that?—“
“In a way that I don’t?” I finished, the bitterness in my voice unmistakable. “Is that it?”
“That’s not what I meant,” he sighed, reaching for my hand. I jerked it back, unwilling to let him soften me, not tonight. “You’re taking this the wrong way.”
I scoffed, disbelief coloring my tone. “There’s no wrong way to take it when your husband is telling someone else how much they understand his world better than you do, Chris.”
His jaw tightened, a flash of anger flashing in his eyes. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Didn’t you, though?” I shot back, my heart pounding as I stared him down. “Because it sounded an awful lot like you think I’m too sentimental to be in your life.”
His expression softened just a fraction, but I could still see the stubbornness behind it. “Beth, I just?—“
“Don’t,” I cut him off, the exhaustion settling into my bones as I stood from the bed. “I’m too tired for this, Chris. Really, I’m too tired for any of it.”
I moved toward the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.
As the cool water from the sink splashed over my hands, I stared at myself in the mirror, seeing a reflection I hardly recognized.
I looked worn down, drained by the constant tension between us, by the endless cycle of him pulling away and me chasing after him.
And the worst part? I didn’t know if I even had the strength to fight for us anymore.
But as I turned off the faucet, the quiet click of the door handle echoed behind me.
Chris pushed open the bathroom door, stepping into the small space with a look I’d never seen before on his face, desperate and frustrated. I stood frozen, my back against the marble sink, watching as he closed the door behind him, trapping us both in this tight, charged space.
“I know I messed up tonight,” he said softly, stepping closer.
He stopped just in front of me, his hands hovering in the air for a second before settling on my waist. His touch was gentle, tentative, as if he wasn’t sure how I’d react.
“But I don’t want this, this distance, to keep growing between us. ”
I wanted to push him away, but his presence, the familiar heat of him standing this close, made my resolve waver. “Then do something about it,” I whispered, the words barely escaping my lips. “Because I’m not sure how much longer I can do this.”
His hands tightened on my waist, pulling me closer, until the space between us disappeared completely.
The warmth of his body pressed against mine was both comforting and suffocating, like an old habit I couldn’t break even when I knew it was bad for me.
His forehead rested against mine, his breath mingling with mine as his thumb brushed the bare skin of my waist.
“I will,” he promised. “Just don’t push me away, okay? We’re better together.”
My hands slid up his chest, the soft fabric of his shirt bunching between my fingers, the old familiarity of this dance pulling me in deeper than I wanted to be.
I knew this wasn’t solving anything, that we were just postponing the inevitable, but for a moment, I didn’t care.
I needed this, needed him to make me believe there was something left worth saving.
Our lips met in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened, fueled by desperation and the raw need to feel something, anything other than the ache of uncertainty. His hands slid down, pulling me against him tighter, and I let him, the weight of him grounding me for a second time tonight.
But as he lifted me onto the edge of the sink, the marble cold against my back, I couldn’t shake the thought that we were using each other to avoid what really needed to be said.
The heat of his mouth against my skin, his fingers tracing the curve of my waist, should have been enough to silence my doubts. And for a while, it worked.
But after, when we were back in the darkness of the bedroom, lying side by side but not really touching, I knew that nothing had been fixed.
I stared up at the ceiling, listening to the rhythm of his breathing, wondering if I had just made things worse by letting us pretend tonight, even if for just a few hours, that things were okay.
The truth was, I didn’t know how much longer we could keep doing this, using physical comfort to patch over the growing rift between us, before it became too big to ignore.
And the worst part, the one I couldn’t stop thinking about as sleep finally claimed me, was that I wasn’t sure I cared enough anymore to keep trying. As I drifted into an uneasy rest, Chris’s warmth beside me felt more like a reminder of what we had lost rather than the solace it once used to be.