Chapter 17 Lily
LILY
TWO DAYS LATER
“The boys are inside. We should go in and see them,” I say as we sit in the car, our luggage in the back of the car, ready to unpack.
“No. They’re not. I had my mom take them to her house for the night. I figured you might need a night to unwind some. For us to talk,” Anderson says, brows pulled together so that faint line etches between them.
Is it concern I can see on his face? Disbelief? Is he going to dismiss me with that careful tone that sounds reasonable but lands as rejection?
Does he know what happened?
The guilt. God, will the guilt ever go away?
“Why would you think that?” I ask, tiptoeing around the question.
He shrugs. “Because I’m sure you have a lot to say after I bailed on you. I wanted to give you the chance to say it without the boys around so you can scream and yell at me if you needed to.”
Wow. Okay. This is unexpected. And real. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
He said he wanted to try to be more for me. Maybe this is the first step.
“So, lay it on me.”
“Here in the car?”
“I can’t escape, can I?” He chuckles but there are nerves laced in it.
“I just . . . I need you to hear me out. Really hear me this time?”
You are now free.
“Lily.” His sigh is heavy but his voice softens. “I know I’ve let you down. More than once.”
Images flash through my mind of an hour ago.
The airport. Sliding doors whooshing open.
The way my heart exploded with thankfulness when I saw him standing there waiting for me rather than the car I expected him to send to pick me up.
How my legs carried me faster than my brain to him.
How I collapsed into him and bit back the close-to-surface sobs.
Being in his arms felt so good, so right. I love him with every part of me.
“Anderson,” I say, my eyes fixed on my lap, my fingers knotting together, envisaging the faint marks on my wrist. “I can’t keep pretending it didn’t hurt. Waiting there in Italy. Alone. Taking an anniversary trip on my own because my husband didn’t believe our marriage was worth celebrating.”
He nods slowly as if digesting every syllable of every word I just spoke.
“I can definitely see why you’d feel that way, Lil. I truly am sorry. I’m not sure if I’ll ever forgive myself for hurting you like that.” His voice cuts through the memory of his arms wrapped around me in the terminal and the way he whispered assurances he didn’t fully understand.
“You said then you’d put me first,” I remind him. “The last call we had before . . .”
“Before what?” His eyebrows narrow.
Before my captor and Marco. The unfinished sentence has chills chasing over my skin.
I swallow forcefully and hope my voice is even when we speak.
“I meant the conversation we had when you said you’d consider re-evaluating your job and its demands.
When we hung up, when I thought more about it, I realized I don’t want you to sacrifice what makes you happy, but we need to make you happy too or else . . . what’s the point?”
He runs a hand through his hair and nods. “I meant every word.”
“Then show me,” I say, finally meeting his eyes. “Because words aren’t enough anymore.”
We exit the car and when I enter the house, it hits me how empty it is. And those moments in that damn room with the blindfold on suddenly owns me.
My need to see my boys. The need to make sure they’re okay.
“I need to see the boys,” I say without thinking. “They’re okay, right? They’re really at your mom’s? Nothing is wrong with them—”
“Lily? What’s—” But then he sees the panic in my eyes.
His hands frame my face as he looks closely—too closely—before pulling me against him and holding me tightly.
“They’re fine. I promise. It’s too late anyway to get them.
They have school tomorrow and are already asleep.
” He presses a kiss to my head. “But if you really need them here, I can go—”
“No. It’s okay.” I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of him. Revel in the feel of him against me. Safe and warm and real.
“In the car you said I needed to really hear you, but you didn’t finish what you were going to say. Can you tell me what you wanted to tell me?”
My eyes flutter up to meet his and I nod as I push myself away from him and begin to move about the room. Not nervously, but more because I’m afraid to look him in the eye when I say what I need to say.
When I repeat what I’ve been rehearsing in my head for the past forty-eight hours.
You are now free.
“I need you to listen without judgment, okay? Don’t speak until I get it all out.”
He looks at me with curiosity and fear, but he doesn’t speak. He just nods.
“I love you, more than anything, but this trip and the past year . . . it’s made me realize we’ve lost something.
Us. How we used to be. We lost wanting to please each other.
The spontaneity. We stopped being adventurous and trying things.
Inside the bedroom and out. We’ve put ourselves in a rut and if we stay there, we’re going to die there. ”
He doesn’t interrupt. He only breathes, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
I finally sit on the couch opposite him so our eyes can meet. Please hear this.
“So I’m going to stop hinting.” My voice trembles.
“I’m going to tell you exactly what I need.
What I want. I deserve to be satisfied too, because could you imagine how frustrating it would be for you if sex only provided edging but no climax?
Have you given much thought to my orgasms and that I deserve to have just as many as you do?
That I deserve to feel whole and sexy and desired beyond scheduled Tuesday sex.
” I swallow over the lump in my throat. “New positions. Toys. Anal play that’s .
. . light and only if you’re comfortable.
Tie me up with your tie to spice it up. Something.
Anything. Nothing extreme. Nothing you can’t stop.
Just . . . more creativity. More coloring outside the lines every once in a while. With me. For us.”
His brow lifts the tiniest fraction. I watch his face for any sign—shock, disgust, curiosity.
He gives me none.
He waits for me to continue.
“You’re more than enough for me, Anderson.
This life you provide for us is more than enough,” I say because I need him to know.
“I love you. I’ve always loved you. But I’m older now and surer in who I am and what I like and want.
And what I want is for us to explore. I’d like to feel .
. . wanted in ways that go deeper than just tasks and routine. ”
My hands fidget. I force a laugh that’s more breath than humor. “After this week, after being alone, I learned how short time can be when you’re counting the things you never outright asked for.” I hold his gaze. “I want that more from you and with you.”
You are now free.
Silence. It stretches and makes my chest ache. His eyes are still on me—open, unreadable. I need him to say something, anything.
We can. I’ll try. I don’t know but I love you.
Instead he stays quiet. The pause lengthens until it feels like waiting for thunder to break.
Until it feels like I made a huge mistake.