Chapter 3 #2
This room is a love letter written by Roman to me. A tangible reminder that the man I married is capable of profound tenderness. That man calls me Sunshine and looks at me like I’m the only light in his world.
But that man seems increasingly like an illusion, replaced by a stranger who keeps secrets, who shuts me out, who leaves me sitting alone with no word on when, or if, he’s coming home.
Which version is the real Roman? The loving husband who created this haven for me, or the cold, distant biker who keeps me locked out of half his life?
I lean into the wheel again, applying more pressure than necessary. The clay warps slightly under my fingers, and I ease back, trying to correct the shape. But it’s too late; the piece compromised.
Just like my marriage.
I’m so absorbed in my work that I don’t hear the motorcycle until it’s in our driveway; the familiar rumble interrupting the evening quiet. I don’t get up. I simply continue working, trying to salvage what I can of my ruined pot.
The front door opens, closes.
“Kayla?” Roman‘s voice echoes through the house.
I don’t answer. Petty, perhaps, but after hours of silence from him, I find I have little to say.
Eventually, he finds me. He fills the doorway, the top of his head almost scraping the lintel, arms crossed. There’s a new bruise on his jaw, a half-moon of yellow and green fading along the cheekbone. I don’t bother asking about it. I know I won’t get an answer.
He doesn’t speak at first, just watches me. I continue working, my eyes fixed on the spinning clay.
Roman shifts his weight, then rubs the back of his neck; a rare gesture of discomfort from a man usually so sure of himself. “Club business ran late,” he finally offers.
I look up, meeting his eyes for the first time tonight. “Naomi said you’d be late.”
He blinks, then straightens. “When did you see Naomi?”
I shrug, returning my attention to the clay. “In town.”
“Was she alone?” There’s an edge to his voice I can’t quite interpret.
“No. She had a couple of guys with her.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, Roman. It’s not like I’m friendly with the other members of your cub.” I can’t keep the bitterness from seeping into my voice.
He looks at me for a long moment, jaw clenching. “I need to make a call.”
I laugh, although nothing about this is remotely funny. “Of course you do.”
I turn back to the wheel, but the piece is beyond saving now. I pull it off the bat, drop it into the reclaim bucket, where the clay will soften and eventually be reused. Nothing wasted, just transformed and given another chance.
If only fixing my marriage could be that simple.
By the time Roman returns, I’ve cleaned up most of my workspace. I’m washing my hands at the small sink in the corner, my back to the door. I hear him pause in the doorway but don’t turn around.
“Everything okay?” I ask, though what I really want to say is, who did you call? What did you tell them? Why is me meeting Naomi in town worth a phone call? Why can’t you share any of this with me?
“Fine,” he says, his tone making it clear that no further information will be forthcoming.
I dry my hands slowly, giving myself time to decide how much I want to push this. When I turn around, Roman is still standing there, his face blank.
“Should I be worried about Naomi?” I ask finally, watching his face for any reaction.
Roman scoffs, shaking his head. “That‘s ridiculous. Why would you think that?”
“She told me to watch my back.”
He shrugs. “She’s dramatic. Likes to get under people’s skin.”
I look at him, really look at him, and for the first time, I see how tired he is. There are lines at the corners of his eyes, a kind of permanent tension in his shoulders. But I’m tired, too.
“You spend more time with her than you do with me,” I say. “And I think she’s trying to scare me off.”
He steps into the room, closer now. “Sunshine, that’s not—”
“Don’t,” I say. “Just… don’t.”
He stops, hands dropping to his sides. “What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to listen to me. To stop lying to me. To let me in for once.”
Roman finally sighs tiredly. “Naomi’s just… different, Kayla. She’s like that with everyone. She always has been.”
I stare at him, a hollow feeling spreading in my chest. Does he really believe that, or is he just unwilling to see the truth? Either option feels like a betrayal.
“Right,” I say quietly.
Roman turns to leave, clearly considering the conversation finished. But I’m not done.
“I think she’s watching me,” I say to his back.
He stops in the doorway, his shoulders tensing. “Why would you think that?”
“She knew I was at yoga yesterday.”
Roman turns back slowly. “It’s a small town, Sunshine. Everyone knows what everyone is doing.”
For the first time in our marriage, I hate the sound of that endearment from his lips.
“Okay,” I say simply, unsure how to convince him and too tired to continue arguing.
Roman and I both stare at each other for a minute, both unsure what our next move should be.
Suddenly the biker from earlier pops into my mind.
“There was another biker I thought was watching me today,” I say to myself almost as much as Roman.
“He was wearing a different cut than you do. He took off as soon as he saw me looking at him.”
Roman just lets out a tired sigh. “There are a lot of bikers that pass through town, Kayla. Are we all just potential threats to you?”
Without another word, I leave the room, careful not to touch him as I move past. Walking down the hallway to our bedroom, I can hear Roman’s soft curse behind me. But he doesn’t try to follow.