22. Sloane
Sloane
T he gentle hum of breath slipping past my husband’s lips is a balm to my soul. So familiar and yet so foreign. I haven’t awoken to that sound, or to his face buried in my hair, in far too long.
I’m naked, my skin pressed to his, not because I stripped out of my clothes, but because I fell asleep almost immediately after he wrung the third orgasm from my body.
With his arm wrapped around me, he holds me tight to his bare chest. The sweetest and most excruciatingly familiar detail of all is the way his fingers are intertwined with mine.
Yes, for years we were one of those weird couples who held hands while we slept.
At least as the night began. My sleep stripping often meant we didn’t stay that way for too long.
But the moment Sully stirred, he’d twine our fingers and press a kiss to my shoulder.
God, we used to be so sweet.
It takes effort not to get ahead of myself. I’d forgotten about this gentle, devoted side my husband possesses. There was a time when he’d work so late that I’d be asleep long before he got home, and he’d be up with the sun and back to the office long before my eyes even opened .
Though he’s literally wrapped around me, I can’t help but miss him with a ferocity that makes it hard to breathe.
I slip my hand from his as I ease out of bed, and once I’ve found my robe, I rush out of the room.
I need space. I need air. I need to get a grip on the emotions crashing over me like a rogue wave.
Shit, shit, shit. I stand outside the door, sawing in harsh breaths and blowing them out again.
Only when I no longer feel like I’m suffocating do I remember that it’s Christmas morning.
That thought is followed by a sinking sensation, because we forgot to come out and put the presents under the tree.
I scurry down the hall, hoping like hell the boys aren’t awake yet.
It’s quiet, but that only means there’s a 50 percent chance that T.J.
is sleeping. It’s just as likely that he’s getting into mischief.
As I skid into the living room, I pull up short, struck by the sight before me.
Beneath the enormous tree sit piles of beautifully wrapped gifts. Stockings embroidered with the boys’ names are propped up close by, along with a pair of bicycles, one green and one blue.
Tears fill my eyes, making the scene blur. I’d like to blame my stupid hormones for the reaction, but it’s so much more than that. It’s genuine affection and joy, because Sully and Cal are both coming into fatherhood in a way that has my heart squeezing tight.
I may have run from my feelings moments ago, but I won’t any longer. Sully is trying. I need to let him.
According to the clock on the stove, it’s just after five. Knowing T.J., he’ll be up soon, so I might as well get my day started.
As soon as I step into the bathroom, I notice something is different. My stall is glowing.
Intrigued, I pad closer, my slippers scuffing the tile floor. When I pull back the curtain, I gasp. The entire back wall is covered in Christmas lights. Maybe more so than the tree in the living room.
I snort. Or maybe it’s a sob. The sensation rushes up my throat as tears spill down my cheeks.
With my hand cupped to my mouth, I take in each detail.
The pink lava lamp T.J. and Sully gave me last night is lit up, sitting in the corner, on top of a tufted white cushion.
Beside it is a creamy chenille rocking chair with one of those stools that sway along with it.
The cold blue tiles are now hidden beneath a pink rug the exact shade of the curtain.
It’s still a handicap bathroom stall in a shithole apartment, but somehow, it’s magical.
“Merry Christmas,” Sully says from behind me, his voice thick with sleep.
I don’t even startle at his presence. Subconsciously, I knew he’d be there.
“It’s not Paris,” he says as he slips his arms around my waist and presses a gentle kiss to my shoulder. “But we’ll get there, sweetheart. I promise you, we’ll get there.”
This time, the sound that escapes me is definitely a sob. I spin around and wrap my arms around his neck, burrowing into him, my cheek pressed against his steady heart. “I missed you.” Another sob racks my body.
Sully drops his head forehead to my crown and inhales deeply, like he’s committing this moment to memory. When I pull back and peer up at him, his pupils are blown wide, and his face is a mask of emotion.
How the hell did I miss this before? His devotion is written all over him.
It’s devastatingly obvious. I feel naked, stripped to my core, as I search each line of his face.
Maybe what I once recognized as signs that he was falling out of love with me were really just the instances when he was getting it wrong.
Fucking up. Making mistakes. Because it’s clear as day now, as memory after memory assaults me, that even as he was working too much, sitting silently at the dinner table, texting just to say hi less and less, that he never forgot me.
He merely forgot to let me know he still cared.
Rather than drive that point home, rather than insist he’s been here all along, Sully drops his forehead to mine. “I will claw my way back to you if that’s what it takes. Please, sweetheart, just tell me you’ll let me try. ”
The tear that slides down my husband’s cheek is what breaks me completely. Shatters every wall. Obliterates all my excuses.
“How?” is all I manage to get out.
Straightening, he clears his throat, like he’s getting ready to sell his pitch. “We date.”
“We date.” I try the words on for size. They feel all wrong. I don’t want to date my husband. Dating is foreign. It’s for people who don’t know one another. And yet, do we?
We did, once upon a time, but over the years, we’ve gotten so much wrong. So maybe we didn’t know one another as well as I thought.
“I don’t want to confuse T.J.” He was my primary concern when I filed for divorce, and that hasn’t changed.
Sully nods. “I agree.”
“Okay,” I say. It’s a breathy sigh, but it’s resolute and maybe hopeful.
“Okay?” Sully’s expression slowly morphs into a genuine grin. “Really?”
I nod. “I want to try. Do we, like, check in with each other about how we’re feeling, in case you change your mind?”
An emotion I can’t decipher crosses his face, further proving just how much I have to learn about my husband.
“Let’s take it a day at a time,” he says.
“We’re not going to fix us overnight. I may be ready to jump back into this marriage with both feet, but you’re right to be hesitant.
I was—” He huffs out an aggravated breath.
“I was a bloody wanker to you for too long. Don’t let me off the hook easy, okay?
I can do better and I want to earn you.”
I rub my thumbs against his jaw, enamored.
The earnest self-reflection is a surprise.
Though after the way he’s behaved for the last couple of months, picking me up from work, listening, giving me space when I need it, the dedication is not surprising.
And his sheer will to get this right leaves me filled with hope.
“You weren’t the only one who made mistakes,” I say. “I should have spoken up sooner. I should have?— ”
He presses a finger to my lips. “Shh, sweetheart. Let me own this. You can tell me all about your faults later.”
A surprised giggle escapes me. “I don’t have any faults, baby.”
Eyes warming, he pecks my lips. “I’ve bloody missed that name.” He angles in for another kiss, this one longer, messier, and licks into my mouth like he can’t get enough. And with his hands on my ass, he lifts me and turns toward the door.
I pull back. “Where are you taking me?”
“To our bed, sweetheart. I’m taking my wife to our bed so I can do some more apologizing.”
I sigh against his mouth, because there’s nothing I want more.
We wake sometime later to giggles and loud whispers. “Shh, maybe if we’re quiet, they won’t know we peeked.”
Amusement rushes over me, mixed with a hint of frustration. That’s totally T.J.
“Um, no thanks. My dad will freak out if he misses my reaction to our first Christmas.”
I bring a hand to my mouth. God, Murphy is the sweetest. I don’t think there’s another six-year-old in existence who possesses the kind of empathy he does.
And he’s not wrong. By reining T.J. in, he’s ensuring none of us have to deal with a nuclear-level meltdown from Cal.
If he misses a single second of this first holiday with his son, we’ll never hear the end of it.
Unfortunately, T.J. is just as good at having epic meltdowns. “Come on, it’s just one present.”
I nudge Sully. He better get out there before this blows up.
Like he’s thinking the same thing, he presses a quick kiss to my cheek and climbs out of bed. “I’ve got this. I’ll start a cup of tea for you. Come out whenever you’re ready. ”
He tiptoes out into the hall, closing the door behind him, and a moment later, I hear Murphy’s door creak open and Sully whisper-shout, “Caught you!”
Both boys squeal, but Sully shushes them.
I sink back into the bed and squeal myself. The last twenty-four hours have been nothing short of joy-filled. I press my hands to my cheeks. They’re tight from all the smiling I’ve done and they’re warm to the touch, the rosiness more than a simple feeling. It’s emotion spilling out of my pores.
“But Dad , Santa left the presents and he didn’t say we had to wait for everyone,” T.J. whines.
Laughing, I get out of bed and pull on the matching pajamas Cal forced upon us all. If the adults don’t get out there soon, I can’t be held liable for what my son might do.
A few minutes later, I find Lo in the kitchen pouring a cup of coffee. Brian, the good sport that he is, is wearing his pajamas too as he sips from his own mug.
“Where are the guys?” I ask them.
Lo motions to Murphy’s bedroom. “Cal went to wake them up. Can you believe they slept in so late?”