Chapter 27
SAM
Dating your wife when you’ve already been married is strange.
I’m struggling to hold myself back in the role of “boyfriend” when all I want is to be her husband again.
I miss seeing her every day. I miss the way she’d shove her cold feet under me in the middle of the night.
I miss grocery shopping with her. Working on the house together.
But here I am—two weeks in—and still needing to schedule time to see my wife. Tonight, there is another Zentrology gathering.
I hang back in the shadows, watching the girls laughing by the fire pit, twirling around each other in what I can only describe as some kind of wine-fueled pagan dance. It has Nessa’s name all over it.
I'm not here to crash the party; hell, I’m sure I would be unwelcome.
There is a storm rolling in tonight, the first one since Becca moved into the cabin, and I wanted to make sure she is okay.
She has always been scared of storms, and a bunch of half-drunk women alone in the woods can attract the wrong kind of attention.
Even if I’ve lost the right to be her husband, I haven’t lost the instinct to protect her.
A familiar 4Runner crunches down the dirt path behind me. Jared.
He gets out and eyes me. “Hey, you gatecrashing?”
I shrug. “Just checking things are running smoothly. It’s a new build. Don’t want any surprises.”
He nods, pushing his glasses back. “Becca knows you’re here?”
“No. And I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
Jared leans against his truck and watches me like he’s trying to solve an equation he doesn’t like the answer to. “Is this how it’s going to be for you now? Just … lurking around the perimeter, hoping she forgives you someday?”
I don’t rise to the bait. Instead, I look past the trees to the soft lights flickering near the cabin. My jaw tightens.
“This is where we got married, where she is living now. I’ll always show up here for her. I meant those vows. ‘Better or worse, sickness and health. As long as we both shall live’—that part didn’t end when she moved out after I fucked up.”
Jared nods like he gets it, but something in his eyes flickers.
“Careful,” he warns. “Sometimes standing outside the fire doesn’t mean you’re not still getting burned.”
I look at him, puzzled. Is that regret in his voice?
Before I can ask, he gives me a nod. “Storm’s coming in fast. I'd better get some of the ladies out of here.”
He disappears into the firelight. A few minutes later, his taillights vanish down the road, taking half the party with him. Becca stays behind to clean up, dousing the flames and hustling inside as the wind kicks up.
Once the cabin door closes, I head back to my truck, recline the seat, and pull a blanket over me. It’s pathetic, sure. But it’s all I’ve got left. If I can’t be her husband, I can at least be her shadow. Her silent safety net.
The sky cracks open. A lightning bolt forks across the clouds, and within seconds, rain drums hard against the roof of my truck.
Then, I see movement. The cabin door flies open, and Becca bolts out—barefoot, in sleep shorts, and my old, oversized jacket hanging off her shoulders. She’s dragging a chair to the backside of the cabin, angling it toward the roof.
What the hell is she doing?
I’m out of the truck in an instant, rain pelting me as I grab my jacket and sprint toward her. “Becca! What are you doing?”
“Sam?” She startles, soaking wet, her hair plastered to her face. “Why are you …? Ugh, never mind. The damn skylight handle broke. Rain’s pouring into the kitchen.”
Bennett Fucking Jones, using cheap shit.
I push my murderous thoughts away. “I’ve got it. Get inside.”
She hesitates, then obeys. I pull my truck up under the overhang and climb the tailgate to reach the roof. The window is wide open, and sure enough, the handle’s snapped. Sloppy work from Jones. I push it closed gently and climb down, grabbing some rags from the toolbox to clean up inside.
By the time I step into the cabin, thunder is rattling the beams and I’m drenched to the bone. Becca is crouched on the kitchen floor, wiping rainwater with a towel. My jacket nearly swallows her … and something in me tightens seeing my clothes on her body.
“I’ve got it, babe. You go warm up.” I ease her to the side and mop up the rest.
Outside, the storm keeps raging. But inside the cabin, it’s quiet, intimate with our closeness.
“Thanks,” she says after a moment. “I called Bennett twice, but he never answered. Figured he’d care since I was trying to make an extra payment.”
My jaw tightens, but I keep my tone level.
“Sometimes this happens, with newer builders, working fast. But don’t worry, I can get this replaced with some quality hardware tomorrow so you or future guests don’t have to worry about this again.
” I clear my throat. “Besides, he’s on to the next job already. ”
Wrapped in a blanket, she manages to put her hands on her hips, looking up, disapproving of me. “And how did he get to move on so quickly?”
I sigh, “You know how. I’m sorry I jumped in without asking you. I shouldn’t have done that. But dammit, Becca, you needed the help. And if I hadn’t thrown our money away, you wouldn’t have been in that position.”
She purses her lips, wanting to hold onto her anger. “How did you really get all that money? You’re really telling me that budgeting and baseball cards covered all of it?” She narrows her eyes. “So what, you started an OnlyFans behind my back?”
I look down at my soaked shirt clinging to my body. Despite everything, I laugh. “No. The only woman I want looking at me like that is you.”
She doesn’t say anything, but her gaze drops to my soaked t-shirt and lingers. I scratch the back of my neck, muscles flexing under her eyes.
“Well then, how’d you do it?” she presses.
I take a breath. “You know how, by following your lead. Watching every dollar, calling vendors, re-negotiating. I never realized how hard a job it was, how much I took your money management hustle for granted.”
She blinks. “Really, that’s how? What about the furniture?”
I blow out a breath, knowing this would come up.
“I built a porch swing you’d love, but the back wasn’t angled right for you.
So I built another. Then a bookcase, but it didn’t fit your monster-sized coffee table books.
I made a picture frame, but it took five tries before I made one I thought was close to worthy of that photo I took of you at sunset on our first camping trip. ”
She stares, lips parted. “You did all that? When?”
“When I couldn’t sleep. Turns out heartbreak gives you a lot of extra hours in the day.”
The breath she sucks in is sharp. “I still can’t believe you sold your baseball cards. You said they were your second most prized possession.”
I nod. “And do you remember what I said was my first?”
Her eyes soften, cheeks reddening. She reaches out and takes my hand, fingers brushing the silver wedding band I will never take off. “You said your wedding ring.”
Her eyes are watering now. I lift our joined hands and press a kiss reverently to hers.
“I remember how hard you worked to make this ring for me, Becca. You thought it wasn’t perfect. But it’s the most beautiful thing I own,” I swear.
She laughs, still holding my hand. “I thought you gave me the most beautiful ring, and I wanted to do something special for you. I signed up for that silver-making class, and I was horrible at it. Took me three tries even to make something resembling a ring. I can’t believe you still wear it and didn’t want an upgrade. ”
“Never. I will never take this ring off; it‘s too important to me. Because even though I was never perfect, prioritizing my family and work over us at times, you believed in our future enough to make this for me. I didn’t earn that belief; I didn’t hold it to be true as I should have. But I will. Every damn day.”
I see it, the way she leans toward me. And then stops herself.
“You weren’t a terrible husband,” she says quietly. “But you made a choice that broke something. We were good, Sam. Really good. In a lot of ways, you showed me you loved me.”
“Love you,” I interrupt. “Not past tense. Not something that’s gone.” I swallow hard. “Something I’m trying to be worthy of again.”
Tears start to fill her eyes as she asks, “Sam … I …”
Lightning flashes again—then thunder. Then blackness.
The power’s gone. And we’re left in the dark. Just her and me. This space between us is finally closing. I can’t see her face anymore, but I feel her hand tighten around mine.