Chapter 30
Grant
Clay is still sleeping next to me. His lashes resting against his cheeks, looking at peace.
I held him close all through the night. I couldn’t rest unless I were touching him in some way.
My palm on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, or my arm locked tight around his waist as if he might drift away if I let go.
My brain needed the reminder he’s right here. Alive. Breathing.
The last forty-eight hours replay behind my eyelids, over and over.
The explosion. The smoke. His lifeless body. The ambulance. The sterile hospital. The blood. The moment I thought I was about to lose him.
My heart lodges in my throat all over again.
And then—worse in a different way—he asked for her when he woke up.
His confession.
I could’ve lost him. Gone. In the blink of an eye. It’s hard to take in that he loves someone else, too.
He loves someone else.
I never thought this would happen. Yes, we like to have a woman between us occasionally, but the first time with Jo, I think I knew it was already more. This accident has me backing up in fear that he will be gone too soon.
Am I ready to share him?
I don’t love her today, not the way I love him. But Clay is right about one thing: that given time, I could grow to love her. Accept her fully as a part of us. My insecurities scream that I could lose him, but Jo doesn’t seem like the type who’s trying to take my husband away from me.
My husband wouldn’t fall for someone like that. Jo seems anything but jealous or spiteful. Not calculating or planning to shut me out.
I just need time.
The problem is, I don’t know how much or what that even looks like. I can’t offer him any reassurances, and that hurts me too.
I have to admit to myself that there’s a part of me that wishes she were here with us. To have someone else help me take care of my husband.
What would that be like to have someone else here with us every day? No, not just anyone. Jo. The only way I could even picture it would be with her.
Would she even want that? Does she miss us, too?
The intimacy is off the charts with her. It’s electric and effortless. There’s no denying that. But what about all the other times? The sick days? The lazy days? The sad days?
My mind keeps trying to build the picture, testing it from every angle.
I reach for my phone. Clay sent her so many texts, and they’re all unanswered. Each one is more desperate than the last. Do I even try? My thumb hovers over the screen. One more. I’ll try for him.
Jo, please put my husband out of his misery. Text us back so we know you’re okay.
We miss you.
I stare at the message one more time before hitting send. I’d do anything to make my husband happy. To see him light up the way he does with her.
The text sits there. My cursor blinks. We’ve become accustomed to instant responses. Those three dots to provide immediate reassurance. Waiting now feels foreign. Unsettling.
I set the phone down on the nightstand. It will do no good to stare at it. What do we do next? Do we go back to her apartment again? Do we just wait?
I try to put myself in her shoes, but I can’t.
She’s a complex woman. Every layer is fascinating.
She’s been hurt physically and emotionally.
Things that aren’t easily overcome in life.
Especially without support, and from what Clay has said, she doesn’t have a lot of it.
This is a woman who needs extra, not less.
I squeeze Clay’s hand gently, resting my forehead against his shoulder. His breathing changes slightly, but he doesn’t wake. The steady rhythm calms me enough to breathe through the tightness in my chest.
I’m terrified, exhausted, and more aware than ever that nothing in life is guaranteed. Not love, not safety, and not even our next breath.
But beneath the worries, hope bubbles up.
Not for me.
But for the two of them. They’ve been through so much and are still standing. I might not be ready today, but I’ll work to be the man they need.
I close my eyes and whisper a quiet prayer that she’s safe and healing.
And maybe—just maybe—she needs us as much as we’re beginning to realize we need her.