3. nix
NIX
I pull into the driveway, my jaw as hard as stone, my molars ground to dust. Once I left The Bunker this morning, I’ve been putting out fires all day.
It’s like nobody can think for themselves.
I swear to god; I have to tell these guys how to wipe their asses some days.
Today was one of those days. I didn’t need it.
Not today. Not after the way it started.
I swing open my door before the engine completely stops and climb out of my truck. With hurried steps, I make it to the mudroom door and toe off my boots before heading deeper into our silent home.
My breath freezes in my lungs when I step into the darkened kitchen, and my heart sinks when I walk into the living room to find it empty.
I quickly make my way to our bedroom, but it’s also empty.
Fuck! Has she decided to leave me? I wouldn’t blame her since I promised to be home for dinner so we could talk.
I slam the palm of my hand against the doorjamb before I can stop the frustration and anger at myself from boiling over.
I deserve it and I have no one to blame.
Dropping my gaze to the floor and shaking my head in disappointment, I back out of the room.
She must be here somewhere, because her car’s in the garage.
As I turn, light from the front of the house catches my eye and hope quickly blooms in my chest as I change direction.
Lengthening my strides, I make short work of the distance.
I breach the door to Abbi’s craft room to find my wife curled up on the armchair in the corner, an empty wineglass on the craft table, and an almost finished blanket draped across her lap.
I drop my butt onto the footrest and watch my wife sleep.
Dried tears stain her cheeks, and I know with certainty I was the cause of them.
I look around at the piles of yarn that she was obviously sorting, and my shoulders curl inward with a heavy sigh.
Yet another thing I haven’t done for my wife that I promised I’d do.
I drop my head between my shoulders, resting my elbows on my knees and grip the back of my head.
All the ways I’ve failed my wife and my family play across my mind.
The big and little things I should have done and said.
I’m a fucking undeserving asshole. I’ve never deserved Abbi, and after what she revealed this morning, I still don’t deserve her. I thought by working hard and building financial stability for us, I’d finally be worthy of her, but I was wrong. I’ve failed … again.
I run my hands through my hair and sigh heavily as I raise my head to look around the room. Regret curls deep in my gut that I’ve let her down again. Made her feel unimportant, and what did she say this morning … invisible.
Reaching forward, I gingerly slide her hair away from her face.
A few grays have started to show at her temples, but she refuses to dye her hair.
Says she wants to age with grace and gratitude for her life experiences.
My lips turn up; that’s my Abbi. She’s all about being her genuine self—inside and out.
I lightly stroke my calloused finger down her silky-soft cheek—disbelieving that she was once mine, and I lost her.
She must be sleeping deeply because she doesn’t respond to my touch.
I’m unsure how long I watch my wife, but some of the tension that’s been wrapping around my body all day releases the longer I sit and stare.
She looks the same but different from when I first saw her in high school.
She’s lost that youthful roundness to her face, replaced with sculpted cheekbones and a few wrinkles around her eyes and mouth from always smiling.
She has a warmth about her that makes strangers feel at ease with her. It’s part of what drew me to her.
A hand fists around my heart at the idea of living life without her by my side.
I can’t let that happen.
Gently, I remove the blanket from her lap and scoop her into my arms to carry her to our bedroom, savoring the weight of her pressed against me.
She turns her body into me, burying her face in my shoulder—something I’m certain she wouldn’t do if she were awake.
This is what it’s all about. Me and her …
and our family. I’ve lost sight of that over the years, and I vow right here and now to do whatever it takes to keep us together.
We’ve hit a rough patch, but I know we can get through this. I just need to put in the work. Not that showing my wife how important she is to me will feel like work—spending time with Abbi never feels like a chore.
Supporting her carefully, I tug back the blankets and lay her down.
She rolls to her side and curls into a ball; her favorite way to sleep, then reaches out, dragging my pillow into her body, and I wish it were me she was reaching for.
She sinks into the mattress, and a small smile touches her lips, showcasing her dimples.
Sitting on the side of the bed, I stroke her hair away from her face to give me an unobstructed view.
I think back and can’t remember the last time I’ve seen my wife’s dimples.
Maybe this morning, but I was too discombobulated to notice.
When did I lose sight of what’s important? Of who’s important?
I’ve been trying to work that out in the midst of the shitshow of today.
I don’t think I can pinpoint a single moment where things fell apart.
It wasn’t dramatic. More of a slow slide, but I know it started after my last tour.
I close my eyes and tense my jaw against the pain of when my life unraveled.
It’s not a day I’ll soon forget, but it’s a day I do my best not to think about.
It fundamentally changed me and the trajectory of my life.
Shane’s words from this morning come back to me.
“I haven’t been in your position, but I would think you need to show her you’re the man she needs and wants.
Step up and be the man she deserves. The father your kids deserve.
” Even though I didn’t intend to tell anyone that Abbi asked for a divorce, his poignant words have been playing on repeat all day.
Step up and be the man she deserves.
She deserves the fucking world. She’s always been too good for me, but never more so since I retired from the army and channeled all of my focus into my business.
She’s always held this family together with quiet strength—I thought she was happy with the way things were.
She’s always been the more organized of the two of us and naturally took the lead in ensuring the house ran smoothly.
We’d be lost without her. I’d be lost without her.
But obviously, I’ve taken her for granted.
I stare at the opposite side of the bed as if it’s done me wrong and grit my teeth.
What I wouldn’t give to sleep beside my wife.
To curl around her and feel her warm body against mine through the night.
I can’t risk her safety, though—she’s too important to me.
My night terrors are too frequent and, judging by the state of my bedding when I jerk awake, they’re still violent.
I watch her sleep peacefully, grinding my jaw as the image of my hands wrapped around her throat plays across my mind.
I swore it would never happen again, and I intend to always put her safety and comfort before my selfish need to feel her against me during the night.
I swallow my guilt and curl my fists into tight balls for hurting her, for scaring her.
I’m the one person she’s supposed to feel safe with, but I can’t be trusted when I’m asleep.
And now I discover I can’t even be trusted with her precious heart when I’m awake.
Fuck!
Climbing to my feet, I tuck my wife in, softly brush her hair away from her neck, and lean down to press a kiss on the space below her ear, lingering to soak up her scent. “I love you, Abigail Prudence Steele. I’m never going to let you go, so don’t ask me to. I’ll fix this. Fix us. I promise.”
My inattentiveness and inability to draw boundaries between home and work have hurt her and our marriage.
My stomach clenches at the thought that I’ve hurt my wife.
That I’ve caused her any pain at all. The one person, aside from our kids, I vowed I’d always protect.
I never once considered I’d have to protect her—them—from me.
I only hope the damage isn’t irreparable.
I head back to her craft room to clean up, continuing what she obviously started while waiting for me to come home.
I sort through the piles of yarn, winding them into tight balls and sorting them by color.
She has a number of paper bags open on the floor and on her craft table, so I add the colored wool to the appropriate bag.
I count the number of bags she has and jot down measurements for the empty space where a storage unit could fit.
A good start on my road to redemption would be to source a storage unit for her supplies, as I promised her I would a couple of years ago.
Satisfied, I grab the empty glass, turn off the light, and head to the kitchen to wash up. Once that’s done, I grab her phone and charge it, noting the blank screen.
“Fuck,” I grunt when I realize I didn’t even have the courtesy to message my wife to let her know I was stuck at work.
I’m such an inconsiderate, selfish prick.
I never used to be so neglectful. I’d always keep her in the loop about my day, and sometimes I’d even send her messages for no reason. Just because I was thinking about her.
No more.
Abbi has to come first from this point forward, no matter what’s going on at work. Just like I promised I would. I need to break the destructive habits I’ve created.
I lock up, turn off the lights, set the security for the night, then head upstairs to the kids’ bathroom to shower so I don’t wake Abbi.