4. abbi
ABBI
My legs still feel like Jell-O after my workout as I step off the elevator.
Trying to outrun my thoughts was impossible when they play on a constant loop.
I can’t escape the upheaval of my life. The loss of my marriage.
The grief of losing a husband who’s unwilling to fight for me.
For us. My throat tightens, and I blink rapidly to beat my emotions back.
I don’t want to fall apart at work. It’s the only place that feels solid right now.
The office is quiet and still at this early hour, and I plan to use the time to get ahead of my work and keep on top of Pam’s while she’s spending her mom’s last days at the hospital.
I can’t imagine her heartbreak when she’s so close with both of her parents.
My jaw clenches as my mind shoots to my relationship with my parents.
Or, better still, lack of relationship with them.
I stop in the staffroom to make myself a cup of coffee and heat up a pastry leftover from yesterday’s shareholder meeting.
Too many carbs. Leaning my butt against the counter, a sleepy memory of Nix carrying me to bed floats across my mind as I nibble my pastry.
I snuggled into his broad chest, enjoying his familiar warmth, then curled around his pillow when he placed me on the mattress.
It reminded me of sweeter times after the kids were in bed, and he’d carry me to our bedroom to make love before curling around each other and falling into a blissful, satisfied slumber.
His actions were sweet, but they didn’t make up for his lack of communication to let me know he’d be late coming home. That our marriage wasn’t important enough to come home on time for once. It hurt all the more because he seemed determined to be home to discuss our marriage.
Actions speak louder than words, and his actions are shouting through a megaphone from the rooftops.
I needed to be out of the house before he woke this morning.
I didn’t want to face him. I couldn’t. I’m still fuming after he stood me up last night.
Thinking about it now, my hands shake as I take my cup out of the coffee maker.
How dare he pretend to care … pretend to want to fix things between us, and then fail to show up. Again.
“Ugh,” I growl as I stalk toward my work station.
My steps falter when my eyes land on a familiar figure standing by my desk.
I would know his shape anywhere. “What the hell?” I whisper under my breath.
Why does he always have to look so fantastic in a suit?
Who am I kidding? He always looks fantastic, no matter what he wears.
It makes no difference. He knows that seeing him in a suit is my kryptonite; he’s not playing fair.
My heart kicks up speed, and the whoosh of blood in my veins fills my ears.
My gaze is trapped in his, and neither of us moves.
I’m not sure I’m even breathing at this point.
The elevator dings and the doors swish open, followed by sharp, confident footsteps on the stone tiles. Oliver comes into view, carrying his briefcase. His step stalls for a second when he spots me, and he dips his chin. “Morning, Abbi. You’re in early today.”
I smile awkwardly. “I wanted to start early so I can keep on top of Pam’s work. Save bringing in a temp.”
His eyebrows rise, and he nods his approval. “Thank you, Abbi. Appreciate it. Pull in one of the juniors if you need.”
“I will. Thanks, Oliver.”
The muscle in Nix’s jaw flex, and it’s at that moment that Oliver notices my husband leaning against my desk, a familiar paper bag next to him.
I’m surprised he actually remembers The Break Room is one of my favorite places.
They make the best bagels, fresh every morning.
I haven’t had one for ages and my stomach, as twisted up as it is, lets me know how eager it is to become reacquainted with their delicious treats.
Oliver deviates from his path and heads toward Nix with his hand outstretched. “Nix. Good to see you.”
“You too.”
His eyes flick between me and Nix, obviously reading the tension between us. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.” He turns back the way he came. “Thanks again for stepping in for Pam. Have a productive day.” He strides confidently to his office and closes himself inside.
If Nix weren’t here, I’d head back into the staffroom to make him a cup of coffee, but the need to know why Nix has decided to show up at the office wins out.
He steps away from my desk, a tentative smile touching his lips.
His uncertainty is unfamiliar and knocks me off kilter, making my already shaky legs almost give out.
When he’s close enough, he reaches out, slides his fingers against mine lightly, then links our fingers as he leans in to kiss my cheek with soft tenderness.
Without guidance, my eyes drop closed as I soak in his clean, familiar scent.
Being this close to him feels like home, and I hate that it still feels that way for me when he’s hurt me so deeply.
An ache squeezes my chest, making it difficult to catch my breath.
“Morning, Abbi,” he grumbles, his hot breath warming my skin. “I missed you.” Whatever. His eyes track over my face in an angry path as if I’ve pissed him off. Join the club.
“Morning,” I mumble in return. I wasn’t the one who didn’t come home until late last night. He can say he missed me all he likes, but he made his choice. And it wasn’t to spend time with me.
What he fails to understand is that I’ve missed him for years. First, it was his military commitments that often kept him away from us. I understood his deployments were part of the job and out of his control. Now it’s his choices that cause him to be absent, which are within his control. Mostly.
Holding my hand, he takes the coffee from me and leads me back to my desk, then pulls out my chair, guiding me to take it.
“I brought you breakfast.” He drags the bag with the familiar label closer, pulling a package out of the bag with care, and hands it to me.
“Egg and avocado on a poppy seed bagel, right?”
Surprise rips through me; he bought my favorite.
He remembered.
“Yeah,” I stare at it longingly, then sigh as my stomach swoops.
It’s such a simple gesture, but his remembering my favorite bagel makes me feel special.
I’m a simple girl. I don’t need a lot, but I do need my husband to pay attention to me sometimes, and knowing he remembered something so basic as my favorite breakfast bagel from my favorite café makes my heart feel a little lighter.
Hope squeezes through the gaping cracks in my heart, and I glance back up at him, finding his eyes on me. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he grumbles.
If he thinks he can fix our marriage by turning up to work with my favorite bagel after he stood me up last night, he’s got another thing coming. I won’t let him off the hook so easily. And I won’t change my mind.
“Nix—”
“I’m—”
We speak simultaneously. His jaw tenses as he gestures for me to go first.
“Nix, I appreciate this. Don’t think I don’t.
But I really am busy, and it’s not the time nor place to talk about our”—I glance around, ensuring we’re still alone—“issues. You had your chance last night, and you blew me off.” My voice doesn’t shake, and I mentally fist-pump the air. I sound strong. Determined even.
The elevator dings again, cutting me off. When the doors open, Jase steps out with long strides, and I wonder why he doesn’t use the internal elevator since he lives in the penthouse now?
His smile widens when he spots Nix. “Wow, this is a surprise.” He walks over to us with his hand outstretched. “Hey, Nix.”
Their hands grip and shake. “Jase. Good to see you.”
“You too.” Jase looks at the food on my desk. “What’s going on here?”
“Abbi came in early, and I wanted to make sure she ate breakfast,” Nix says, like he does sweet things like this for me regularly. Spoiler alert, he doesn’t. Or, he used to, but doesn’t anymore.
Jase pats Nix’s shoulder. “You’re a good hubby, Nix. Looking after your girl and making sure she eats.” He grins at me, completely unaware of our situation, and my stomach curdles.
Nix shakes his head, disappointment shrouding his features. “Far from it.”
Jase chuckles as if Nix is joking. In the grand scheme of things, Nix is a great husband.
He’s a fantastic provider. He keeps us all safe, and he’s steady and usually very reliable.
He’s never raised his voice or hand to any of us, and he doesn’t limit my access to finances like I’ve heard some husbands do.
He doesn’t spend nights or weekends out with the boys, and our priorities, goals, and values mostly align.
We generally make decisions together, and he values my opinion.
When I think about it, I feel petty for wanting to end our marriage over his lack of attention and communication.
But it’s more than that. Something deeper is missing between us … has been for some time.
“I’ll leave you guys to it.” He turns to me. “I’ll catch up with you when you’re done.”
“Thanks, Jase. I won’t be long,” I tell him.
He waves over his shoulder. “No rush, it’s still early,” he calls.
Nix and I are alone again, but we won’t be for much longer, and I’ll have lost my opportunity to get a jump on the day.
“Look, Abbi. I need to apologize for last night. I had every intention of being home on time so we could talk, but things at work were … difficult and I lost track of time. It’s no excuse, but I thought it was important to explain.
” He takes my hand in his and rubs soothing circles on the back of it with his thumb.
“I don’t want to lose you, Abbi. I want to do whatever it takes to save our marriage.
To save us. I need to make structural changes within my business to give me the best chance, but it isn’t something that can be done overnight.
I’m asking you to be patient with me. Give me some time to make the changes, and I promise things will improve.
” His eyes burn deep into mine, begging me for a chance to make things right.
“Give me until after Prue’s wedding to make things right. ”
He’s making it tough to stand by my decision, but what do they say about intentions?
That’s right; the road to hell is paved with good intentions.
He can have all the best intentions in the world, but unless he’s prepared to put the work in and follow through, nothing will change and I’ll have spent another six months? … a year? living in an empty marriage.
Can I do that?
Can I give him the time he’s asking for with an open heart?
Will I survive emotionally?
I’m not so sure.
Am I willing to throw away over thirty years with Nix without giving him the opportunity to make things right?
As he patiently waits for me to respond, I look into his steely eyes, noting the crinkles at the edges and creases between his brows that weren’t there when we first met as teenagers.
His thumb continues to swipe back and forth in soothing strokes across my hand, while his eyes beg me to give him a chance.
Tension, thick and heavy, fills the space between us, and as I stare into eyes I know so well, I know I’ll relent.
I always do.
I’ve always been the good girl who forgoes what I want and need in favor of keeping the people around me comfortable.
I’m tired of being that girl. The one who bends for everyone else and buries what I want and need.
How much more can I bend before I break?
But we have so much history together. Children together.
A daughter getting married. A home that I thought we’d live in together until we were old and gray.
I thought he’d be my one and only. Disappointment edges into my muscles as I note the determination written into the lines across his forehead, knowing I’m about to give in because I stupidly hope he means what he says, and I don’t want to detract from this special time for Prue.
Fuck, sometimes I hate being soft.
“I’m going to get help. I’m going to work on my issues so I can be a better husband to you. Please give me a chance,” he pleads.
I huff, folding my arms across my chest like a wall that will protect me somehow. “I need to see real change.” His eyes light up. “I mean it.” I lean in closer, and he mirrors me. “I won’t survive living the way we do for much longer.”
His eyes soften, and he leans forward, pressing his lips to my forehead. My eyes drop closed, and I soak up the rare moment of intimacy. The tingling sensation in my nose and the full feeling behind my eyes warn me that I’m about to break at the simple gesture.
God, I miss this. Miss him.
I’m so freaking weak-willed. I grip his suit jacket, holding him to me, unwilling to give up this moment, but I’m terrified of giving in and getting nowhere.
“I promise on everything I am that I’m going to work my ass off to save our marriage.
To bring us back to where we should be as husband and wife.
You deserve my everything, and I’m going to give it to you.
I’ll put in the work and fix this, but you need to give me some time to get myself and my business sorted so I can make long-lasting change.
” He looks deep into my eyes, and all I see is honesty and resolve. “Can you give me that?”
His words wrap around me like a warm blanket, but it feels a little itchy and uncomfortable even though he’s saying everything I want to hear. I squeeze my eyes closed against the ache in his voice. How did we get here?
I nod, silently begging him not to let me down again. To keep my heart safe.
It would be so much easier to walk away if I didn’t still love and respect my husband.