19. abbi #2
Prue launches herself at her father for the second time tonight. “Thanks, Dad. When do I start?”
He shrugs. “Whenever you can. I have a couple of jobs on the books for next week, but if you have to finish up with Trevor, I can cover them easily.”
And within moments, Nix has a new employee.
We finish dinner and clean up. Prue and Luke head back to his place, but not before our daughter hugs Nix tighter than I can ever recall. Tonight was a close call. It reminds me of what’s really important. We lock the house and set the security alarm.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” Nix asks, heading back to the kitchen.
“Yeah, that might help settle my nerves.” I hold out my hand, showing Nix the slight tremor.
His lips tighten and turn down. “I’m sor—”
Shaking my head, I cut off his apology. “There’s no need to keep apologizing. The entire situation was out of your control. I’m just glad everyone’s safe. That you’re safe.” I shake my head again and cover my mouth as a sob tries to burst out of me. “I-I …”
He closes the distance between us, wrapping me tightly in his embrace.
With my arms trapped between us, I sink into him and soak up his warmth, his scent, his familiarity.
The hefty wall I hide my emotions behind crumbles, and silent tears breach my eyelids and slip down my cheeks, soaking Nix’s T-shirt.
I pull away enough to catch Nix’s eye. “I really need to be close to you tonight,” I murmur.
The need to be close to him is overwhelming; it’s almost suffocating.
I want to be wrapped within his strong arms, breathe in his scent, and listen to his heartbeat as I fall asleep.
I only hope that the way he kept touching me in small ways during dinner suggests he feels the same.
He cups my face, using his thumbs to wipe away my tears.
With eyes full of pain and, dare I say, fear, he closes the distance and presses his lips softly to mine, then kisses his way down and along my jaw until he reaches the space beneath my ear.
His hot breath puffs into my hair, tickling the baby hairs at my nape.
“I can’t, Abs. I wish I could, but I-I can’t,” he rasps against my ear.
His voice full of gravelly disappointment.
“Try,” I breathe, then step out of his embrace and head to our bedroom.
Nerves rattle through my body at the thought of sharing a bed with my husband.
Something I haven’t done in almost six years.
Not since the night I woke up terrified with his hands wrapped around my throat, squeezing the very breath from my body.
He was so horrified, so traumatized by the event, he’s refused to share a bed with me ever since.
But tonight, for the first time, I’m hoping he chooses to sleep beside me.
To reconnect after such an awful day. I’ve missed him so much.
I always loved curling into his big, strong body. He always felt so safe.
Until he wasn’t.
I’ve tried over the years to coax him back, but he’s held strong in his belief that he’s a danger to me.
He takes his role as a protector seriously, even if that means he has to protect me from himself.
Surely enough time has passed that he’s not in such a dark place anymore and we won’t have a repeat of that night.
I stack the pillows on the bed bench, and pull back the covers. When I look up, Nix is gripping the top of the door frame exposing his toned abs, as if he’s physically stopping himself from entering our bedroom. His expression is tight as he looks at our bed as if it’s somehow the enemy here.
My heart and stomach sink to the carpet beneath my feet, but I don’t outwardly show it. “Come to bed. I just need to shower.”
I grab my pajamas and head into our ensuite, hoping that if I leave Nix alone, he’ll make the right decision.
However, when I come out of the bathroom, I find him sitting on the chair in the corner, his shoulders slumped and his head in his hands.
The backs of my eyes sting and my throat grows tight.
The defeat rolling off him in waves is a red flag, but it also breaks my fragile heart.
Stepping closer, I slide my fingers into his hair, enjoying the softness of the strands.
He peers up at me, torture painfully evident in his eyes.
In this moment, he reminds me of a little boy who’s terrified of the dark—of the monster that might hide beneath the bed—and doesn’t want to be left alone.
Yet, I know down to the deepest depths of my soul that’s exactly what he wants.
He wants to sleep alone with his monsters.
I push his knees apart and drop to mine in front of him. “Come to bed,” I beg in a whisper.
He shakes his head, his eyes flicking between mine as pain drips like acid from his eyes.
“I can’t, Abs.” He sucks in a long breath, and I watch his chest expand and contract with fascination.
“I want to. God, how I want to. I miss you so much. I want to climb into that bed with you and wrap my body around yours. I want to hold you through the night, just like I used to.” He sucks in a shuddering breath, and I know this is costing him dearly.
It’s tragic, really. When a husband and wife can no longer share their bed. I rub the thick muscles of his thighs to offer him some level of comfort as he catches his breath and compiles what he wants to say.
“I know I fail you in the worst way a husband can fail his wife. But after that time … that time I almost strangled you to death, I can’t bring myself to risk your life.
I wouldn’t survive losing you at my hand.
” His eyes bury themselves deep into mine, begging me to understand.
“You’re too valuable to me. I love you too much to cause you harm. ”
I remember that night as if it happened yesterday; the feel of his big hands tightening impossibly further around my throat. I feared for my life as I fought for breath, but I also had an innate trust that my husband wouldn’t end my life if I could just wake him from his night terror.
I grip his hands in mine and kiss each palm tenderly. “But that was years ago. Things were still so fresh for you. Enough time has passed that I think it’s worth trying again. You’re in a different place now. A better place. You’re more settled.”
He scoffs and pulls his hands from mine to shove them through his hair.
He holds them there and looks down at me, distraught.
“But I’m not. I still have night terrors.
Not as often, but they still happen at random times.
And … and when I wake in the morning, my bedding looks like I’ve gone ten rounds in the boxing ring.
I don’t trust myself, Abs. I need you to understand that I”—he shoves his thumb into his chest—“Don’t.
Trust. Myself.” His body deflates, and he cups my face as if he’s holding the most delicate porcelain in the world.
“Not with the most precious person in my life.”
His pain bleeds into me and becomes mine. “Nix,” I murmur.
He leans forward, and I push up on my knees. We meet with a soft swipe of our lips, and my entire body sighs. “I’m so sorry, Abs. I promise I’ll do better. Be better,” he whispers against my lips as his hand glides beneath the fall of my hair, and he tilts my face back.
Pressing his mouth back to mine, he kisses me with apology and promises, and I return it with acceptance and compassion—something that’s been missing in our marriage as I focused on all the things I wasn’t getting from Nix.
We linger in the moment, kissing and tasting.
Gently, sensually our mouths and tongues move together, sharing our breaths in and out with an intimacy that’s effortless.
His lips soft beneath mine, the bristles of his beard abrading my skin remind me of days and nights spent kissing this man.
He deepens our kiss, swiping my tongue with his, and a needy moan scrapes its way up my throat.
His fingers twist in the strands of my hair, and he angles my head to his liking and pillages my mouth, sending shivers down my spine and goosebumps scattering across my flesh.
When we finally pull away to catch our breath, our eyes lock, and I stare into my husband’s anguished gaze. “I love you, Abbi.” He presses his forehead to mine, scrunching his eyes closed and shutting me out of his tortured cell. “So much,” he grits.
My nose tingles, and my throat burns, but I push out the words he needs to hear.
“I know and I love you. So much. I miss you. Miss us together. I want that again.” I press my lips to his.
“I understand you don’t trust yourself, but I trust you.
I know to the marrow in my bones that you would never hurt me intentionally.
I need you to know that. I need you to hear me when I tell you I trust you implicitly. ”
He smiles wistfully, his eyes glossy. And when I see how close he is to crying, my own tears fall over my lashes.
My heartbreak for my husband and what we’ve lost trails over my cheeks in rivulets of pain and longing.
Nix gently slides his fingers through my hair and tucks it behind my ear.
“I’m going to talk to Harry tomorrow. Ask him what I can do. ”
“What we can do.” I take his hand in mine and kiss his palm. “We. We need to work through this together.”
Cupping the side of my face, he tilts my lips back to his for a languid kiss that lingers for long moments. Then he tugs me to my feet and tucks me into bed, leaving me alone in our bedroom again.
I curl into a tight ball and fall apart. Partly for myself and the loneliness that’s drowning me, but mostly for the lost look in my husband’s eyes as he walked out of our bedroom.