22. abbi
ABBI
I catch glimpses of Nix working outside, finishing the last section of stone walkway from the house to the fire pit.
Scanning the area, I note the amount of work he’s undertaken to make the space beautiful for Prue’s wedding.
The work he’s done is impressive, and now that Theo’s finished the carpentry work, the garden is coming together nicely.
Rose just needs to deliver the plants we ordered, and we can get them in the ground, and the yard will be finished.
I drop my eyes back to Nix, appreciating the way his muscles move and flex beneath his T-shirt.
Apart from his physical strength, he’s so capable.
It’s one of the things that always drew me to him, even when we were teenagers; he always seemed more capable than the other boys our age.
More able to control and command a situation.
He can take on any task with confidence and see it through to completion with an ease most people could only hope to achieve.
Other than during our date last week, he’s been more introspective than usual since the holdup at Mr. and Mrs. B’s store, and I think it has everything to do with our discussion that night, rather than the event itself.
As much as it broke me to see him in so much pain, I appreciated his openness to share his fears with me, something he hadn’t done before.
He’s trying.
For me.
For us.
But I don’t know where we go from here. As much as I love him, if we can’t share a bed, what’s the point.
We may as well be good friends and roommates, not husband and wife.
He’s kept his promise to be more present, but I want to sleep beside my husband.
I want the intimacy that’s growing between us during daylight hours to transfer to nighttime.
It’s been almost six years since the night that shook the foundation of our marriage; surely enough time has passed.
I lean against the kitchen window so I can watch Nix work. I raise the glass I’m holding to my lips for a sip as I watch his jeans pull tight across his ass and thighs. He really is an attractive man. I sigh wistfully, my breath ghosting across my lips like a wish.
He digs into his pocket and drags out his phone, his eyes squinting down at the screen as if he can’t make sense of what he sees.
I admire his bulging bicep beneath his T-shirt when he raises his hand to scrub across the top of his short hair as he accepts the call and holds the phone to his ear.
Then I watch as all the color drains from his face, leaving his skin ashen.
He drops to his butt on the stone he just laid as if he’s unable to hold himself up a moment longer, and my stomach curdles like sour milk.
Dropping, swooping to my feet and leaving my body.
I know that action. It’s what he does when he’s upset … distressed.
Something’s wrong.
Murphy.
Without hearing his conversation, I know something is terribly wrong and press my hand to my stomach to keep the contents in place without thought.
Raising his head slowly, his eyes meet mine through the glass, and the devastation in his gaze turns my muscles to liquid.
I can’t tear my eyes away as his fill with apology and despair.
The glass slips from my hand, smashing loudly on the hardwood floor and shattering into a dozen pieces.
Cool water splashes on my feet like pinpricks, and between one moment and the next, I collapse with a heavy thud, my world tilting on its axis.
Broken glass digs into my hand, and I watch with distant fascination as blood beads on my pale skin, growing, pooling, and sliding toward the floor as gravity wins the battle.
Murphy.
The back door opens and slams shut like a gunshot, jolting me, and then I’m being jostled. Scooped up from the floor and pressed against Nix’s firm chest. I turn my head slowly to bury my face in the warmth of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent, centering myself.
“Abbi,” he mutters, his breath dusting my cheek. “Abs.” His voice is pained, distraught, reaching down to the depths of my awareness. “I need to grab the first-aid kit.”
A chair scrapes against the floor, and Nix leans forward to place me on it, but I refuse to let go of him, tightening my arms around his neck, making it impossible for him to release me.
Murphy.
He relents, sitting on the chair and holding me on his lap. I drag my face away from my hiding place and peer at my husband, studying the deep lines between his brows and the concern in his eyes, the tightness around his mouth and the furrows across his forehead.
“Murphy?” I mumble.
His lips tighten further, and his brows dip over his narrowed eyes. “How did you know?” he grits.
I could tell him it’s a mother’s intuition, but I hadn’t felt anything was wrong until I watched him take the call. Until I saw the anguish cross his features and rest in his body like a lead weight.
My body trembles, every muscle contracting and relaxing in an uncoordinated assault. Nix holds me tighter, pressing soft kisses to my temple, calming my body but not my mind. “We … we need to go to him.”
He nods. “I know, and we will,” he murmurs with his lips pressed against my skin.
I swallow thickly, my mind a whirl of questions. “How … how bad?” Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead.
“He’s alive,” he breathes as if he knows they’re the words I need to hear—my heart skips, stops, stutters back into an uneven rhythm—then drops his eyes from mine. “But he’s in bad shape.”
A sob wrenches its way up my throat, bursting over my lips and jolting my body. Nix’s hold tightens, and he guides my face back into the crook of his neck, providing me with the safety I need right now. “No, no, no,” I mutter hopelessly on repeat. “We need to go to him.”
I feel his cheek move against my forehead. “I know. Let me move some stuff around and book our flights.” I pull my face away from him, and our gazes catch—determination sparks in his eyes, reassuring me he’ll deal with everything with urgency.
“I … I just need to get to him. I need to see him, Nix,” I whisper.
“I know. I need that too.” He pulls back a little. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He carries me to the kitchen counter, placing me carefully on the cold surface, then leans down to grab the first aid kit from beneath the sink.
He gently cleans the blood from my hands, applying antiseptic as if my wounds are somehow life-threatening, and the care he’s taking feels unnecessary when our son lies in a hospital bed thousands of miles away, seriously injured.
I know he said he’s alive, but he also said he’s in bad shape. What does that even mean? How bad?
Once he’s finished, he kisses my temple and helps me down from the counter. My legs still feel weak, so I grip the edge of the counter for support and clean up the supplies for something to do.
Nix drags his phone out of his pocket, holding it up. “I need to make some calls. Are you okay to call Prue and Luke to let them know what’s happened? Maybe grab our suitcases and I’ll help pack once I make our arrangements.”
I nod absentmindedly, my feet moving through molasses as I grab my phone and head to our bedroom.
The deep rumble of Nix’s voice makes its way to my ears as I peer down at my phone as if it’s a bomb about to explode.
I never wanted to make a call like this.
I don’t even know that I can. Instead of calling Prue, I search for flights to Frankfurt.
I’ve already done this once before when Nix was injured.
I never wanted to do it again.
The screen blurs, and a drop of water splashes onto my phone screen.
I wipe it away with my thumb and draw a deep breath.
I didn’t fall apart like this when Nix’s commander and friend called to tell me Nix was injured.
I immediately moved into organization mode.
It’s what I’m best at. And I had to do it; I had no choice.
If I wanted to get to Nix, I had to book my ticket, pack my bag, and organize Callie to look after our kids.
I didn’t have a moment to break down and cry.
I roughly wipe away the tears on my cheeks, shove my shoulders back, and find the strength I need to power through everything that needs to be done.
First, I purchase two tickets to Frankfurt leaving tonight.
“Nix,” I call as I walk out of our bedroom, waving my phone around. “I’ve booked our flights.”
His eyes snap up to mine, and he nods sharply, listening to whoever he’s speaking with on the phone; his eyebrows slashed low in concentration. “All right. Thanks, Gabe. I appreciate it, man.” He ends the call. “What time do we fly out?”
“Ten twenty-five tonight. It was the earliest available.”
He glances at the time on his phone. “Okay. Have you called Prue?”
I shake my head slowly, guilt burning its way up my throat.
“No. I-I couldn’t do it.” I look at him, imploring him to understand.
I bite the inside of my cheek with shame that I can’t bring myself to do this one simple thing.
But it’s not simple. It’ll tear Prue apart.
She and Murphy are so close. As close as a brother and sister could be.
I’m not one to shirk my responsibilities.
I know parenting isn’t always easy. It can’t always be fluffy clouds and rainbows.
There has to be storm clouds and rain to balance it out.
I’ve always been the parent who’s made the tough calls, doled out discipline, and set boundaries because Nix wasn’t here to do it, and when he was home, he wanted to take it easy with the kids.
He wanted to enjoy them. But just this once, I don’t want to be the parent that has to carry this responsibility.
I don’t want to be the parent who breaks our daughter’s heart.
Taking the few steps needed to get to me, he places his warm hand on the curve of my cheek. “I can do it,” he says with a softness he only ever reserves for me and our kids.
Some of the tension across my shoulders and in the muscles of my neck releases, and my eyes instantly fill with tears of relief.
Knowing he has my back and that we’re doing this together feels somewhat unfamiliar but is greatly appreciated.
It feels like a step toward each other after years of gaping space.
He kisses my temple and folds his arms around me, tugging me close.
The security of his embrace wraps me up like a warm blanket in the middle of a storm.
I lay my hands against his chest and tuck myself into him.
He’s always been my safe harbor in the storm, and in this moment, I realize this is what we’ve been missing.
This intimacy of connection and togetherness.
That we can do anything, as long as we do it together.
We’ve been living separate lives even though we’ve been living in the same house.
We’ve been distant, and it left me feeling isolated and adrift.
Having him take charge and do the things I find difficult is like having my old Nix back.
His steadiness calms me.
I press a kiss on his cheek and pull away, wiping my tears. “I’ll pack while you call Prue. Can you ask her if she’ll be available to take delivery of our plants next weekend?”
He nods. “Sure.”
“I don’t know how long we’ll be away.”
“We’ll work it out as we go. It’ll be okay,” Nix reassures.
He kisses me one last time and we go our separate ways.
I head down the hallway on shaky legs to grab our bags from our guest room and head back to our bedroom to pack, catching the tail end of Nix’s conversation with Prue.
He ends the call with a heavy sigh, dropping his head and rubbing the back of his neck.
“She’s coming over. She’ll drive us to the airport. ”
I press my hand to his back between his shoulder blades and rub soothing circles. “How did she take the news?”
He looks at me. “She was … unusually pragmatic about it all.”
I unzip one of the bags. “She’s going into self-protection mode.”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “But she has Luke for support, and they’ll be available for the plant delivery next weekend.”
I pause, the zip stuck halfway around the bag, and look at my husband—studying him closely, noting the stress he’s holding across his shoulders and the tightness in his features; the way his knuckles are white as he clutches his phone.
Maybe it was unfair of me to put the burden of calling our daughter on him.
I can’t imagine the horrific memories the phone call has unfurled in his mind.