25. abbi
ABBI
We finish eating, not that I could stomach much, brush our teeth, and I climb into bed.
I’m exhausted, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep.
I’m beyond devastated for Murphy. I don’t know how to cope with this new reality, and it’s not my limb that’s missing.
My perfect little boy—not that he’s a boy anymore—is so broken, and there’s nothing I can do to make it better for him.
He was determined to follow in Nix’s footsteps and, as much as I wanted to forbid him, I couldn’t.
He wasn’t a child; he was a young man who wanted to carve out his future in a way that leaned into his protective nature.
I had to accept his decision to become an Army Ranger like his father, even though the idea terrified me.
I can’t count the number of times I’ve woken after a nightmare about this very scenario and a seed of guilt sprouts that I somehow made this happen.
That my dreams somehow became reality, but that’s foolish, right?
It’s impossible. But mom guilt is real, and I’ll never forgive myself if my nightmares somehow caused this to happen to Murphy.
The bathroom door opens and Nix stands in the opening only wearing his sleep pants.
Bare chest and defined abs. Dark hair mixed with gray smattered across his pecs, leading to a trail that disappears beneath the waistband of his pants.
I eye his crotch, and my body heats at the memory of having him inside me, against me, all over me in the shower. It was so hot.
I watch him watch me, then his eyes flick from the bed to the couch and back to me.
The smallest of movements, but I don’t miss it.
He wears his tension across his shoulders and on his face in the creases between his brows.
It’s easy to recognize the anxiety he’s feeling about our sleeping arrangements, and my heart sinks through the mattress like a stone.
No.
He’s not sleeping on that tiny couch to avoid sharing a bed with me.
I watch and wait. What will he decide?
I hate to put him through these secret tests of mine, but I can’t help it. I want him to choose me. Choose us. And his hesitancy … it breaks something inside of me that had been restored only an hour ago. I thought we were getting somewhere. But obviously, I was mistaken.
My shoulders droop forward with no guidance from me as disappointment swoops through me, turning my stomach over and settling a blanket of ice over me. I can’t watch him settle on the couch, so I slide down the bed and turn my back to him.
“Good night,” I mumble into the room around the tightness in my throat. A familiar loneliness edging its way into my chest.
My nose burns and eyes well with hurt, so I squeeze them closed as tight as I can. I pull my legs up into my body, forming a tight ball, somehow trying to protect myself from the ache my husband’s rejection causes.
A heavy sigh fills the small room, followed by the rustle of blankets interrupting the silence, and the bed dips behind me. I hold my breath, waiting … hoping.
Will he stay? Will he go?
Is he just grabbing his pillow?
But then I feel the movement of the mattress and the sheet being tugged back up.
Heat suffuses my back, and Nix’s arm pushes between the pillow and my shoulder, while his other wraps around my stomach.
The next thing I know, he tugs me back toward him and wraps his body around mine, then presses a tender kiss to my shoulder.
The relief that floods my body is instant and intense, and the tears I was working to hold back burst like a dam.
A violent sob breaks free like an explosion, and Nix’s hold on me tightens.
As my body shudders, he buries his face in the crook of my neck and kisses the skin there, his soft lips surrounded by his beard like heaven against my flesh.
“Shh, everything will be okay,” he whispers, his hot breath coating my neck. He follows his assurance with another soft kiss, and I turn my head on my pillow to face him.
He slides his hand up to cradle my face, his full of worry. Worry for me. And for the first time in a long time, we communicate without words.
“I’m okay.”
“Are you really?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m here for whatever you need.”
“I know.” And I do.
We feel … strong.
I roll to face him, placing my hand over his heart, appreciating its strength beneath my palm.
His hand slides to the back of my head, and he uses my hair to tilt my face up to his.
Closing the gap between us, he melds his lips to mine with a tenderness that almost makes me break again.
Lingering touches and swipes of tongue against tongue makes me feel cherished.
“Thank you,” I breathe against his lips.
He pulls away a little, looking at me with confusion. As if I’m a puzzle he needs to pull apart and put back together again. “What are you thanking me for, Abs?”
My smile is shaky at best. “For being here.”
He smooths my hair and trails his fingers lazily down the column of my spine. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” He rests his hand on my hip and squeezes. “We’ll deal with this together. You’re not alone.”
“No, I mean here.” I drop my eyes from his, too uncomfortable to maintain such close eye contact. “Choosing to sleep in this bed with me.”
His breath bursts across my lips with his sigh, then he rolls us until I’m flat on my back and he’s cradled between my thighs.
He rests on his forearms, caging me in with his large hands cradling my head.
His eyes are tortured as he stares down at me.
“You shouldn’t have to thank me for sharing a bed with you.
It’s where I should always sleep.” He rubs his nose along mine and presses his mouth to my forehead.
“I’m terrified I’m going to hurt you in my sleep, but I couldn’t bring myself to spend the night on the couch when I could wrap myself around you,” he murmurs.
I melt into the mattress, and if he’s not careful, I’ll turn into a puddle.
I cup his cheek and lock my brown eyes with his terrified gray irises.
“I trust you not to hurt me.” I hope he hears the strength of my belief in my voice and sees the trust I have for him in my eyes.
“I’ve never felt unsafe with you.” His expression is a study in disbelief, but I shake my head.
“I haven’t. Even that night. I knew you would wake before things went too far. Your instinct is to protect, not harm.”
“Abbi,” he breathes. “How can you say that when I had my hands wrapped around your throat? You wore bruises you had to hide for two weeks.” He shakes his head, disgust painting his features. “You deserve better.”
“I deserve to be loved and cherished. And while you forgot for a while, you’ve been working really hard to make it up to me.” I press upward and touch my lips to his briefly. “When you love me, you love me the best. Better than anyone else ever could.”
Sadness washes over his face, causing his mouth to turn downward. “I’m sorry I forgot to love you, Abigail,” he whispers brokenly. “You deserve better than I’ve given you.”
The anguish in his voice undoes me, and tears well instantly, falling without permission down the side of my face, dripping into my damp hair.
He kisses them away, whispering his apology with every press of his lips.
I wrap my arms around him, pulling him tight against my body, relishing in having his weight on me. It’s been so long.
“I love you,” I tell him through my tears.
He sucks in a sharp breath and presses his face into my neck. “I never thought I’d hear those words from your lips again. I love you so much.”
Every day, we follow the same routine. Hours upon hours of sitting beside our son, watching for any sign he’s going to wake.
It’s been three days of torture. Three days of heartbreak.
Three days of worry. Three days of asking what if?
. My anxiety is through the roof, and I doubt my cortisol levels will ever return to normal.
“Why isn’t he waking up?” I whisper to myself, my leg shaking up and down like it does when I’m anxious.
Nix doesn’t miss my whispered words. He climbs to his feet and comes around to my side of the bed, tugs me to my feet, sits, then situates me on his lap.
His hard thighs cradle my butt, and I sink into his warmth.
Wrapping his arms around me, he holds my exhausted pieces together and kisses my shoulder.
“He’s busy healing. We don’t want him to rush this part. ”
I appreciate his explanation and his confidence, but I need to see my son’s eyes. I need him to know he’s not alone. That we’re here to help him through this.
“I just feel so helpless,” I murmur as I lean my head against Nix’s.
He sighs. “Me too.” I can’t imagine how he feels. Men are inherently fixers. There’s a problem; they jump to find a solution. Something’s broken, they fix it (often in their own time). Sitting here, unable to help or improve the situation, must be driving him crazy.
The noise of the machines fill the silence that settles between us as we both watch Murphy for any signs that he’s coming back to us.
Nurses check on him at regular intervals, and the lack of concern for his current state sates some of my worry.
If they’re not worried, then everything must be going as anticipated.
When darkness falls outside the hospital window, Nix tugs me to my feet and guides me back to our hotel.
He takes care of me in a way that shows me how precious I am to him, even though he’s as dead on his feet as I am.
We do nothing but sit all day; I don’t understand why it’s so exhausting.
Mentally and physically, we’re both shattered.
Nix curls himself around me, and even though he’s done it every night that we’ve been here, I still feel like I could sob like a baby with relief that he’s sharing a bed with me.
It’s such a simple concept. One I took for granted before the explosion, but never again.
I’m going to soak up every moment of having my husband sleep beside me and appreciate it like the precious gift it is.
Hope fills my chest that we’ve turned a corner in our marriage and that we’re going to be okay.
He brushes my hair away from my face, then cups my cheek and turns my head toward him. “We missed our anniversary yesterday,” he tells me, his voice heavy with regret and apology.
I roll toward him with a soft smile. “I don’t even know what day it is right now.”
A soft laugh puffs over his lips. “Same, but I still wanted to wish you happy anniversary and tell you that asking you out was the best decision I’ve ever made.
You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m beyond grateful that you’re mine.
I’m so thankful for the life we’ve built and the family we’ve created. ”
Every part of me softens; he says he’s not good with words, but he is. This is the Nix that I used to be married to. I think that’s why I found his indifference so hard to deal with; because it’s not him. It was like being married to another man. A man I didn’t know and couldn’t relate to.
He touches his mouth to mine. “Happy anniversary, Abs,” he murmurs before taking my mouth in a scorching kiss that ends with me flat on my back and Nix pumping his hips deliciously between my thighs.