27. nix
NIX
I storm down the hallway to the elevator and stab the button. “What have I done?”
This was everything I was trying to avoid.
What was I thinking, sleeping beside Abbi?
Why did I ignore the voice in the back of my mind that told me it was a bad idea?
Because I wanted to.
After years of abstinence, I grew weak. I needed to be beside her as much as she wanted me there, even though I knew it was dangerous.
I shove my hand through my hair. I’m the one person she’s supposed to be safe with, but I’m the person who’s the most dangerous of all. How am I supposed to live with what I’ve done?
The doors open, and I slip inside, shoving my finger into the button that will take me down to street level. The motor whirs steadily, and I watch the numbers light up as I descend. When the doors finally open, I jog through the lobby and across the street to the all-night pharmacy at the hospital.
Barging through the doors at three a.m. like the hounds of hell are on my heels grabs the attention of the woman behind the counter, and her head snaps up from whatever she was looking at.
Unsurprisingly, the place is deserted, so I apologize and hastily search the aisles for what I need.
I drop my items on the counter, the woman rings me up, and I pay, barely saying two words to her even though I can see her eyeing me cautiously.
Once I’m back at the hotel, I stop at the front desk and ring the bell for the attendant. It seems to take an age for someone to show up. My blood rushes through my veins too fast, and my skin itches as though an army of ants crawls over my flesh.
“Good morning, Sir. How can I help you?”
“I’m currently in room 506, but I need another room, please. Is room 508 or 510 available?”
His brow furrows, but he turns his attention to the computer in front of him and presses some keys, then looks back up at me with a satisfied grin. “Room 508 connects with 506, and it’s available. Would that suit you, Sir?”
“Yes, fine,” I snap. Then I remember the wetness that surrounded Abbi. She was so terrified of me that she lost control. “I also need the bedding changed in room 506. I had an accident with my bottle of water.” I hold up the unopened one I just purchased as evidence. I’m not sure why.
I watch his eyes widen slowly, but he maintains his professionalism. “No problem, Sir. I’ll send housekeeping up straight away.”
“Thanks.”
He does whatever he needs to do on the computer, then hands me a room key. “I’ll charge the room to the card we already have on file.”
“Thanks.”
Ice flows through my veins, but this will be safer for Abbi.
I didn’t miss her flinch when I touched her, and I refuse to make her more uncomfortable than she already is.
She’s terrified of me now. And who wouldn’t be.
She was fighting for her life against her husband.
I’m supposed to fight her battles for her, but how do I fight them against myself when I’m the villain.
It’s safer for her if I remove myself from the situation.
As much as I loved sleeping next to her the last few nights, her safety is more important than my comfort.
I make my way to the elevator and back to our room, pausing when I reach our door.
How am I supposed to face Abbi after what I did to her?
One minute I was choking an insurgent, the next her panicked voice filtered in, sounding like it was coming through a long tunnel.
At first, I ignored it, determined to kill the bastard who almost killed Murphy.
I shake my head. Why did my brain go there? As if I would know who was responsible for the attack on Murphy’s team?
But then her voice broke through the red mist, dragging me from my night terror and into true terror.
What if I hadn’t woken? What if I’d …
I can’t finish the thought. I refuse to.
She’s here, and she’s okay apart from some horrific bruising to her throat that will make it hard for her to swallow or talk for the next few days.
Her bloodshot eye look awful, but they’ll go back to normal in a few days provided I haven’t done irreversible damage.
I wish she’d let me take her to the hospital.
“Fuck!” I huff, pressing my forehead to the cool timber door.
My eyes and throat burn, and the feeling of ants crawling all over me is refusing to recede.
I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow the sawdust in my throat, then swipe the keycard before I think about it any further.
My need to make sure Abbi’s okay overrides my need to hide from her.
The sound of the shower running reaches me as I push inside, and relief surges that I have a few more minutes before I have to face my wife.
I place the items on the coffee table and then strip the bed so when housekeeping arrives, I can just grab the fresh sheets and give them the soiled ones.
I’m in the process of bundling them into a ball when there is a sharp knock on the door.
“Housekeeping.”
That was fast. I quickly carry the bundled bedding to the door and swing it open, then hand the balled-up sheets to the young man.
“Thanks. Can I just have the fresh sheets? I’ll make the bed myself.
” If Abbi walks out of the bathroom while he’s making the bed, she’ll be embarrassed, and she doesn’t deserve to feel any of that.
If he’s surprised I want to do it myself, he doesn’t show it. “No problem. Do you need a fresh mattress protector too?” he asks with a warm smile as he stuffs the soiled sheets into a cotton bag.
I dip my chin. “Yes, thanks.”
Without question, he hands me a completely fresh set of bedding. “No problem, Sir.”
“Thanks,” I nod, then remember I should give him a tip.
“Hold on a second.” I hold up one finger and head into our room, dumping the fresh linen on the bed and grabbing my wallet, dragging a twenty out.
I hand it to the young man with another thank you as the shower stops running and then remake the bed so Abbi can try to get some more sleep.
I’m folding back the top sheet when the bathroom door opens and Abbi appears in a cloud of steam.
She takes in the scene and then drops her eyes to the floor, her hand coming up to rest gently at the base of her throat, drawing my attention to the bruising that’s already forming.
“Sorry, I … uh …” she whispers, a definite rasp to her voice.
She winces, and I watch her try to swallow.
Shame overwhelms me, and I drop the sheet, grabbing the pillows and fluffing them up. “Don’t worry about it.” She shouldn’t feel embarrassed about what happened. It was completely my fault. “Come and sit. I’ll grab the ibuprofen and a glass of water.”
She sits carefully, watching my every move as I tuck the sheet around her, then pull up the blankets.
I grab a fresh glass of water and drop two pills into my hand, then take them to her.
“Here, take these.” I drop them into her hand and she swallows them, then I hand her the glass of water.
My stomach churns as I watch her struggle to swallow again.
Because of me.
Because of my recklessness.
Because I desperately wanted to sleep next to my wife.
While she sips her drink carefully, I grab the arnica and the instant ice pack I purchased. I hold up the tub of arnica. “This may help to reduce bruising. Do you want to rub it on, or can I do it for you?”
My shoulders curl inwards, the muscles drawing tight, as I wait for her answer.
Will she trust me enough to care for her, or will she do it herself, so I don’t have to touch her?
It feels like minutes drag out for hours while I wait for her to decide.
I wouldn’t blame her at all if she chooses to do it herself, but it would help to reduce some of the guilt swallowing me whole if I could be the one to tend to the injuries I caused.
She shuffles closer to the middle of the bed and pats the space beside her. “Do you mind?” she rasps.
Relief relaxes some of the tension across my shoulders. “Not at all.” I gingerly sit beside her, keeping space between our bodies, and unscrew the lid of the ointment. Scooping a generous amount, Abbi tips her head back with another wince so I can apply it to her throat.
I lean across her body, resting my free hand on the other side of her, ensuring there’s space between me and her hip. Then, as gently as possible, apply the ointment to Abbi’s swollen throat, which is now the color of the peonies she loves so much.
Anger burns deep inside me with each stroke of my fingers on her tender flesh, and tension draws my muscles tight again, pulling my shoulders close to my ears.
I return my focus to helping Abbi before I lose my composure.
Dipping my fingers back into the pot to get more ointment, my arm accidentally brushes Abbi’s breast, and she sucks in a sharp breath.
I wonder if she’s sore in other places after fighting me off.
“Are you sore anywhere else?” I murmur.
She presses her lips together as if she doesn’t want to tell me, and the backs of my eyes heat.
“Are you sore anywhere else?” I ask more firmly, holding her warm brown eyes with mine. When she breaks her eyes from mine, I know my answer without her needing to say a word. “Where?”
She still doesn’t answer. That’s okay, I’ll work it out for myself.
I shuffle back and reach for the bottom of the T-shirt she’s wearing—one of mine—and push it up over her hips, noting the redness across her pelvis.
I don’t think this will bruise, but I don’t want to take the chance, so I carefully apply arnica to the area, nudging her panties lower so I can cover the entire area.
Rising bile burns my throat at what I’ve done.
The damage I’ve caused the woman I love most in the world.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll say it a million times,” I murmur as I bend forward and softly press my lips to the affected area.
Tears well and they grow too heavy to be contained, falling on her hipbone.
As I stroke the wetness away with my thumb, more tears fall until my body is shuddering and I’m struggling to breathe through my anger and shame.
Abbi’s fingers slide through my hair, soothing my scalp and sending tingles radiating down my neck to my back. “I’m okay. I’m okay,” she reassures me, her voice a raspy whisper. Leaning over me, she presses her lips against the back of my head.
I’m not sure how long we stay like that, me crying and her comforting me, but it feels all kinds of wrong. It should be the other way around. I should be the one comforting her. She’s the injured one here, not me.
She’s the victim and I’m the villain of this scenario.
I drag myself away from her comfort and swipe at my cheeks, embarrassed at being so weak, but seeing what I’ve done to her shatters something deep inside of me.
Something I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repair.
When I look at her, I’ll always see the bruises on her body, the tears on her cheeks, the fear in her eyes, her flinch to my touch.
And I deserve to relive those moments. To be reminded of the monster that lurks beneath.
Throughout my life, I’ve been a protector.
I did my best to take care of Mom after Dad died, but I was just a kid and couldn’t help as much as I wanted to.
I’ve always prided myself on looking after Abbi and the kids, as well as ensuring my men stayed as safe as possible in some of the most unsafe conditions; not that I was always successful, but I always did my best. But this …
this is so completely foreign to me that I’m struggling to wrap my mind around what I’ve done. Again.
The damage I’ve caused. Again.
The sense of failure as a husband and protector is overwhelming.
Reconciling the man who thrives on being in control with the man who loses that control so epically is asking the impossible.
Will this be the reason Abbi decides to follow through with her request for a divorce?
Will she finally realize I’m too broken and unstable, and she’s better off without me?
Fear strikes like an arctic blast at the thought of her leaving me, and my blood turns to ice.
When I finally get the courage to look at my wife, my breath stalls in my lungs at her red, swollen eyes and glistening cheeks.
I cup her face gently and use my thumbs to wipe her cheeks, then lightly press my forehead to hers.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Abs. I promise with everything I am that this will never happen again.
” I press my damp lips to hers. “I’ll never forgive myself for doing this to you, so I don’t expect you to forgive me.
We’ll go back to sleeping in separate beds, and you’ll be safe.
” The offer to sleep in separate beds tastes like sawdust on my tongue, but I need to do everything possible to keep her safe.
To make her comfortable enough to stay with me.
“Please don’t leave me.” I won’t survive.
She wraps her hands around my wrists, bringing attention to an injury I didn’t realize I had, and I tighten my jaw.
I don’t want her to worry about me. “Nix, I’m not going anywhere and I don’t want to sleep in separate beds.
Don’t do that to us. Don’t do that to me,” she rasps softly, and I can tell every word she speaks is causing her discomfort.
I press my finger over her lips. “Stop talking. Rest your throat. I don’t want you hurting any more than you already are.
” She nods, and I see the worry in her eyes, but I can tell she’s fading.
The adrenaline drop after an experience like hers will knock her around.
I move back a little and hold up the sheet.
“Lie down. I’ll grab the ice pack, and you should try to get some more sleep. ”
“Are you—” she coughs, and I rub her back, then hand her a glass of water, which she sips. “Are you going to sleep too?”
I glance at the time—seven p.m. at home.
I know I won’t be able to sleep now, and I need to speak with Harry.
I need to work through what I’ve done; maybe he can help.
“I need to make a phone call.” Sadness washes over her face, and I despise myself for putting that expression there.
“I need to talk to Harry about what just happened. He’s been helping me and I need … I just need to talk to him about this.”
She nods and moves carefully so she’s lying flat, allowing me to cover her. “You’ll come to bed after your call, right?”
I don’t want to make a promise I know I’m not going to keep because there’s no way in hell I’ll sleep beside her until I know I’m no longer a threat to her. “Try to sleep. I’ll probably be awhile.”
Leaning down, I press my lips to her forehead, closing my eyes and thanking whoever’s above that she’s still here, even though I tried my best to end her life.