31. nix #2
She climbs out of her side of the bed slowly and faces me boldly, the bed between us acting as a barrier.
“I don’t see it as a risk.” Her posture is deceptively relaxed.
“How often do you have night terrors?” Her head tilts to the side as she waits for her question to fall between us like a grenade.
I shake my head and my hands land on my hips while I study her as if she’s grown two heads.
“I don’t know. They’re random.” I shrug.
“They happen less often than they used to. The one I had the other night was probably the first one I’ve had in a while.
” I hold my hands out from my sides. “But they’re unpredictable, Abs.
” I lick my lips. “And violent.” I stare at her throat pointedly.
She licks her lips, then grabs the corner of the sheet, pulling it back so she can smooth out the fitted sheet below. “I get that they’re unpredictable, but if they happen less often, then the risk is reduced.”
I copy her, smoothing out the bottom sheet. “But it’s still a risk. One I’m not prepared to take.”
She shakes the top sheet, then allows it to float down into place. “But it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“So you’re saying my wants and needs are secondary to yours?” she asks—a bite to her tone—as she smooths down the sheet, then leans over to tuck it in. I don’t even know why we’re making this bed when housekeeping will do it while we’re at the hospital.
I sense the trap in her question, but I’ve taken one step too many, and it’s impossible to back away now.
“Of course not. Your wants and needs will always come first. I know I forgot to show you that for a while, but I’ve made major changes so I can be more available to you.
I don’t want you to feel abandoned. Ever again.
And I’m doing everything I can to ensure you don’t feel that way. But we can’t share a bed right now.”
Her gaze softens, the fierceness from a moment ago slipping away.
“I know you have, and I appreciate it. We’ve come a long way since that awful morning in the kitchen.
But what kind of marriage can we have if we can’t share a bed, Nix?
” She looks down at the bed, rubbing the fabric of the blanket between her fingers.
“Last night was so special to me. I felt as though we really connected. But then it all felt cheap when I woke and you weren’t there.
” Her voice is small. Brittle. “I felt abandoned all over again.”
Defeat loosens the tension in my body, and I study my wife standing on the opposite side of the bed.
Literally the last barrier between us. I climb onto it and take two unsteady steps across the mattress to my wife and jump off the other side.
Grasping her hands, I squeeze her fingers, then rub the backs of her hands with my thumbs.
“The last thing I ever want to do is make you feel cheap or abandoned. Last night meant everything to me. I didn’t want to leave you.
My heart felt heavier and heavier with every step I took away from you.
” I bring her hands up to my mouth, pressing a kiss to each one.
“I love you with everything I am, and I’m doing everything I can to be worthy of you. ”
“I know,” she murmurs, pushing our hands out of the way to press her body against mine.
I touch my lips to her forehead, my eyes dropping closed as I soak in her essence and warmth. This woman is everything to me, but I don’t think she realizes how deeply her pain affects me.
Completely my fault.
I wrap my arms around her and hold her, our bodies pressed together. Silence descends over us like a heavy blanket, and I absorb the moment while trying to quiet my mind. Contingency plans won’t work here; I have to go with my heart instead of my gut. It feels unnatural. Risky.
The steady rise and fall of Abbi’s body as she breathes in and out changes to more of a shudder. I pull back a little and tip her face up to mine. Tears fill her eyes, and when she blinks up at me, they fall over her lashes, making them stick together.
“I’m scared.” Her lips tremble with her murmured words. Words that rip me limb from limb.
I brush her hair away from her face, cupping her wet cheeks reverently. My heart thuds heavily behind my ribs, reverberating through my entire body. “I never want you to be scared of me.”
If she’s constantly on alert and always on edge, will this be it? The end of our marriage?
She shakes her head the best she can in my hold, her brows furrowing. “Not of you.”
Relief replaces the anguish that was building a moment ago. “What are you scared of?” I ask gently.
Licking her lips, she brings her hands up between us and fidgets with the fabric of my T-shirt.
She drops her eyes from mine to watch her fingers as if she needs to study the action closely.
Dragging her eyes back up to mine, she peers at me as if she’s begging me to understand.
“I know I’m the one who asked for a divorce.
It’s something I regret and always will. ”
I interrupt her because I don’t want her to take the blame for that. “That wasn’t your fault, Abs. As much as it hurt, I needed the wake-up call. Don’t regret it for a moment.”
Her shoulders drop, releasing the tension. “I’ll always regret hurting you, Nix.”
I shake my head. “No regrets.”
“But—”
“No buts,” I tell her firmly. “It’s my fault.
Not yours. You felt a divorce was your only option because of me, and I’ll never forgive myself, but at some point we need to move beyond it.
You asked for what you needed, and I’m proud of you for putting yourself and your needs first for a change. You never do that.”