35. Chapter 35
T oday, I saw a glimpse of the girl I used to be.
It’s been a day filled with everything I used to love—coffee with the girls, a day at the spa getting pampered, and dinner at Chloe’s dad’s restaurant, where images of dancing with Grant on my wedding night flashed in my memory.
Emily watched Lennon for the entire day while Brynn treated the three of us to service after service at a high-end spa.
I felt guilty that she paid, but she waved it off, saying it was a perk of being married to a professional athlete.
Somewhere between the deep-tissue massage and Brynn making me laugh so hard I snorted champagne in the salon, I felt normal.
Although I don’t recommend snorting champagne through your nose—that shit burns.
As I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a fluffy white robe, I saw color on my cheeks and a version of myself I thought I’d lost.
A fresh cut and color gave me back my lighter hair. It’s not the blonde it used to be or the dull brunette my natural color is, but a light caramel. It highlights my features and makes my blue eyes look livelier. My nails are no longer chipped and bare but painted in the prettiest shade of coral.
For a little while, I feel like maybe I’m okay.
But now, it’s quiet. Too quiet.
It’s not the peaceful kind of quiet where you can relax and shut your brain off, but the kind that feels lonely. It’s the quiet I was used to when I lived above the Chinese restaurant. I never want to go back to feeling that way.
Lennon’s asleep in her room. All the laundry is washed and folded. The kitchen is scrubbed down to Grant’s standard. And I’m lying in bed, under the covers, scrolling mindlessly through my phone while a movie plays in the background.
I should feel better, but I don’t. I feel like a fraud. Someone playing dress-up in my own body, trying to remember what confidence felt like before I cracked under the pressure of motherhood.
Worse than that, I feel guilty.
Today kept my mind busy, and I wasn’t able to dwell on the guilt. But in this bed, alone, I feel it.
Guilty for enjoying the day and for searching for houses.
But most of all, guilty for letting Grant see the listings.
He didn’t deserve to see my moment of weakness.
Not when he’s sacrificed so much and given me more than I could’ve asked for.
I didn’t even mean to look, not really. I needed…
I don’t know, control. A glimpse of what independence might look like.
A sliver of the old me. The girl who made lists and chased dreams. The wild girl who was always ready to have a good time.
The girl who kept her emotions in check and didn’t crumble at the first sign of trouble.
To make matters worse, he left with the football team at eight this morning and won’t be back until Sunday afternoon.
I miss him like crazy. We got home late last night; he showered while I put Lennon to bed.
He did the middle-of-the-night and early- morning feedings, as usual.
I was too scared to mention it before he left.
I was curled on the couch under a blanket with Lennon on my lap when he kissed me goodbye. He said he loved me, like everything was fine.
But I saw the concern and fear in his eyes. The weight of everything hangs heavily on his shoulders.
I inhale through my nose and exhale slowly, closing out of my social media app and tapping his name. I stare back at the last message I sent.
Good luck this weekend! We’ll be rooting for you!
He never responded. He’s busy, and my cheeriness felt fake. I can admit that.
Hey, are you at the hotel?
The dots appear right away.
Sunshine: Yeah. I’m with the coaches at the hotel bar. Everything okay?
Yeah, I just miss you.
I press the heel of my hand to my chest.
Sunshine: I miss you, too. You okay though? Really?
Closing my eyes for a second, I type the words I’ve been holding back. I hate that texting him “I miss you” triggers this reaction.
I’m sorry you saw the house listing. It was never my intention for you to see it. I don’t think I even wanted to leave. It was a moment of weakness and I feel terrible that I planted doubt in our marriage. I don’t know what’s going on in my brain…
There’s a pause, and I struggle to breathe.
Sunshine: Peach, I know you’re struggling. You don’t have to apologize for that. But I do wish you’d talk to me instead of shouldering everything alone. I’ll remind you again, for better and worse.
I didn’t want you to see how bad it’d gotten.
Sunshine: Too late. I see you, Peach. Every day, I see every version of you. I’m watching you slip away and it kills me, but I still love you.
Tears fall, and it feels like a mental release. He still loves me, even though I’m not me. He sees me, and he still cares.
Sunshine: You crying, baby?
Shut up lol
Sunshine: Good. Maybe you’ll purge that shit out of your system instead of keeping it locked inside.
I wish you were here.
Sunshine: Me too.
No, like I really wish you were here…so I could show you how sorry I am.
I can picture him letting out a silent groan and scraping his hand down his face as he hides his smirk.
Sunshine: Fuck, Peach. You can’t say those things, not when I’m sitting at a bar surrounded by men…and my dad.
I knew it . I laugh, biting my bottom lip. The heat blooms low in my stomach. It’s been weeks since he last fucked me in his bed, a year since we’ve gotten naughty through texts.
Fuck it.
Baby girl is out cold…and I’m wearing a sexy little nightie. It’s less material than my blue one I wore for you. And I might be thinking of all the dirty things we could do in our bed.
The dots appear. Then disappear before reappearing again.
Sunshine: Jesus. Give me five minutes to get to my room.
I take advantage of him needing five minutes, because I may have fibbed about my outfit.
Tossing the phone aside, I run to my dresser, digging through my pajamas until I find a pink lacy nightie.
The lace does nothing to cover my breasts, with the top being completely sheer.
I glance in the mirror and fluff my freshly blown-out hair.
The dark circles are softer from my facial.
Dabbing on a little gloss, I jump on the bed as ‘Sunshine’ flashes on my screen.
I answer on the first ring. He’s already grinning, out of breath like he ran up the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator.
“You’re killing me, baby,” Grant says, propping his back against the headboard. “I had to make my escape with a chub and hope it didn’t grow into more.”
I tuck my lip between my teeth and shrug.
He tsks. “You don’t even care?”
“Not so much. Now you know how it feels to be worked up and not be able to have you.”
“Oh, so this is payback.” His voice is light, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
Shaking my head, I scooch up the bed, dragging the sheet with me. “Not at all. It’s called, I’m sorry for being a hormonal mess even postpartum. I love my husband. And I miss his touch.”
“Talk dirty to me, baby.” He winks, and I chuckle. I love Grant’s playful side. It’s reserved for only a few, and I’m glad I’m one of the lucky ones.
“Oh, is that what you want, husband?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Yes, wife, that’s exactly what I want.”
I bite down on my lip as I lower the sheet. The bedside lamp cascades the room in a golden glow, allowing the shadows to dance across my face and give Grant enough light to see me.
“That’s my pretty girl,” Grant praises.
I play with the neckline of my nightie. Running my finger over the swells of my breasts. His eyes lock onto my movements as they swirl with desire.
“You like?”
“I love ,” he grits out. “Tell me what you’d do, Peach. If I were there, how were you going to show me how sorry you were?”
“For starters, I’d make you take your clothes off.”
He jostles the phone, setting it down on the bed next to him as he strips out of his clothes.
When he’s finished, he pans the phone down until I can see how worked up he is.
“Do you see what you do to me? Even through the phone screen, you’ve got me aching for you.
Your body, your hips, those legs.” He groans.
“Every curve is mine to crave, and I can’t wait until I’m holding you in my arms, Peach. ”
I blush at his praise of my body.
“How’re you doing over here, baby? Ready to tell me what you’d do next?”
I bite my lip and nod. I’m eager for more; there’s no denying that. I’m ready to rush through all the foreplay. “Then I’d spread my legs and show you exactly how wet you make me.”
He groans, and I can feel the rumble. “Show me.”
My eyes snap to the camera. I quit bleeding earlier this week, but I’ve been terrified to look down there at the aftermath from birth. What if it’s a trainwreck and he’s disgusted?
“Peach, show me my pussy and how she’s dripping for me.” I swear the man can read my mind.
I toss off the sheets and trail my hand over the silky lace as I use my other hand to angle the phone. “Lower, baby.”
I hesitate, pausing, nervous for what he’ll find post-baby.
“Don’t hide from me now, baby. I’m not seeing any flaws. You carried our baby. You gave me our life. You’re still the sexiest woman I know.”
Shaking my head, I laugh softly at his sweetness as I continue trailing my hand.
Reaching the apex of my thighs, I spread my legs wider, grateful I didn’t put on any panties when I changed.
He hums in approval as I take two fingers and spread my pussy lips open.
I risk a glance at the screen, and I’m shocked to find my pussy looks fine, no trainwreck in sight.
“Such a pretty pussy.”
“Are you touching yourself, Grant?”
“Yeah, baby. Now take your fingers and put them where you’d want mine.”
I do. With my first two fingers, I run them down my opening, circling my entrance and gathering my arousal before spreading it across my clit.