Chapter 2
Click.
My heart is bumping the rhythm of nerves.
There he is, my husband who finally decided to come home.
"Hey," I greet him.
"Hey," Lincoln answers.
As he takes off his shoes, he stares at the ground, looking tired as can be.
Why is he not looking at me? It really bothers me.
You know, we just had this conversation, and he already is going back on his word.
I stand there trying to center myself, trying to ignore the burning, burgeoning, overwhelming sensations of me shaking because I'm so emotionally distraught.
"I thought that you were gonna text me if you were gonna be home late," I ask.
"Sorry. I thought I did honestly. And I looked and I didn't send the text. Here you can look at my phone and see," Lincoln explains as he walks over to me and hands me his phone.
The thing is, I'm caught between wanting to look at his phone to assure myself and also not wanting to do it, because me doing it is going to tell him I don't trust him and make me look petty as I stand there combing through his phone.
And then… what if he's lying?
I mean, we've always been honest in our relationship, but I don't know. I feel like this is a discussion that we need to really sit down and have. I give him his phone.
"Look, I shouldn't have to comb through your phone or see the proof that you drafted it, and you shouldn't be standing there making me feel worried about you not coming home," I tell him.
His eyes close very slowly and he takes a deep breath, still not looking at me as if he's exhausted. I try another approach.
"Baby, I'm so sorry if it seems like I'm putting a lot on you because I know you work hard," I attempt gently.
"No. It's fine. We need to talk about these things. And if it's making you unhappy, then let's talk about it. I just…" Lincoln trails off.
He pauses for a moment, putting his hands in his pockets, his head bowed, looking utterly exhausted.
"I'm just really tired. So if I'm not all there or I don't remember everything or I say the wrong thing, please don't hold it against me, Gabby," he pleads.
"It's okay. Look, we don't have to do it right now. It's just that for hours, I felt worried. It's now almost twelve o'clock and—" I begin.
"I know and I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry," he apologizes, shaking his head very slowly from side to side, his eyes tight. I can see his body waver for a second.
"I mean, if you wanna talk about this tomorrow, I mean…" he mumbles, his words starting to slur.
"Are you drunk?" I ask.
"No. I'm just really tired," he insists as he moves toward the couch.
I feel really bad for him. And I don't know, maybe it's just me, but I really feel like the asshole right now.
I understand my feelings are valid. But he is working so hard, so maybe it's possible he forgot.
But still, we're supposed to prioritize each other.
And if other things begin to take up priority over our relationship, then I don't feel like we're gonna make it.
And I wanna tell him all of this, and I actually prepare to.
I sit down beside him to his left, looking over at my husband as he folds his arms and puts on the most awake face that he can, which actually fails because his eyes can't open more than halfway.
"Lincoln?" I question, looking at him.
"I'm here, baby," he answers.
His voice sounds so tired, like he's trying his utmost to be here with me and failing. He looks over at me, takes his left hand, and rests it on my right thigh. He gives me a tired and weary smile.
"Please, let's talk," Lincoln urges.
His eyes look like they're barely opening, but then he sits back and rests on the couch, releasing a sigh.
I talk slowly.
"We just had a conversation about you letting me know that you're gonna be home late. I don't wanna have to worry about you and, you know, the whole situation. And I just…" I look around the room trying to find my words.
"I love you, and I don't wanna put more stress on you. It just feels like you're not considering my feelings," I tell him.
He nods very slowly.
"Okay. How is it that it feels as though I'm not considering your feelings?" he asks.
Is he angry? He seems to catch on to my expression.
"I'm not trying to invalidate what you're saying. I promise you. Like I said, I'm really tired, baby. I just want to know what it is that I'm doing," Lincoln explains.
"Well, not texting me, for starters."
"And I apologize for that, and that's my bad. I'm gonna have to work on that. I didn't do it on purpose to upset you. You must know that. I love you, and the last thing I wanna do is hurt you."
He rubs his hands across his face, placing them back on his lap.
"I have so much on my mind and that shouldn't be an excuse. But baby, you can call me too, you know?" he adds.
I just look at him.
"I know, I know… but you can call me. If you're really that worried about me or you think something is going on, please feel free to shoot me a text," Lincoln continues.
"I do, and you never answer them," I remind him.
"Whenever I get your text, it's usually, like, an hour after I come out of work," he explains.
"But I showed you the time stamps. I sent them way before," I argue.
"Maybe it's the signal in the building or something. I'm so sorry. I'll try to do better. But can you meet me halfway?" he asks, his voice so deep and soothing that it actually makes me feel bad for even broaching this.
"I'd love to do that. I don't want us to grow out of love with each other, baby. I love you. And I don't want to be one of those insecure wives that believes that, well…" I pause for a second, not wanting to give him any ideas. "I don't know. I just start going down this weird road."
"What road?"
"If I'm being honest, the whole cheating thing. I've heard so many stories," I admit.
"I'm not cheating on you, baby. I don't even think I could get away with it.
Even if I decided to. I'm really bad at lying.
And I'm so busy, I wouldn't even know when I got any time to do so.
Maybe other people would tell me I had an opportunity to do it.
But I wouldn't know. I wouldn't be aware of it because I'm so damn tired every day I can hardly focus on anything.
Sometimes…" He takes a pause and smiles at me tiredly.
"I forget to even use the bathroom. Do you know how many times a day I use the bathroom on average? "
"How many?" I ask.
"Once, if at all."
"That's not good," I tell him.
"I know," he murmurs.
I now feel really bad for him.
"Please promise me something, baby," I ask softly.
"What?"
I hold his hand in mine, moving myself a little bit to face him to my right.
"If you start drifting away from me or you start feeling unhappy in our relationship, please don't string me along… please. I want us to be able to talk about things."
"Of course, baby, of course we will," he assures me.
"Do you still love me?" I ask.
"Of course, I still love you. You're the best thing about my day. And even though it doesn't seem like it because I'm coming home exhausted, you don't know how happy it makes me to come home to you."
His words light a fire in my heart like I never knew I needed. I reach over and I hug him and kiss him. I kiss him until our kisses become a little more slow.
"I love you," I whisper.
"I love you too, baby," Lincoln replies.
I climb on top of him, straddling him, kissing him deeply. I could feel him getting hard, but it doesn't stay.
He's exhausted.
And as I'm kissing him, I get the bright idea to go down on him, unbuckling his pants and putting my mouth around his dick, sucking him there for five minutes, my tongue doing its magic.
There’s a weird noise, and I notice him starting to get a little flaccid. ‘
There’s the noise again, and when I look up, he is fast dead asleep, snoring and everything. My man has never fallen asleep to a blowjob before. And that tells me that he is really legitimately exhausted.
And now I feel horrible.
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