It took less than a month for Aimie to fall into a routine with Ryan. The honeymoon phase should’ve lasted longer, she was sure of it, and yet she’d realized that wasn’t the case.
As it was, Ryan had done two double shifts in four days, and while in the beginning Aimie had been okay with writing during his shifts and only going to sleep when he was home, this was too much.
That night she stood in the kitchen, preparing dinner. She had prepped mini potatoes and steaks with herb butter, knowing Ryan had to be home in a few minutes. It was ten past seven, and he’d have gotten off at six, or a few minutes later.
The key turned in the lock and she smiled, but it faded when he came in, dropping a bag on the couch and then walked upstairs.
She stood, staring at the spot where he’d vanished, wondering what she was supposed to do when his hurried steps came back down.
“Shit, Aimie, I’m sorry,” he whispered, gathering her in his arms. He hadn’t changed or showered yet, smelling more of disinfectants than usual.
“About? Walking past me as if I didn’t exist?”
He’d fallen back into his daily habits, and she was sure one of those was coming in, dropping his clothes, hitting the shower, and then probably coming back down naked.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, but she stepped back, unsure what to feel.
“I cooked, so we can—”
He swallowed and she stopped herself.
“It looks good,” he forced out.
“You ate in the cafeteria,” she pointed out and he closed his eyes.
“Yes. I…”
He’d forgotten she’d be home, cooking like she’d done every time he had the day shift. Instead of saying that though she forced a smile. “It’s okay. You were probably hungry. I’m not surprised.”
Turning off the oven, she put the plates away.
“I’m gonna sit with you while you eat,” he offered, but she just shook her head.
“I wasn’t that hungry.” And hated eating when someone watched her.
Ryan grabbed her hips as she made to move away. “It smells amazing. Come on, I’ll have a bite.”
Aimie wondered if she should just give in, but didn’t feel like it. She’d been doing everything she could to make sure he knew they were a team, a couple, but he’d slipped into old habits slowly again, like not calling when he was late, knowing she was waiting, or eating when she’d explicitly told him she’d be cooking.
He’d also promised to have some weekends off—seemed it was possible if a doctor tried— but he hadn’t taken a single day off anymore.
Obviously she was failing—at being a wife, at making him happy, at making him want her.
“No, it’s okay.” She’d heat it up the next day. It wouldn’t be nearly as good as it probably would’ve been that night, but it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t waste the food.
“There’s a show on and—”
“I need to shower first,” Ryan stated. “I’ll be right down and we’ll open a bottle of red, okay?”
He crossed over to her and kissed her forehead, his lips lingering.
“I’ll be here.” Because where the hell else would she be in a country that wasn’t her home, at eight when most of her friends would be busy with their families?
She sat on the sofa, starting to flip through the channels just so he’d go and shower. Maybe afterward she’d have calmed down enough to look at him and not show him how much her heart was breaking a little more each time something small like this happened.
* * *
As the steaming water hit his body, Ryan dropped his head forward, hating himself more than Aimie would ever guess.
How in the world had he forgotten she’d be there? How had he not noticed the scent of cooked food when coming in?
Then again, it hadn’t started at home. It had started in the hospital already, with him grabbing a bite to eat from the cafeteria before finishing his shift. He even knew why. It had been the first busy day since he’d been back, and he’d fallen into all his old habits.
Be ever present.
Be always ready.
Forget food until a nurse forces you to go.
Don’t sit unless you can’t stand anymore.
He’d not even bothered to change, in his mind standing in front of his locker, making mental notes of all the things he’d need to check coming in the next day. He’d also gone over everything he’d told the guy relieving him. And in the car he’d longed for a shower and a bed.
Although, there had been this nagging in his chest, something insistent making him feel as if he’d forgotten to turn off the oven, or close the window.
Now he knew it was because his heart had tried reminding him of the woman he claimed to love, and had forgotten anyway.
How in the world had that happened? He’d only remembered once he saw her clothes in his bedroom, and it had hit him like cold water.
Her expression as he’d come back down had nearly killed him. He wished he could say it had been the first time, but it wasn’t.
Gritting his teeth against the angry beating of his heart, he thought back to the late night visit he’d had from her at the hospital three days ago.
“Is Ryan okay? Can you please tell me if Dr. Ryan Spencer is okay?”
He’d found her at the nurses’ station and had realized he’d forgotten to tell her he’d be doing a double shift.
He’d also forgotten that it wasn’t his lonely apartment waiting for him.
“Fuck,” he cursed and hit the shower tiles. How in the world was it possible to forget your own wife? Especially because he had a hard time letting her go when they were together. He couldn’t even say what it was that made her vanish from his mind the moment he stepped into the hospital.
Although that wasn’t completely true. There were days when he was dying to see her, to talk to her, and when he called her up over and over, too.
He turned apologies over and over in his head, but there was nothing. He had nothing, and if she should ask him what happened, he couldn’t say anything but that he’d forgotten her.
God, it couldn’t be. He needed to find a way to remind himself of her every day. If he could only wear his ring at work, maybe that would help, but—
“You shouldn’t need anyone or anything reminding yourself,” he said half aloud, wanting to scold himself.
What he needed was to take off a weekend the way he’d promised her, and spend time with her to show her he meant it when he said he wanted to be with her.
Turning off the shower and grabbing a towel, he walked into the bedroom, wanting to reach for sweatpants when something on the bed caught his eye.
It was a note, telling him Hilary had just called about a sleepover with the girls and that she was going to be there and not sure she’d manage to be home before he left for the hospital.
It was possible. It was more than possible and yet Ryan didn’t believe a word.
He’d messed up. He’d messed up a lot.
For a second he considered just believing her and texting to tell her he was going to miss her, but he knew she wouldn’t trust a word he said.
And he needed to know if she’d run.
Changing into something comfortable, he fished out his phone and dialed Jazz’s number.
“Doc,” Jazz greeted him.
“Is Tessa around?”
There was some noise, as if Jazz shifted the phone, then he was back. “Is that a serious question?”
Home. Tessa wasn’t at the girls’ sleepover.
“Yes, no, I mean—”
“Where did you think she’d be?” Jazz asked.
Ryan hesitated a moment. “At a sleepover at Hilary’s.”
Jazz vanished from the phone again, but Ryan could still hear him call for Tessa. “Mrs. Connor, is there a sleepover at Hilary’s?”
“Yes,” came the prompt answer. “I told them I’d stay home because duh, handsome husband.”
She was covering for Aimie and everyone knew it.
“Fucking shit, Ryan, you made her run?” Jazz inquired, proving his guess right. He’d lowered his voice and Ryan started pacing.
“The hospital was crazy busy today. I came home, dropped my bag on the couch and wanted nothing more than a shower. I—”
“Fuck, doc. Tell me you’re not serious.”
Ryan wished he could. God, he wondered what he’d been thinking.
“Years-long habits are hard to break; I told you.” And damn, Ryan wished Jazz wouldn’t have been right.
* * *
Hilary didn’t say anything when Aimie appeared in front of her door with pizza and a bottle of Ryan’s most expensive wine. She figured she deserved it for everything that had happened.
“Come on in, the Buffy reruns just started. You haven’t missed anything yet,” Hils announced.
“Good,” Aimie replied, kicking off her shoes. She was in Ryan’s hoodie because…bloody hell, she longed for him, but she couldn’t stand the thought of sitting next to him when they both knew he’d forgotten all about her.
The wife he’d wanted so badly, he’d tricked her into a Vegas wedding.
She walked into the living room of Hilary’s home and was transported back to the very first time when she’d come in with the girls after picking Tessa up—and having witnessed Tessa’s and Jazz’s first kiss. They’d all been babbling and there’d been no weirdness at all.
She’d felt right at home in Hilary’s living room and it eased her pain a little.
“Oh man, I forgot how cute Sarah Michelle Gellar used to be,” Aimie said as Hilary came to her side with plates and two glasses.
“Right? Exactly what I was thinking.”
They started eating their pizza in silence and Hilary poured them wine. The silence wasn’t tense at all, but Aimie imagined it was.
“He forgot I was home, waiting for him. Walked past me and only remembered when in the bedroom.” She’d almost said theirs, but funnily enough, he hadn’t thought of it that way until spotting her clothes. She was sure of it.
“Did you tell him you were going to be here? Because no matter what, if he doesn’t know, he’ll worry himself crazy.”
Aimie snorted. “Right, because he called me ten times already. But yes, I did,” she explained as Hilary just gave her a hard look.
“Good. You always have a bed here. In fact, Tessa and Evy, too, although Jazz used up all his ‘fuck-up’ days. Tank didn’t. He’s too much in love. But maybe that’ll still come,” Hilary mused.
“You don’t think he’ll just be good?” Aimie wondered and Hilary’s expression softened.
“He’ll be even better. I cannot believe how much he’s changed. I almost miss his old asshole-self.”
Aimie couldn’t help the laugh escaping her lips. She wasn’t the least bit surprised because somehow Hilary had needed someone to be pissed off at, and to complain about, and now she was out of people who wouldn’t hate her if she did.
“I’m sure you and him could come to an agreement about, you know, him cursing and you scolding him for it or something.”
Hilary grinned and then focused back on screen. “I hoped Ryan wouldn’t mess up. Not with you. You’re…” She stopped herself and Aimie arched a brow.
“Breakable?” she helped out and Hilary shook her head.
“Shy. You needed someone who loves you so much, your confidence would end where Tessa’s did. Jazz changed her life, her personality, her, and that in the best way possible. You always blame yourself. I bet you went through all the reasons why he forgot you, and why you weren’t more memorable when it’s probably simply that he’d had a hard day at the hospital.”
There was something in her friend’s eyes Aimie couldn’t decipher. “You know, back when things were about Jazz, you never took his side. Then, when Tessa was back, you still didn’t take his side. But when Evy and Tank started hanging out for real you had his back almost instantly. And I have a feeling you’re with Ryan on this one. You think I shouldn’t have left, do you? You think I should’ve let him cut me deeper by letting him tell me he’d forgotten. You—”
Hilary had pulled her into her arms and Aimie closed her eyes, hugging her friend back. “I think you did the exactly right thing, Aims. You were right in leaving, showing him you were hurt. However, I think tomorrow you need to go back and forgive him. I know he’ll be at work, but when he comes home and grovels, you should let him and then be kind.”
“I missed him all day, and he came in and just…I…” Aimie shook her head, and finally the tears she’d been expecting, but hadn’t come, fell from her eyes, accompanied by sobs that nearly made her choke.
“You’ll miss him all night, too,” Hilary whispered. “And he’ll miss you. I know he will.”
“He didn’t even bother to message me yet.”
She felt how Hilary kissed the top of her head. “It’s because he knows to give you some room. He fucked up, big time, Aimie. Let him realize how much he misses you tonight and you’ll see, tomorrow he’ll be home on time.”
God, Aimie hoped that more than anything.
* * *
It was half past one when Ryan couldn’t stand it anymore. He’d paced the entire apartment and couldn’t think of anything else to do.
It was as if all the times he’d been alone at home were erased from his mind because he wanted Aimie there, wanted to hug and hold her, kiss her and tell her how sorry he was.
He stood again, having considered trying to sleep, but it was impossible when her scent was everywhere.
Leaving the bedroom, he made his way downstairs, pulled on sneakers and a hoodie, and then he grabbed his car keys and left the apartment because Aimie was his wife and he’d kneel if it was what it would take to bring her back home.
* * *
Aimie tossed and turned, eventually sitting up. She’d taken nothing off but her shoes and it was all she could deal with because it was the only thing keeping her from running back to Ryan’s place.
She’d crawl into bed and hope he’d hug her.
Then again, if he was sleeping peacefully, she’d hurt all over again because she couldn’t see herself sleeping.
The doorbell rang and it took less than ten seconds before Hilary’s voice echoed through the house. “Holy fuck, those damn soldiers!”
Aimie almost smirked, but then realized Hilary assumed it was Ryan.
“I need to see her, now.”
That was unmistakably Ryan’s voice and Aimie considered putting on her shoes just so she could go with him immediately, but then kept herself from it.
Instead she walked to the top of the stairs and sat. He probably wouldn’t even be able to see her feet.
“I think you should go home, doc.”
It was funny how everyone adopted Jazz’s nickname for her husband.
Hilary didn’t sound angry, she just sounded sincere.
Holding her breath, Aimie waited for Ryan to answer. She was curious what he was doing. Was he running his hand through his hair, messing it up? Would he hold Hilary’s eyes or would be avert his because he feared what he’d be seeing?
“I can’t. I cannot close my eyes knowing she’s upset. Look, I screwed up so bad, I’m not sure I could forgive myself, but her scent is everywhere and I need to hold her, Hils. I’m going to beg, if that’s what it takes for you to let me through to her.”
Aimie wiped some tears from her cheeks because the need he’d expressed she felt as well, and she wasn’t nearly as surrounded by his scent as he’d been at home.
“It hasn’t been going well for a few days, has it, doc?” Hilary asked and Aimie perked up. She hadn’t told anyone because she hadn’t wanted them to think she was failing at her marriage.
And it had to be her, because he was working and—
“I assume it was something she said without thinking, right? Or did she complain? I’m a doctor, and we have a woman who’s…she had a breakdown. She’s a full-on nutcase.”
Aimie chuckled just as Hilary did. “You shouldn’t be saying that, it’s not a professional term.”
“I don’t care. She’s prone to developing obsessions. It’s just something…her mind latches onto someone giving her a smile and would turn it into that person caring for her more than was true. My colleague, River, is her latest fixation. She’s there all the time. We have our hands full because she threatens every other patient, no matter what gender or age, and I’ve been…fuck it, Hils. It doesn’t matter. I need to see her. If it makes you feel better I’ll leave her here, but I need to see her.” His voice broke and Aimie couldn’t stand it anymore.
She hurried down the stairs and pushed past Hilary, right into his arms. He caught her, not stumbling although she had a lot of momentum, and pressed her as close to him as possible.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I have no excuses, no apologies, but I need you home with me. It’s not the same when you’re not in my bed, and…it’s not mine. Nothing in there is mine any longer. It’s our bed, our couch, our bathroom, and knowing you’re not there because you’re angry with me …I don’t want all that if you’re not there. I swear, if you want to stay here, then we’ll do that, but don’t make me go anywhere without you.”
She tried to move back enough so she could look at him, but his grip on her didn’t ease.
“Ryan,” she whispered and he just shook his head.
“Tell me you forgive me. Please. Tell me.”
“I’m here, right in your arms, aren’t I?”
Finally he let go enough so he could plaster her against his side while having her at least on her own two feet again
He framed her face, his dark eyes filled with regret. “I have no explanation, and I have no words that could make this better, but—”
“Are we going to be that couple, who constantly either fights or apologizes? What will it take for you to remember I’m home?” She had every intention of going back with him because she would not find any sleep in Hilary’s bed, but she needed to know if this was what she had to look forward to from now on.
“This is on me. Every damn day I disappointed you is on me, and I know it. I’m not expecting you to understand my hospital routine, but I’m expecting you to tell me when I’m an ass. Each and every time. When I hurt you, don’t wait, okay? Say it right away because I won’t notice, but I don’t want to ever hurt you again the way I did today.”
He brushed his hands down her cheeks and her arms over and over, as if he couldn’t stop touching her, holding her, then he framed her face again.
“Let’s go home.” It was all she had to say because in the end it was the only place she wanted to be—with him by her side.
The relief on his face said it all, and yet when she drew away to get her shoes, he actually followed. Aimie tried to ignore Hilary standing in the hallway, watching them. Aimie couldn’t decide if she was approving or disapproving.
“Thank you, Hils,” Ryan muttered.
Aimie couldn’t help but wonder how often Hilary had heard that exact sentence—and from how many guys stealing girls away from this house.