Well, this was… awkward.

Driving off into the sunset on the back of my husband's motorcycle had seemed like the most romantic and endearingly beautiful gesture earlier. But now that I had time to think about what a huge plunge I had taken? Well, my mind was reeling and in complete and total overdrive.

You know that feeling you get when you make an impulsive purchase at the store, an expensive purchase you haven't quite thought through? A purchase that's going to affect your spending for the next six months? You know that horrible feeling of dread that settles in your stomach when you come down from the high and realize that 'hey, actually, I shouldn’t have done that'?

Well, I was in the throes of said feeling.

And I felt horrible because of it.

What was I saying; I was horrible.

Who thought like that?

Bad people, that's who.

I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting to see when I walked through the doors of that halfway house in Denver earlier either, but I had felt humbled. The seriousness of the environment, and the sheer devastation of those men's situations, made the mortification inside I had been feeling fall onto the back burner. Sure, there were people in that building I would have crossed the street to avoid in normal day to day life, but it was an eye-opener for me.

Jordan was a counselor.

He helped people.

Those desperate and lonesome looking people I'd seen back in that house? Jordan took care of them, gave them hope, and the foundations of a drug-free future.

I thought that was pretty amazing and, when I hadn't been worrying myself into an early grave about the repercussions of my rash life choices, I had been in awe of Jordan the entire time.

I even ended up watching Noah's fight in the common area of the house with the residents. Unable to express the pain and heartbreak I had felt when I watched Teagan scramble into the ring and throw the fight on Noah's behalf had been too much for me and I had bawled like a freaking baby – along with at least two other big, butch men. I had tried calling her at least a dozen times since the fight ended, but she never picked up.

Those unanswered calls bothered me long after Jordan finished his shift, and when we finally arrived at his house after midnight, the fight was still on my mind.

We had come straight to his house after his shift and I was still trying to familiarize myself with my surroundings.

His house was tiny – only slightly bigger than my apartment back in Cork. The only difference that I could see was the fact that the two bedrooms and bathroom in Jordan's house were on the second floor. My apartment was all on the same level. Back in Ireland, I had a decent sized, open plan kitchen/living area. Jordan's kitchen and living area were split into two tiny rooms and separated by a narrow hallway; his living room at the front of the house, and the kitchen at the back. And where I had a balcony, Jordan had a tiny eight feet by eight concrete yard outback that was home to a clothes line and nothing else.

The kitchen was a small, lemon painted room, tiny in size, with just enough room for the two-chaired table we were sitting at.

The cupboards were an off-white color and the countertops were littered with copious amounts of paperwork and textbooks, not to forget at least half a dozen dog-eared paperbacks strewn into the mix.

The clutter was chaotic and it kind of reminded me of what living with Teagan used to feel like –pre-Noah. She was a hot mess to live with and from the looks of this kitchen, so was Jordan.

"They're fine, Keychain," Jordan announced, breaking my thoughts, as he set a cup of coffee down in front of me before joining me at the small breakfast table in his kitchen. "Noah's probably pissed she threw the fight," he added before taking a sip from his mug.

"Did you see his face?" I heard myself snap, immediately jumping to Teagan's defense. "If I had been in Teagan's shoes, I would have thrown the fight three rounds ago."

Jordan's brows raised in surprise. "I didn’t say I didn’t agree with what she did, Hope. I just meant that it may have caused an issue between them."

Guilt churned inside of me. "Sorry," I mumbled, feeling like a dick for getting ratty with him. Jordan was obviously trying to soothe my anxiety and I was being a bitch.

"It's okay, Hope."

No, it wasn’t.

Nothing about this was okay.

Something felt wrong.

I was antsy and agitated and it was taking every ounce of my self control to make myself stay in this chair and not pace the floor. I was feeling on edge about something. Not allowing myself to believe that my edginess had anything to do with the huge life altering decision I had just made, I focused on Noah and Teagan. It was a safer topic for my frazzled mind to concentrate on. I was worried sick about them and I couldn’t explain that to Jordan. I couldn’t delve into details because those were details I needed to take to the grave. Dangerous and illegal details. The only one who could even begin to comprehend what I was feeling I didn’t dare think about.

Pulling my thoughts away from Noah and Teagan, I cast a glance around the tiny kitchen, trying to distract myself only to stiffen when my gaze locked on three or four baby bottles on the draining board next to the sink.

Baby bottles?

What the fuckety fuck!

With my body alive with suspicion, I began to search for more incriminating evidence. It didn’t take me long. On the window sill, next to the back door, were a handful of unused diapers neatly stacked one on top of the other. Beside them was a container of baby wipes and what looked like a tattered stuffed rabbit.

"Do you have something you need to tell me, Jordan?" I heard myself ask, tone demanding and laced with unspoken accusation. His eyes landed on mine and I inclined my head towards the sink.

If Jordan had a child, I was done. Seriously. If a miniature version of my goddamn husband popped out from behind the woodworks, I was hightailing it out of here. I liked to think of myself as a tolerant woman, but him having a child was not something I could put up with. It would be too much. Knowing that he'd lied to me and procreated while I'd spent the majority of my adult life in a foreign country mourning him? Hell no.

"I don’t own that bottle," he announced, roughly clearing his throat. "Or the baby it belongs to."

Inhaling a deep breath, I bit out, "Then whose is it?" Pressing my fingers to my temples, I foresaw my head spinning clean off my shoulders if he didn’t hurry his ass up and explain this to me.

"The bottle and every other piece of baby equipment in this house belongs to Ryder," Jordan was quick to respond. "And Ryder belongs to Annabelle."

"Annabelle," I repeated, deadpan. "As in your fake, former, whatever-the-hell-it-was fiancée Annabelle?"

"Yes." He cleared his throat again before adding, "She, ah… she and Ryder sort of live here."

"You're kidding?" I asked flatly. When he shook his head, my mouth fell open. "Jesus Christ, Jordan."

"As roommates, Hope," he was quick to add. "That's all it's ever been. Just roommates and friends."

"Are they here now?" I shrieked, wide-eyed and dumbfounded.

Jordan nodded. "They have their own room upstairs."

Okay breathe, Hope. Breathe. Don’t lose your shit on him right this minute. You've just gotten back together. Give it a day at least…

"And Ryder's father?" I bit out, tightening my grip on my cup so tight I was surprised it hadn't shattered in my hand. I was struggling with this revelation. I really was. In fact, I was having a hard time staying in my seat. Some of Teagan must have rubbed off on me because all I wanted to do was run. "Who is he? Where is he?"

"He's a bad guy who's not in the picture anymore."

"Okay," I muttered, striving to remain composed and not reach across this table and scratch his stupid, beautiful face. "That's not going to work for me. I think you better tell me everything."

I surprised myself with how calm I managed to remain as I listened to Jordan explain how he first met Annabelle six years ago when he came to live at one of the sober living projects in the city. She was his counselor and sponsor back then and the only one who had absolute faith in his ability to become sober. They had bonded over their similar home lives – she, too, was from a broken home with no parental role in her life and, once he’d gotten clean and finished his social studies degree, had later helped him gain employment in the sector.

He told me about how even though they had drifted over the years as their careers took them in different paths, they had always remained close friends.

And then Jordan revealed to me how she had come to him for help two years ago when she had taken one punch too many from her violent ex.

She'd been four months pregnant with Ryder when she arrived on the doorstep of this very house on a cold night in December with nothing but a duffel bag and a broken nose to show for herself. She'd been here ever since. He'd been at the birth, held her hand through the labor, and had been the only consistent male in Ryder's life these past eleven months. He had even been honored with the title of Ryder's godfather, the same role my parents had given his father when I was born.

"Why?" I heard myself ask before blowing out a breath. I tried to form some semblance of an intelligent thought to explain how I was feeling in this moment, but the only thing I could say was, "why?"

"Why?" Jordan looked at me in confusion. "Why what?"

Why had he done all this for them?

Why were they still living here?

Why was he shacking up with another woman?

Why was he raising another man's child when he could have given me a chance and raised babies with me?

He didn’t know her.

Not really.

He knows her more than you, a voice in my mind hissed, but I silenced that voice with a shake of my head.

"I'm trying to understand this," I whispered. And truly, I was, but it was hard to comprehend. "Does she know?" I heard myself ask then, locking eyes with him across the table. "About you. About what happened to you?" I swallowed deeply. "Does she know about that?"

"She was my sponsor, Hope," he replied, and I felt the floor fall out from underneath me. "She knows everything about me."

She knew.

About his life.

About everything.

He had confided in her while he had blocked me out.

"Hope," Jordan said gruffly before reaching across the table and covering my hand with his. "I know this is a lot to take in one night, but I promise there has never been anything but friendship between me and Annie. I love you."

Annie.

Ugh.

Christ.

We drank our coffee in silence after that, with me deep in thought and Jordan sensibly silent. Finally, when the last remnants of coffee were drained from both our cups, Jordan pushed his chair back and stood. "It's late." He paused and looked down at me before exhaling a shaky breath. "Should I call you a cab or…" his voice trailed off as he slowly reached for his phone, obviously waiting on me to make the decision about our future.

"Put your phone away," I muttered, exhaling a weary sigh.

I watched as relief flashed across Jordan's face. "You sure?"

No, I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure about anything anymore. A bitter taste had settled in my mouth, and I could only pray that it was a temporary thing. "I'm sure," I whispered as I pushed my own chair back and stood.

When we reached the top of the staircase, Jordan walked over to the last of three doors and pushed it open before gesturing me inside. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of resentment towards the woman sleeping behind the other bedroom door as I walked past and into the bedroom my husband had been sleeping alone in this past almost decade.

As I looked around at my surroundings, the small double bed with a dark navy comforter strewn messily across it and matching closet and dresser, it was with a bolt of annoyance and my mind began to reel.

This was where he had been all those years. Every night I had cried myself to sleep over him, he'd been here. Here! In this house in freaking Colorado.

As much as I tried to fight it away, the knowledge of seven years of nothing continued to torment me, picking away at my trust and contentment like a horrible intrusive thought I couldn’t defeat.

No calls.

No text messages or emails.

Seven long years of silence.

And then there was Annabelle, the fake fiancée, his current roommate, and her baby.

I didn’t want this; I didn’t want to hold a grudge.

I wanted to be happy with him.

More than that, I wanted him to be happy with me.

How was I supposed to handle this?

I wasn’t known for my grace. I was one of six children, five of those being boys. Grace and tact weren't my strongpoints. Ugh, my father and brothers were going to freak out when they found out about this. My mother was going to rush out and buy a wedding hat – she didn’t need one of course, but I knew she would be ecstatic at the thought of Jordan and I getting back together.

Maybe I was jumping ahead of the gun here.

We hadn't actually spoken about what we were to each other now.

I'd made an impulsive decision at the spur of the moment that decidedly and unintentionally changed the course of my life. I needed to have a ten second delay. It would be so much easier...

"It's okay to feel on edge, Hope," Jordan said, breaking me from my worried thoughts. I looked across at him guiltily and he smiled. "I let you down," he explained, tone soft and gentle. "And I've put a lot on you tonight. It's okay to feel wary of me. I'd be surprised if you didn’t."

I felt my cheeks burn as I quickly denied what Jordan had so aptly figured out. "I’m not wary of you," I said, not really lying, but not completely telling the truth either. When it came to my husband, I was a wreck. My emotions and feelings were all over the place and I didn’t know how I felt most of the time.

For the best part of my life, I had been so focused on being with him that I hadn't thought of how I might feel when we finally were together.

I had been hunting this man down since childhood and now that the day had finally come that we were together without any barriers or pretenses, it wasn’t what I had expected it to be.

I didn’t feel how I had thought I would.

Instead of elation, I was feeling oddly…numb.

That thing I had been chasing my whole life, the thing I had been so sure was Jordan and then my career and then Jordan again, still felt like it was missing.

I still felt…hollow.

Time, I decided.

I just had to give this some time.

I was twenty-six years old and hadn't been with him properly since I was eighteen. I needed to adjust and give it a little time. Everything would fall into place.

It had to.

I'd spent my life dreaming of having what my parents so effortlessly had with each other, with Jordan. He was my first love and, like my mom with my dad, I had every intention of him being my last.

I just needed to focus.

I knew I wouldn’t win any wife of the year awards, it simply wasn’t in me, but dammit, I was going to be the best wife to Jordan that I possibly could.

I couldn’t lose him again.

I refused to go through that twice.

But I wasn’t sure how this was going to work. Did we fall straight back into man and wife? Boyfriend, girlfriend?

I didn’t know and apparently, I didn’t have to make a decision about it either. Jordan made it for the both of us when he said, "It's okay, Hope. I'll take the couch tonight."

I guess we were reverting to the friend's zone for now.

Was I being friend-zoned?

Why the hell was he moving to the couch?

Was it because he thought I wanted to sleep in here alone? Because I most certainly did not. Or was it because he didn’t want me sleeping in here…with him? I didn’t want to ask, because I wasn’t sure I could handle the answer.

What he had endured at the hands of that bastard tore me up inside. I didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable by bringing up sex. We could work up to that. I'd managed for eight years without any, I could do it a little longer.

"No," I blurted out, quickly sinking down on his bed. "I want you to stay here. With me." He wasn’t going into any damn spare room or whatever. Jordan and I were going to be happy together and I sure as hell wasn’t going to ruin what I worked so hard to get by bringing up my horny female reproductive parts.

But what about children?

Would we have them?

And if we did, how many would he want?

How many did I want?

And what about his live-in surrogate family?

Would we all live here together?

Did he even want me living here with him?

With them?

Oh god, shut up, Hope. Shut your stupid, overactive imagination up right this minute before you ruin this!

"Are you okay?" Jordan asked me, his raspy voice drawing me back to the present, and I balked before swinging my gaze to meet his. My heart ached at the sight. He was so beautiful and I loved him so much. I truly did. I hated that there was a part of me that wasn’t okay with this… a part that wasn’t accepting. I'd always given myself fully to this man and having a part of my subconscious pull away from my decision troubled me deeply.

"Hope?" Jordan's soft voice flooded my mind and dragged me from my terror inducing thoughts.

Blinking rapidly, I looked up at him and smiled sheepishly. "Huh?"

"Stop overthinking this," he replied with a knowing smile etched across his handsome face. "We can take this one day at a time, okay?"

I nodded and returned his smile, all while I buried down the feeling of disappointment churning inside of me. "One day at a time?" I heard myself ask. "And what does that mean exactly?"

He cocked a dark brow. "I think the term speaks for itself, Keychain."

I shook my head. "What does it mean for you?" For us?

Awareness dawned in Jordan's eyes, as he caught onto my meaning, and he let out a heavy sigh. "I'm not the person you remember. I'm not that boy anymore, Hope."

I nodded in agreement.

Neither was I.

It was an impossible ask, to expect the boy who walked out on me almost a decade ago to return inside the man standing before me.

But that didn’t stop me from admitting, "I miss that boy."

"That boy is dead," he replied. "So don’t waste your time searching for someone who isn’t inside me anymore," Jordan added, voice gruff and full of emotion. "Just…" Closing his eyes, he looked up to the ceiling and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just accept me for the person I am now."

"I am," I croaked out.

Silence enveloped us then and I strived to find the words to break it.

"Maybe we should take this back to the start," Jordan finally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. He walked around to the other side of the bed and emptied the contents of his pockets onto the nightstand before looking over at me and smiling. "I'm Jordan, I'm thirty-years-old, a meat-eating Virgo with a master's degree in sociology. I split my life into working two full time jobs, one of which is with a local charity that works with victims of sexual abuse and rape. The other is St. Luke's hospital where I work as an on call crisis counselor in the psychiatric department. In my spare time, I volunteer at some of the shelters and halfway houses I used to reside in, and for some of those residents, I am their sponsor. Oh, and I'm also married," he added with a smirk. "And I've been in love with the same woman since I was four years old. I've been a shitty husband, but I plan on changing that." He unfastened the clasp of his watch and placed it on the nightstand alongside his wallet, keys, and phone. "I'm recovering an alcohol and drug dependency that almost cost me my life. I've been sober for six years, three months, and twenty-two days." He sank down on the opposite side of the bed and smiled the brightest smile at me before saying, "Any questions?"

"Only a couple million," I mumbled, feeling completely stumped. "Okay." Shaking my hands out, I stood up and turned to face him. "I'm Hope Carter, a twenty-six-year-old Taurus with a penchant for story-telling and a vivid imagination." My cheeks flamed as I spoke. I felt suddenly very stupid and foolish, like I was reading the biography on the back of one of my novels. I was rehearsing four or five lines I knew by heart. And as I spoke the words, describing who I was, the feeling of being lost grew inside of me. "I'm the only girl out of a family of six kids." Was this really me? "I'm obsessed with reality television shows." Was this all my life entailed? "I've only ever had one boyfriend." Christ, I was boring. "And I married him."

"Talk about lucky," Jordan mused and I balked.

Why in God's name was he asking me about him? "What's there to say?"

Jordan's brows rose in confusion. "What?"

I stared back at him. "What?"

"It's a figure of speech, Hope," he explained slowly. "I meant that I was lucky."

"Right," I laughed nervously. "I knew that." Totally didn’t, but anyway…

We stood at opposite sides of his bed, both staring at the other. His green eyes were locked on my face, taking in every frown, every blink of uncertainty I was feeling. He was so aware of me, so keenly observant that it both unnerved and delighted me. The way he looked at me, the way he gave me his complete and absolute attention excited something inside of me and I wanted nothing more in this moment than to drag him onto this bed and straddle him.

But I wouldn’t.

Not yet, at least.

Unless he wanted me to…

Did he want me to?

Ugh, I hated this – I hated second guessing myself.

"Relax," he whispered gruffly as he opened the buttons on his shirt, revealing a lean, ripped stomach with tightly cut muscles and a sprinkling of dark hair trailing beneath his navel, disappearing beneath the waistband of his black slacks.

Immediately, my gaze landed on the jagged scars marring his otherwise perfect skin. "Jordan," I whispered, broken at the sight. It crippled me; knowing he'd done this to himself.

I took a step towards him.

Immediately, he stepped back.

"I don’t…" Words trailing off, I hung my hands limply at my sides. "I feel so bad."

"This is on me, Hope Carter, not you." His voice was full of heat and certainty as he spoke. "These marks are on my body because there was a time in my life when the physical pain was easier to deal with than the mental fucking torture." His green eyes were locked on mine as he spoke, "Again, not on you, Keychain." Inhaling deeply, he reclaimed the space he'd put between us. "Never on you."

"I feel like I failed you," I strangled out, barely able to breathe.

"Don’t be sad for me," he whispered. "I'm the one that failed you."

When his shirt was gone, Jordan's hands moved to the buckle of his belt and I felt my body sag a little, my heart hammering hard in my chest, as he stripped. He never took his eyes off me as he slowly unbuckled his belt before undoing the zipper, revealing his tight, black boxer shorts.

He looked at me expectantly, his green eyes piercing through every wall and cover-up I had built to keep him out.

My hands shook with the effort as I yanked my shirt over my head and tossed it carelessly on the floor at my feet. I was trembling from head to toe, fear and anticipation residing inside of my heart, as I kicked off my sneakers and jeans before reaching behind my back and unclasping my bra, baring my breasts to him, my hardened nipples straining for his touch.

Clad only in a pair of plain, cotton white panties, I knelt on my side of the bed and paused, unsure of what to do next. In any of my novels, I wouldn’t have to think twice about this because the hero would take complete control of the situation, but this wasn’t one of my stories. This was real life, and this was Jordan. He continued to stare at me for the longest moment before finally releasing a ragged breath and mirroring my actions by kneeling on the bed.

Plucking up the courage to do what I wanted, I closed my eyes, knelt forward, placed my hands on his shoulders and leaned closer. Prepared for rejection, surprise and lust flooded through my body when I felt his lips cover mine, warm, tender and oh so familiar. His mouth was on mine and it felt right. Like I was home.

This man was mine.

All of him.

Even the broken pieces.

Moving slowly, I pressed myself closer, and probed his bottom lip with my tongue. He opened for me, willingly accepting what I was offering. Excitement thrummed inside of me, joined by lust and desire, forming a desperate need to be underneath this man right now.

Tightening my hold on his shoulders, I gently probed his skin with my nails, telling him with my touch that I was thoroughly enjoying what he was doing to me and I wanted more. He seemed to get my meaning because he gave it to me. Harder kisses, more impatient, fast, heated, longing. I wanted him so desperately, I wouldn’t have been surprised if I was oozing the smell.

Breathless, I gasped into his mouth and moaned loudly when his hand curled around my hip and pulled me closer. This was amazing. It was everything and more and I needed to have him inside of me. Growing more frantic with every kiss, I slid my fingers under the waistband of his boxers and tugged him closer, desperate to feel his skin on mine.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered as he cupped my face in both of his hands and exhaled shakily. "It hurts." Pausing, Jordan lowered his face to mine and kissed me softly before pulling back. "How much I love you?" He kissed me again, harder this time, before whispering, "It's physically painful for me," against my lips. "Loving you hurts, and leaving you hurts. It all hurts, Hope. Every bit of it."

My heart swelled so much I felt it crack clean open in my chest. Reaching up, I covered his hands with mine and squeezed. "I'm here." An outpour of love and unconditional devotion for this man poured from every part of my soul. I wanted to heal him. I wanted to love him so hard he never had to feel another ounce of pain for the rest of his life. "I'm right here, Jordy."

"I'm so hollow inside, Hope," he whispered, tightening his hold on my face. I welcomed the pressure. It meant he was really here with me. This wasn’t a dream. He was back in my life, and I was back in his bed. "But I'm done disappointing you. And I'm done running away. I'm done pushing you away."

"It's okay," I breathed, heart racing dangerously fast.

Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead to mine and said, "I know what I am, Hope – all kinds of fucked up and broken. I'm not even sure if I'm capable of giving you everything I've promised. But I'm here, and I'm yours, and I'm willing to try..."

I couldn’t hear another word of it, his pain was threatening to overtake me, so I kissed him instead; reclaiming his mouth with mine.

I was starving for him; his attention, his love, his affection. Nothing could sate this desperate need I had inside to be filled up by this man.

Unable to bear the extreme heat burning through my body, I tugged at the waistband once more, clumsily trying to free him from the restraints of the fabric.

"Slow down," he whispered between kisses as I practically mounted him.

Nope.

Uh-uh.

No way in hell was I slowing down now.

Dragging his body down on mine, I clawed at his back like an attention starved, semi- deranged kitten, and rocked my hips frantically. I wasn’t a stranger to orgasms, I'd had plenty over the years with the help of my trusted vibrator, but what I needed right now was something much more. What it was, I wasn’t entirely sure, but I had no doubt I was searching for something.

Closeness.

Intimacy.

Love.

His body moved above mine as he kissed me into a drug-induced trance of ecstasy. Aroused and drowning in the feel of him, I slid my hands down his back, desperate to feel every inch of his skin. Slipping my hands beneath the fabric of his boxers, I moved my palms over his tight ass, unable to stop myself from squeezing his pert cheeks.

As soon as it had started, it was over and everything went to hell.

Ripping his mouth away from mine, Jordan jerked clean off the bed, backing away from me like I had just scalded him. "What?" I breathed, panting, as I leaned up on my elbows to look at him. "What's wrong?"

"Don’t ever do that again," Jordan shot back, tone hoarse and shaken, as he glared at me with accusing eyes.

"Do what?" I gaped at him in sheer confusion. "What did I do?"

"Touch me there," he snapped, eyes wild and full of fury. "Never again, Hope." He ran a hand through his curls and rolled his shoulders. "Never again."

"But I thought you wanted–"

"No!" he snarled. "I don’t want… just no, Hope. Fucking no."

And that's when it sank in.

What I'd done.

What I had unintentionally provoked.

One innocent move had caused the walls of Jordan to fly up faster than the bullet from a gun.

"I'm so sorry," I blurted out, mortified, as I scrambled off the bed and rushed to his side.

Jordan dodged my embrace and stalked out of the room before closing the door quietly behind him, leaving me standing in his bedroom reeling.

Oh my god.

What did I do now?

Go after him and force him to talk to me?

Wait here and see if he came back?

I felt like a rapist. Like I had just forced my own husband into doing something he didn’t want to. Disgust laced through me, followed by a heady amount of resentment. I didn’t mean it. Didn’t mean to upset him. I was trying to show him love.

"Fuck," I muttered as I padded over to where my shirt lay on the floor with my jeans and bra. With a heavy heart, I dressed quietly before flopping down in misery on the mattress.

I was so out of my element here.

I had no idea how to handle this man and the demons that came hand in hand with being with a man that had endured the suffering he had.

I debated leaving, wondering if that's what Jordan wanted me to do, if the reason he was staying away for so long was because he wanted me to go, but decided against it. I wasn’t a coward. I would face this like I faced everything else in my life; head on.

Jordan was missing for so long that I ended up slipping under the covers and dozing off.

When the mattress finally dipped beside me, signaling Jordan's return, I was drowsy and barely awake. "Are you okay?" I whispered as I turned onto my side to face him, not daring to reach for him. I did not want a repeat performance of earlier. I already felt like shit and didn’t think my ego could take another Jordan sized blow.

"Yeah," he whispered in reply, laying on his side facing me. "I'm sorry."

My heart squeezed tightly in my chest. "Me, too."

"I thought you'd be gone," he added, his voice barely more than a whisper as he looked into my eyes. "Wouldn’t have blamed you."

Believe me, I thought about it… "Running is your forte," I replied, resting my face on my hands as I looked across the bed at him. "Besides, I think I love your mattress."

My words caused him to crack a small smile. "I love you."

I bit back a weary-hearted sigh and told him that I loved him, too, even if being here and not being able to touch him was breaking my heart a little.

I must have watched him for hours after that, long after he'd fallen asleep, memorizing the plains of his face and the shadows under his eyes. Jordan looked more like the man I used to know when he was sleeping. His features softened. He wasn’t so on edge. He wasn’t so…haunted.

I debated, several times throughout the course of the night, on reaching over and stroking his face, his hair, his beautiful, scarred body, but decided against it. I didn’t want to sleep alone anymore and I knew that’s exactly what would happen if he woke up and caught me trying to cop a feel.

It was after three o clock in the morning when my eyelids finally began to flutter shut from exhaustion, and it was at this exact time my phone chose to vibrate obnoxiously on the nightstand beside my head. Snaking a hand out from beneath the covers, I swiped my cell up and looked at the screen.

One missed call from Teagan.

But it had barely rung out?

Redialing her number, I held my phone to my ear and waited. The call went straight to her voicemail.

Anxiety gnawed inside of me and I tried four more times to call her back before throwing the covers off myself and sitting up.

Something was wrong.

I couldn't put my finger on what exactly, but I just had this horrible feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.

None of this was sitting well with me.

Why hadn't she called me back?

Why was she not answering now?

What the fuck was going on?

Unable to just lay here with no answers, I slipped out of bed and quietly kicked on my sneakers. I took one more glance at my sleeping husband before slipping out of the room and creeping downstairs.

When I reached the kitchen, I called a 24hr cab company I kept on my phone's speed dial and shrugged on my coat. I needed to make sure they were both okay. Call it strange, but I couldn’t wait until morning. I needed to go home. I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach, a feeling that was screaming at me to go back.

"Where are you going?" I heard Jordan ask just as I was opening the front door.

Burying the shriek of surprise on the tip of my tongue, I swung around to face him. "I need to go check on Teagan."

"Right now?" He stood on the middle step of the stairs, still clad in his boxers and sporting a confused, sleepy expression. "Hope, it's like three in the morning."

"I know." My cheeks reddened in embarrassment. I knew it sounded dumb and I looked insane, but I couldn’t exactly explain the reasons for my anxiety – at least not without incriminating Jordan. "I just have to, okay?"

He stared hard at me for the longest moment before finally nodding. "Let me get dressed and I'll drive you home."

"No need. I've called a cab." I checked the screen of my phone before saying, "It should be here any minute now."

"Well, just let me run up and change and I'll come with you–"

"No!" I interrupted bluntly, flinching when I saw the pain in his eyes at my rejection. "Noah doesn’t like strangers in the house since Einín," I began to ramble, and technically it wasn’t a lie. He was incredibly cautious of who was around his wife now. "I'm just going to go on my own, okay?"

"Stranger," Jordan mused softly.

"I didn’t mean that –" the sound of a car horn beeping both signaled my cab and interrupted my train of thought.

"It's fine," Jordan mumbled before turning on the staircase and heading back up the steps. "Goodnight, Hope."

"Yeah," I squeezed out. "Goodnight, Jordan."