Piper

“What’s wrong, Pipes? You look like you’re a million miles away.”

I slap on a smile and turn my head toward my husband, surprised he even noticed something was bothering me. He’s been so checked out lately that I could scream, and he probably wouldn’t hear me.

“I’m fine, Cannon. Just thinking.”

His crystal-blue eyes search mine, and I almost tell him, but I’m afraid. This trip is supposed to bring us closer together. When I booked it, I thought that time away from his job and the office would help him focus on our marriage again. But the week is almost over, and we’re still as disconnected as when we arrived.

Cannon has been taking phone calls the entire time even though he promised he would leave his work back in Florida. Each call comes with an apology and time locked away in the bedroom, away from me.

I don’t know what else I can do. I’ve Googled ways to bring the spark back into our marriage. Each day, I’ve worn sexy dresses and tiny bikinis to the pool. I scheduled romantic beachside dinners and late-night desserts in bed, but they’ve done nothing.

The only thing that excites him these days is work. When someone from the office calls, they get a reaction.

At night, when he’s asleep, I become that person. The one who snoops around, checking his phone and laptop. But all I find are texts and emails about business and calls to and from the office. Nothing is out of the ordinary.

Things haven’t always been like this. There wasn’t always a wedge and divide in our marriage. There was a time when Cannon would make me feel like the prettiest girl in the room. His warm smile would wrap me in a hug, and I was content, knowing he wanted me as much as I wanted him. His actions were the most honest quality he possessed. Now, I constantly question them.

“We’re on vacation, gorgeous. Don’t let your job bring you down.”

“I’m not,” I tell him.

It’s not my job that has me this worried. Sure, I’m mad about the cuts the district made, eliminating my position along with a lot of others. I’m nervous that my job isn’t the only part of myself I’m losing. I’m scared Cannon will be next if we can’t fix this. There’s only so much distance two people can put between themselves before they’re each going in opposite directions, permanently.

My marriage and my classroom were my comfort zones, the places where I felt most like myself. Without work, a little piece of my identity is lost. Without Cannon, my world is turned upside down. Another job, I can find. I’ve had several over the course of my life, but I’ve had only one husband, one marriage. And I can’t believe he’s slipping through my fingers.

Cannon chucks his towel in the sand and joins me on the blanket, checking his phone the second his ass hits the towel. I wish I knew whom he was waiting for or what he thought he was missing.

After he sets the phone back in the beach bag, I grab his hand and pull him closer. My lips chase a water droplet down his smooth chest, and I imagine what it’d be like if he had a smattering of hair there. Always clean-shaven, he doesn’t go more than two weeks without a stop at the barber. I used to love how much he cared about his appearance. Now, I realize looks are only skin-deep. It’s the passion beneath them that I’m after. The unapologetic demand to be lit on fire.

“What do you say we get out of these suits and take advantage of the hot tub for a little while?” I say, hopeful that he won’t turn me down.

“You’re done with the beach already?” he asks.

Yesterday, we stayed until six, but who cares if it’s only three in the afternoon?

“The beach is great, but my husband is better,” I tell him as my finger traces the curve of his jaw.

His head dips, and he’s so close to kissing me that I can almost feel his lips on mine. But that little bit of hesitation on his part adds another layer of doubt to my already cluttered mind.

“Never mind,” I whisper. “Help me up.”

Neither of us moves.

Finally, Cannon snaps out of it and raises his head. He looks around before leaning forward to press his lips to mine in a gentle, chaste kiss, followed by a deeper one with a little tongue. Even though I want more, I know that’s all he’s comfortable giving me in public.

“You taste like coconut,” he says as he checks to see if anyone saw us kissing.

The beach is fuller than it’s been all week. Someone had to be watching us. I don’t know why, but that thought makes my heart race so fast that my pulse pounds in my eardrums. Cannon’s never been big on public displays of affection, and for a minute, I want to press him for more to see just how far I can get him to go.

“Kiss me again,” I whisper against his skin. But a soft peck isn’t nearly enough to satisfy the warmth pooling between my thighs. “More, Cannon. Please.”

“I thought you wanted to get up?”

“What I want is for you to touch me.” I take his hand and place it on my thigh, encouraging him.

“Piper, slow down. We can’t do this here.”

We could, if he wanted me badly enough. If he wanted us more than his phone.

My fingers slip beneath the waistband of his board shorts, and he shudders.

“Tell me you want me, Cannon.”

“Piper, I always want you.” He’s sincere enough that I almost believe him. “But we’re at the beach. There are kids and other people all over the place.”

God, I wish he would just let go for once in his life. I wish he would stop fixating on appearances and lead with his body instead of his mind. All I want is for him to cut loose and pick me instead of lying under the sun. “Let’s go back to the room,” I tell him.

He pulls his phone out again, checking the time. “Okay. I’ll pack up.”

Once we have everything in the bag, he glances over his shoulder and then walks us toward the resort. Sand from my flip-flops smacks me in the back of my legs and sticks to my lotioned-up body. I know the perfect place to try again. It’s more secluded, private enough that nobody would be able to see us even though we’d still be outside.

As we’re approaching a little alcove with its own shower, I take Cannon’s hand and pull him inside. When we’re out of view, I slip my hand inside his swim trunks and wrap my fingers around his dick.

He lets his guard down for a split second, groaning, as I pump him up and down.

But, as soon as he hears voices approaching, he grabs my arm. “Piper, enough. We have to stop.”

“What if I don’t want to stop?”

He pulls my hand out of his bottoms and stares down at me. I’m still wrapped around his torso when he searches my eyes and says, “What’s gotten into you?”

Herein lies the problem. Cannon’s meticulous and proper, driven by calculation. How else would a lawyer win court cases? And I’ve always been the good girl who follows the rules and doesn’t take chances. I suppose I’ll always have those qualities somewhere inside me, but I don’t need reasons for my husband to touch me. Isn’t it enough that I just want him? That I need him to show me how much he craves me, too?

Maybe. Maybe not.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I got carried away.”

“Don’t be sorry, Pipes. But I can’t share you with the entire beach.”

Shame washes over me, and my cheeks redden, like I’ve chased too much of the sun. I’ve made a fool of myself, trying to throw my body at my own husband.

What was I thinking?

That I’m not enough for him.

That he doesn’t want me anymore.

That he wants someone else even though I haven’t found any proof of that.

Cannon steps out from the alcove, and I follow him. I’m adjusting my suit when a group of rowdy guys walks by, whistling because they think we just had sex in the shower.

My husband looks embarrassed, the exact opposite of how I’d feel if it were true. None of the comments or cheers bother me.

But Cannon said no, and now, I think I might have messed up.

I thought the warm island air would be enough to clear my head, but it’s the same air I choke on back in Florida. Nothing about Belize has made my thoughts clearer, more absolute, and I have no idea what it’ll take to make the ache in my chest go away.

Cannon, the man I’m committed to, walks in front of me with his head down. He’s the hardest working man I know, spending more time solving other people’s problems to have any of his own. But we do have problems. Problems that need to be addressed because I can’t keep living in a world where I question every move he makes, wondering if there’s someone else or if he just doesn’t want to be with me anymore.

I need answers.

I need to know where I stand.

Most of all, I need him.

But Cannon is so preoccupied. His world revolves around the courtroom. I don’t know how to make him see me. Or if he even wants to.

Cannon used to be my everything—my life, my heart, my home. But, when I look at him, all I see is sandy-blond hair and tan skin that belonged to the boy I fell for, not the man he’s become.

I promised myself, I’d never let our relationship die. Now, I realize that’s not something I have control over.

If we want our marriage to work, if we love each other, something has to change.

No matter how many times I post on social media about all the wining and dining we’re doing in Belize, all the water sports that’d make any person jealous, it doesn’t change the distance between us.

On paper, we’re a match made in heaven. But, if we’re perfect for each other, why are we becoming strangers?