Chapter Three
Sleep evaded me for most of the night, and just as I eventually drifted off into dreamland, the dawning sun shone through our curtains and prodded my eyes open. I lay there, in the early hours of the morning, with my back to my husband, staring at the wall in front of me.
The whole time I questioned whether I was blowing things out of proportion. Maybe I was being ungrateful. Maybe this was how marriage progressed and I needed to wake up to the reality of it.
I’d just never thought that my marriage would be like so many others. For the longest time, I was annoyingly smug about our relationship. I always thought the reason Nate and I had such a strong marriage was because we started out as best friends. We used to be able to tell each other everything. We had the same sense of humor. I mean we laughed a lot. And just as important as our emotional connection was our physical connection. Up until a year or so ago our sex life had been fantastic. Of course, it was never going to be the same after we had kids, because we didn’t have the same privacy, but we got creative. We made time for our passion for one another.
Until we stopped making time.
“I know you’re awake,” Nate said, and I felt the mattress move and the duvet shift over me as Nate turned.
Surprised, I slowly turned around to face him, shoving my hair out of my face. Nate lay with his elbow bent on his pillow and his head braced on the palm of his hand. There was pain in his eyes, and, if I wasn’t mistaken, remorse.
“Nate?” I sat up, my head feeling heavy with lack of sleep.
He licked his lips, his eyes intensely focused on mine. “Yesterday, I got home earlier than you think I did. I heard yours and Jo’s voices coming from the snug over the music, and I was about to go in, let you know I was home, when your conversation stopped me.”
Fear settled weightily in my gut. “Nate—“
“Stop.” He pushed up off the pillow and sat up, running his fingers through his mass of hair. “I didn’t know how to react yesterday and I probably made everything worse.”
“I should have talked to you,” I whispered, feeling guilty that he’d had to hear what was going on in my head about our marriage because I was confiding in a girlfriend instead of him.
“Aye, you should have. I felt like someone stabbed me in the fucking stomach. ‘I hate the way I feel about myself when I’m with him.’ That’s what you said.”
Tears of anguish filled my eyes. “Nate, I’m sorry I said that, I didn’t mean—“
“You did mean it,” he choked out before I could say another word. “Because that’s how I’ve made you feel.”
For a moment, we were silent as I fought for the courage I needed. Finally, I just forced the question out. “Why?”
He understood what I was asking and shrugged sadly. “I’ve felt lost since Peetie died.”
“Our problems started before Peetie, Nate. They just got worse when he died.”
“We didn’t have problems, for Christ sake,” he snapped. “We’ve got our kids, and we both have jobs that take up way too much fucking time. So we let our relationship slide by the wayside for a time. Every couple goes through that. We’ve been through it before. But we always say enough is enough and find our way back to each other.”
Anger flushed through me. “But you have never shut me out emotionally before. Even when we were too busy to sit and have a long chat or pay for a hotel room on our lunch hour for hot sex, we always had affection and openness. You don’t touch me anymore unless it’s to roll on top of me, come, and then go to sleep.”
Nate flinched, the muscle in his jaw flexing as he looked away.
“Have you met someone else?” The words were out before I could stop them.
I wished I’d stopped them.
The look my husband threw me could have felled a lion. Furious, he threw off the duvet and launched himself out of bed. I watched warily as he paced alongside it, then turned to face me. It was almost as if I could feel his anger scorch my skin.
“See,” he said, his voice hoarse. “When I heard you say that to Jo yesterday, I wanted to put my fist through the wall. But thinking about everything during the night, I talked myself into the idea that you’d only voiced unbelievable, fucking stupid shit like that because you were emotional!”
I winced at his shout and hissed, “Do not wake the girls.”
His hands curled into fists at his side. “Liv,” he warned.
My answer was to get out of bed and face him with the mammoth bit of furniture between us. “It is not stupid of me to wonder if my husband, whom I barely recognize as my husband, is fantasizing about someone else. I know you would never cheat. That doesn’t mean there isn’t someone out there you have feelings for and are confused over. It would make sense. I mean anything is better than the idea that you are no longer attracted to me and have fallen out of love with me.”
Nate stared at me incredulously. “After everything we’ve been through . . . how could you think any of that?”
He was hurt. Deeply. And it gave me pause. “Then explain. I’m not going insane, Nate. I feel like you’re a million miles away, and I’m not making that up in my head.”
“Do you really hate who you are when you’re with me?” he asked, sounding defeated.
“I don’t like how insecure I feel right now. I don’t like that I’m finding ways to blame myself for your defection. I don’t like that I’m standing in front of mirrors in my underwear sobbing because I feel fat, unattractive, and old, and wondering if my hot husband sees me the same way. That isn’t the kind of role model I want to be for my girls, and I know that turning forty might have something to do with it, but not all. Because if you were my Nate, the Nate I married, I would feel beautiful and sexual and needed and wanted. And I can’t go on feeling invisible around you.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, clearly on the defense. “Are you saying you’re thinking about leaving me?”
“Are you saying I’m no longer needed and wanted?”
“I love you!” he suddenly roared and I flinched. “I lost my fucking friend and I lost myself along the fucking way! Where’s my Liv? The Liv I married is compassionate, not fucking roasting me on the spit, blaming me for every fault in our marriage months after my friend dies!”
In that moment, I’m ashamed to admit that I forgot about our kids and I yelled back. “Cam didn’t shut Jo out! He turned to her! Because that’s what married people do! When something tragic happens, you turn to the person you love, Nate! You don’t turn away from them. So don’t stand there and turn this all on me! What does it say about our marriage, Nate? What does it say?!”
“So you want to leave me?” he cried, face red with fury. “You want to give up! Because that’s what it sounded like yesterday! Go then. Pack your fucking bags and go! But the girls stay with me!”
Agonizing pain and fury mingled. “You son of a bitch.”
“Mummy.”
We froze at the sound of Lily’s voice outside our door, our heavy breathing the only noise in the room. Lily hadn’t called me “mummy” in a few years.
“Mummy.” She sounded scared and so much younger than eleven years old.
I flew to the door, throwing it open, to find Lily standing outside it with fear in her eyes, while her little sister held her hand and glared at me.
“Oh babies.” I lowered to my haunches, tugging them toward me.
“Are you and Dad really mad at each other?” Lily whispered.
Guilt overwhelmed me.
My kids had been lucky. Nate and I had a passionate relationship, so of course the kids had heard us have disagreements, but those arguments very rarely involved an all-out shouting match and ugly, hateful words.
“Of course not,” Nate said above my head. Then suddenly he was on his knees by my side, one arm around me and one around the girls. I couldn’t help but stiffen under his touch but he ignored it. “Mum and I were just having a disagreement about something. But it’s nothing to worry about. We’re sorry we upset you.” He pressed kisses to their faces until Jan was giggling and pushing him away.
Lily, however, stared into his face solemnly. “You told Mum to leave us.”
Tears filled my eyes and I looked away.
He had.
He told me to leave.
He’d never told me leave.
“That was wrong of me,” Nate said, his voice thick with emotion. “Sometimes your dad says stupid stuff he doesn’t mean. And I’m sorry.”
I shot to my feet, not feeling very forgiving. “Come on, babies, let’s get you washed and dressed. I’ll take you out for breakfast.”
As I moved to usher them toward their rooms at the other end of the hall, Nate grabbed my wrist and stood up to face me. I reluctantly turned to him.
“We’ll take them out for breakfast.”
Realizing he was right, that we’d have to show a united front if we were to reassure the kids, I nodded, but I couldn’t meet his eyes.
While I got the girls ready, Nate washed and dressed in our room. I left the girls with him downstairs so I could get ready for the day. The entire time I’d felt like my insides were trembling. I tried to tell myself it was adrenaline and I was okay, but I felt like I was so very close to shattering into a million pieces.
Nate was avoiding the real issue between us—why he wouldn’t turn to me in a time of need—and it scared me.
Once I’d showered, I wrapped my hair in a towel and another larger one around my body and stepped out into the bedroom. I halted abruptly at the sight of my husband sitting on the end of the bed, clearly waiting for me.
His eyes drifted up my body in a way they hadn’t in a while. Like he was seeing me. Really seeing me.
When our eyes met, there was frustrated heat mingled with residual anger in his. “I should never have said that,” he said, running a hand through his hair. Then he slumped forward, his elbows resting on his knees, as he stared at the carpet. “You know it would kill me if you left me. It was a stupid thing to say.” His eyes flew to mine. “Don’t leave me, Liv.”
The tears I’d been holding back spilled down my cheeks. “You left me first.”
Nate stood and crossed the short distance between us. He reached for me, cupping my face in his hands, pressing his body to mine. “I never left you,” he whispered across my lips. “I would never leave you.”
“Then where did you go?”
He brushed his thumb across my cheekbone, his expression tender and apologetic. “We both know I don’t handle loss very well, babe. I’m not proud of it. Who is ever proud of their weaknesses? I’m sorry I didn’t turn to you, and I’m more sorry than you could ever know that I ever made you think I’d stopped loving you.” His look changed, that anger from earlier returning. “But we promised to love each other and accept the good and the bad. This is my bad. And I need you to accept it. And while I accept responsibility for making you feel that way and promise that things are going to change, you need to admit that locking this shit up is just as wrong. You should have trusted me enough to tell me how you felt. What does that say about our marriage, Liv?”
He was right.
I knew he was right.
I sagged into him. “What does that say about us?”
“Not what you’re thinking.” He shook me, his countenance fierce. “Marriages are not perfect because people aren’t perfect. But we’ve recognized our wrongs and we can make this work again. Are you ready to give up on us?”
Looking up into my beautiful husband’s dark gaze, I shook my head, my tears falling fast. “Never.”
“Good,” he growled. “Because I’ll never stop fighting for you, Liv. Love of my fucking life.” He swiped away my tears. “We’ll make this right.”
“I love you,” I cried, wrapping my arms around him and pressing my face to his chest. His hands dropped and his arms banded tight around me. “I’m sorry, too.”
We held each other tight for a moment, until my tears subsided. Not wanting to, but knowing the girls would be hungry and antsy waiting for us downstairs, I pulled away. “I’d better get ready.”
My husband nodded and then he cupped my face again. “One other thing. How can you not know by now that I think you’re beautiful? You still don’t see what I see, which is a fucking shame, because if you did, you’d never get sick of looking at yourself. And if I ever hear you call yourself ‘unattractive, fat, and old again,’ I will put you over my knee and spank the shit out of you.”
“Not really a deterrent, darling.” I grinned, pleasure and relief suffusing me at his words.
He grinned too, but as his gaze roamed my face, his smile melted under the heat that crawled over his expression. He kissed me. Sensing his mood, I opened to him, feeling the possessive, deep kiss between my legs. Eventually we broke for air and I sighed in relief. “We still have it.”
Nate shook against me with laughter. “Yeah, babe, we definitely do.”
I smoothed my hands over his hard chest. “We need to make time soon.”
He nodded, desire darkening his eyes. “Aye.”
“No, I mean it, Nate. In an effort to be better at communication, I’m telling you now that it’s important to me that at some point soon you fuck me six ways until Sunday.”
His hands slid up my waist, his fingers curling into the edges of the towel as if he were desperate to pull it off me. His features were taut as his eyes blazed. “I think that can be arranged.”
“And I mean fucked, Nate,” I whispered, my body tingling and hot at just the thought. “I want to feel sore in places I’ve forgotten existed.”
Nate glared at me. “Stop baiting me when I don’t have time to do anything about it.” He grabbed my hand, forcing it down his abs to the erection straining against his jeans. I rubbed the heel of my palm over it and he hissed. “Wicked woman.”
I smiled triumphantly and rubbed harder.
“Babe, we don’t have time.” He shook his head but didn’t make a move to remove my hand.
So, cruelly, I did. “You’re right.” He was right. The kids were waiting. That didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy tormenting him.
“You’re sadistic,” he grunted, stepping away from me to drag his hands over his face.
“It’s just a little teaser.”
Hearing the laughter in my voice, he narrowed his eyes. “I will get you back for that.”
“Maybe you should tie me up and have your way with me?”
He licked his lips, his gaze smoldering. “You can count on it, babe.”