Epilogue

Derek

 

About a year later.

 

“Ducking out early?” Maxine smirked at me from my office doorway.

“Early?” I glanced at the clock on the wall before I resumed tucking some files into my briefcase. “It’s six o’clock.”

“I know. But it’s still kind of a novelty, you not finding every possible excuse to stay here as late as possible.”

“I haven’t done that in a long time.”

She smiled. “No. Still. It’s good to see you actually wanting to go home.”

At that, I smiled too. “It’s a nice change, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.” She tilted her head. “How are things with Rhys these days, anyway?”

“They’re good.” I pulled on my jacket. “We still have our moments, but I don’t think that’ll ever change.”

She snorted. “I’d be worried if it did.”

“Hey!”

“What? I know the two of you. Couple of stubborn assholes.”

I chuckled. She had me dead to rights and we both knew it.

After I’d said goodbye to Maxine, I left the office. Rhys wasn’t coaching any sports right now, so he was probably already home. Admittedly, it was still kind of novel to be looking forward to seeing him.

Going to a marriage counselor had probably been the single best decision we ever made. He didn’t sit us down and walk us through a step by step plan to put our marriage on the rails. Instead, he’d listen to us, and he’d ask questions that always seemed to magically lead us to the answers we needed.

Not surprisingly, the first few months had been rough. Although we’d both been committed ever since Vanessa’s reception, putting everything back together had been easier said than done. There’d been some fights that had—in the heat of the moment—made me wonder if we were going to make it after all. Once we’d calmed down, though, those thoughts scattered in no time.

Even during the roughest of the rough times, things had been promising. We’d agreed to keep separate bedrooms for a little while, but more often than not, we ended up in the bed we’d shared since we’d bought the house. In fact, something about the near miss—about coming so close to losing each other—had seriously reignited our sex life. I didn’t know if it was this need to make up for lost time or to make up for the time we’d almost lost, but we’d been screwing like newlyweds since we’d gotten back together. We’d even picked up some books on ways to spice things up, which had resulted in a few blowjobs in my office and a few marks he’d had to awkwardly explain to his physical therapist.

Keeping our sex life active and hot made everything else easier to work through, too. Whenever we saw our marriage counselor, we came home and tumbled in to bed together. Didn’t matter how the session had gone. Could’ve been smooth, could’ve been rough—didn’t matter. Spending some hot, sweaty time between the sheets afterward always landed us back on the same page.

Twice, we’d been in the middle of an argument that threatened to turn into a fight, when one of us had stopped and—like we’d done during the earlier years of our marriage—suggested we call time out, blow off some steam in the bedroom, and then sort things out. And like it had during the earlier years, it worked like a charm.

I wasn’t going to lie—sex and counseling weren’t magic fixes. I’d expected that bringing back trust would be hard, but holy shit. It was hard. Though I believed Rhys when he apologized and swore he’d never cheat again, there were moments when doubt crept in. If Rhys didn’t answer his phone or respond to a text. If he stayed late at work. If he was home while I was at work. Whenever he’d gone out of town with the softball team he was coaching.

I told him as much whenever he came home, too. Our counselor had encouraged us to be open and honest about it, so we had been, even though it was hard. I didn’t accuse him or demand he justify where he’d been and what he’d been doing—just calmly explained what I’d been feeling. I could tell it hurt Rhys whenever I admitted I’d been worried. But it was all part of the process, and it was paying off as time went on. He texted me more often. His oh my God look at this pile of exams I have to grade selfies made me laugh now. So did the lazy selfies with both cats parked on his chest. It became less about him making sure I knew he wasn’t doing something deceitful and more about him just sending me silly pictures or random texts. I did the same just because. The result? We were communicating more, even when it was just to say hello.

More and more, I didn’t worry. Not about him cheating, and not about us falling apart. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was better. Even though there was still a long road ahead of us, it was good to be on that road with him. It was good to have little things back that I’d thought were dead and gone. Texting throughout the day. Entertaining ourselves with the cats and a laser pointer. Watching movies no one but us seemed to appreciate.

There were the not-so-little things too. Not being constantly worried about how I was going to make it on my own. Having someone to talk to. Waking up from a combat nightmare to strong arms around me and a soft voice in my ear. I shivered just thinking about the nights I’d woken up alone while we’d been separated. Rhys would never cure my PTSD or make the nightmares go away, but there was something to be said for waking up from one of those horrific dreams with him there to calm me down.

In the driver’s seat of my car, I shivered. It had only been a few nights since the last bad one. Thank God for Rhys.

I turned down our street, then into our driveway. As the garage door rose, a familiar pang of suspicious worry hit me. Rhys’s truck wasn’t there. He hadn’t said anything about working late. The suspicion died away pretty fast; it was more of an old knee-jerk habit now than anything.

And five minutes later, I felt ridiculous about even entertaining that worry—I’d just started finished unpacking my lunch bag when the garage door opened again. The familiar sound of the Santa Fe’s engine purred, then cut off, and as the garage door rumbled shut, a car door opened and closed.

Then Rhys came into the kitchen, a couple of plastic shopping bags hanging off his arm and a bag of cat food on his shoulder. “Oh hey. Did you just get home?”

“Yeah. A few minutes ago.”

He put the grocery bags on the counter and the cat food bag beside their dishes. As he opened the cat food, he said, “I’d have texted you, but I thought I’d get home before you did.” He gestured at the cats, who’d come trotting in at the sound of their food. “The overlords were running on empty.”

Okay, I definitely felt ridiculous now. And I really hadn’t had any actual suspicions about where he’d gone or why. I didn’t need to keep tabs on him every minute of the day. More than I’d ever believed I would, I trusted him. There was just that nagging voice in the back of my mind that hadn’t forgotten what had happened, and I supposed it would just take time for it to shut up.

“Get out of the way,” he said to the cats as he started pouring food into their hopper. “If you get your head in—really, Chico? Really?”

Chico stepped back, shaking himself and sending kibbles flying everywhere. He looked pretty pleased with himself.

Lucy was about to shove her head into the falling food, so I scooped her up into my arms until Rhys had finished. Once he’d closed the hopper and put the bag of food away where they couldn’t get into it, I set her down again.

We caught up while I cleaned my lunch dishes and the cats crunched happily. The day had been uneventful for both of us. That was fine by me. I’d had enough excitement a year ago and was more than okay with dull and mundane.

As I was putting my last container on the drying rack, though, Rhys wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed the side of my neck. “Hey. What’s up?”

“I…” Shit, had he noticed my mini freak out? I exhaled, leaning back against him. “Nothing. I’m good.”

His lips brushed beneath my ear. “You were worried again because I wasn’t home when you got home.” It wasn’t a question.

Closing my eyes, I let my shoulders sink. There was no point in hiding it. The only thing worse than feeling stupid about it was realizing he’d caught on and knowing it hurt whenever he did.

“Hey.” He nudged my hip so I’d turn around, and when I met his gaze, he said, “I should’ve texted you. I’m sorry.”

I sighed and smoothed his hair. “And I should be cutting you more slack by now instead of—”

“Derek.” He shook his head. “We’re in a better place than we were a year ago or even a few months ago. If you have a minute or two here and there of wondering why I’m not home when I’m supposed to be…” He half-shrugged. “It’s not like you’re grilling me or trying to chase me down, right?”

“Well, no.”

“Because we both know I’m not going to fuck up like that again, but there’s a part of you that still worries I will.” He raised his eyebrows as if to ask, right?

And he was right. Our counselor had walked us through this a million times. I was long past any desire to hammer at Rhys’s conscience or make him prove himself. This wasn’t about making him feel guilty or punishing him for something he’d repented for in every way imaginable. My reaction to the empty bay in the garage had been driven by caution, not resentment or anger. It was about walking out onto the ice with him, trusting that it would hold, but still jumping whenever it creaked.

“I do trust you,” I whispered.

“I know.” Rhys lifted his chin and pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “We’re getting better. It’ll just take time.”

I nodded and wrapped my arms around him for another kiss, one we let linger for a long moment. Still holding onto him, I said, “You don’t have to text me every time you leave the house, though. Just so we’re clear.”

He smiled and brushed his lips across mine. “But you can always text me if you don’t know where I am.”

I said nothing and went in for one more long kiss before we let each other go.

“So.” He cleared his throat. “Want me to order something horribly unhealthy while you find us something to watch?”

“That sounds perfect. Comedy or action?”

He pursed his lips, then shrugged. “Either or.”

Admittedly, I still felt kind of guilty for my momentary doubts, but he was right—things were getting better. Those moments were getting fewer and farther between. I really did trust Rhys, and I was grateful every day we’d put in the work to get back to where we were now. The rest would go away over time.

Once our food had arrived, we took our usual places in the middle of the couch with Rhys leaning against me and my arm around his shoulders. Chico curled in Rhys’s lap while Lucy perched on the armrest. Rhys idly scratched behind Chico’s ear, and I queued up The A-Team, which we’d seen hundreds of times. Tonight was looking like another perfectly boring evening of hanging out with our cats, watching TV, and eating dinner.

And I couldn’t think of a single thing I’d rather be doing.