Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
“10:00 a.m.,” I murmur, feeling guilty over my paranoia.
God, how I’d love to relax with a glass of wine to dull the tension of the day, but ever since New Year’s, whenever I have a drink, I startle awake in the middle of the night, having a panic attack. My heart races to the point it wakes me up, like an adrenaline rush of the worst kind, and every time I start to doze off after that, I jerk awake again. All I can do is cry to the moment of utter exhaustion, until I finally pass out. I’ve learned it’s best not to drink at all anymore.
He stands, taking my plate out of my hands and picking up his own, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against my cheek before giving me a soft peck on the lips. “I’ll be there, beautiful.” I nod, reaching out to pick up the breadbasket, and we carry everything to the kitchen sink. “I’ve got this,” Roman says. “Why don’t you go start us up a bath? We’ll watch an episode or two of Lucifer.”
That puts a genuine smile on my face. My favorite part of our entire house is the master bathroom and how they installed a huge TV in the wall above the garden tub. I love soaking for hours, letting out the cold water and refilling it with hot, allowing the bubbling jets to relax my muscles while I watch my shows. I swear I’ve wasted half my life away in there since we moved in.
“Don’t start the episode without me,” he orders with a grin, indulging me with the command even though he couldn’t care less about missing some of the show. He swats my butt when I pull off my apron and turn around to head to our bedroom.
“I’m not naked yet, so you can’t tell me what to do,” I call over my shoulder automatically and without much thought, an inside thing, something I’ve told him since the first time we ever had sex, and I hear him growl as he rinses off our plates.
CHAPTER THREE
ROMAN
While I may look calm and collected on the outside as I sit next to my wife in the waiting room of Dr. Walker’s office, inside, I feel like I’m strapped to an electric chair, anticipation and fear mixing as I expect them to flip the switch on me.
This needs to happen.
I know. This needs. To happen.
But fuck, it doesn’t make it any easier.
I want my wife back. I want to erase my fuck-ups and get back to the happiness we had before stupidity overtook my logic.
And the worst part about it is she doesn’t even know the whole truth.
Will it make it better or worse when she finally listens to my explanation?
So many times over the past several months, I’ve tried to have the conversation with her to tell her what really went on with the other woman. But either she refused, saying she’d rather stay oblivious to the details so she wouldn’t hurt more than she already did, or she’d have a full-on panic attack the moment she tried to hear me out.
If I’d known how much it would hurt her—
No. That’s a lie. There’s no point in lying to myself anymore. I knew it would fucking devastate her if she ever knew I was talking to some other woman, but in my complete idiocy, I thought I could keep it my own little secret. After all, what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, and in my head, it wasn’t real anyway. It was just a fantasy.
In my mind, I was doing what I did to protect her, to keep her away from the thoughts swarming my head like a bunch of pissed-off hornets that refused to be ignored.
But while she hasn’t heard me out, God only knows what she’s come up with on her own. Whatever it is, I’m positive it’s worse than reality. It has to be.
It has to be…
Because otherwise, I don’t think even Doc can fix what I did.
It has to be, because if she feels reality is worse than what her intrusive thoughts could muster up, then I don’t deserve a second chance.
Savannah’s hand flinches in mine as the door in front of us opens, and I hold it a little tighter as a dark-haired woman thanks Doc, who steps out of the session behind her and wishes her a safe drive home. His laser-blue eyes land on my wife, travel down to our clasped hands on the armrest between us, and then up to meet my brown ones, and his smile reaches those unique eyes, welcoming and genuine.
I’ve always liked this guy. And while I identify as straight and don’t have a thing for him, I’m comfortable enough in my sexuality to admit he’s a special man. He’s got this soothing nature about him, yet he has an underlying… I don’t know… superhero vibe? Almost like you’re calm and content around him because you know in the blink of an eye the gentle giant could fuck someone up if need be. And that’s saying something, because I’m not a little dude. But he still looks downward at my six-foot height when I stand up to shake his hand, keeping ahold of Savannah’s with my other one.