Chapter 19

I brush my hand along the dresser before looking around the bedroom. A bedroom that used to be so full of life is now so dreary. Heck, even Ted doesn’t come in here, it seems.

Every square inch I look at, a different memory flashes through my brain. I hear the sounds of laughs, cries, yells, and squeals when I think back to everything that has taken place in this bedroom.

I look at the chaise lounge in the corner, and I can see myself sitting there nearly two years ago.

My head is hanging, and a pregnancy test is in my hand. And in comes Kolt, crouching down beside me. He puts his forehead to mine and tells me it’s all going to be okay before wrapping his arms around me and pulling me closer.

Because my periods were always so heavy and so painful, I always knew something wasn’t right, even before the doctor confirmed it months ago. But before that, I never gave up on my body, even though there were times when I wanted to. In those moments, my mind would travel to a dark place, and I’d wish I had a crystal ball to look into the future to see if I’d ever get to be a mom or if everything I was putting myself through was for nothing.

I wrap my cardigan tightly around myself before sitting on the edge of the bed.

I got home an hour ago from the office, and Kolt isn’t due back for another hour or so. I don’t know why I wandered in here. I think I just needed to.

I look at the chaise lounge again and close my eyes. I hear his voice, telling me he loves me and that it will all work out. He’s always been an anchor in my stormy seas. I guess I just forgot that we were on the same ship for a while.

I hear myself laughing and imagine him chasing me into the bedroom, scooping me up, and taking me into the bathroom.

There have been so many memories that made up our life together, and it’s hard to believe we threw it all away like it was trash. The worst part of my reasoning was that I felt like he was pushing me away—exactly what his mother had warned me about and made me promise to stay anyway. But at that point in our marriage, I was fighting my own battles, and I was losing.

Picking up a throw pillow—one I remember choosing, along with the sheets and bedspread—I hug it close to my chest. It doesn’t smell like him. Or me.

Or us.

This doesn’t feel like our room because, right now, it isn’t. And while the memories play out before my eyes, I feel like I’m looking at a snow globe from the outside, a stranger in my bedroom.

I hear footsteps coming toward the room, and before I can get up, Kolt stops outside the door and stares at me.

“What are you doing?” he says, not stepping into the room, but instead keeping his feet outside the doorway. He leans against the door, the tattoo of my face on his arm on full display.

“I don’t really know,” I say honestly. “I was changing the laundry over, and then … I ended up in here.”

I inhale, throwing my head back slightly and letting a breath out before straightening my shoulders and looking back at him.

“How was your first day back at practice? I thought you wouldn’t be home for at least an hour.” I have to force the words out because all I want right now is to curl up in a ball and not talk, or think, or do a thing. Just being in this room has depleted my mind, body, and soul, but I still care how today went for him because it’s important to Kolt. And that makes it important to me too.

I know he didn’t physically take part in today’s practice. But this is step one to getting him there, which scares me because the thought of him putting himself in harm’s way again fills me with fear.

“It didn’t go as late as I’d thought it would,” he mutters. “And I didn’t practice. I just sat and watched.” His voice drips with frustration, and I’m not surprised.

I’m sure the last thing a player like Kolt Kolburne wants to do is sit and watch his team practice and not take part. Me? I’m secretly happy that he’s not cleared yet. But how could I ever say that out loud without sounding like an awful wife?

“You’ll get there,” I say, even though it’s hard.

He looks down at his feet, as if he’s unsure if he should take the step into the room or not. He seems to have an internal battle with it before, finally, he steps into the room and walks toward me.

As he sits beside me, the bed shifts from his weight. Our shoulders brush against each other, and from the corner of my eye, I see his hands are cupped together.

“It feels different in here than it used to, huh?” he utters, glancing around.

“You didn’t change anything though,” I whisper, smiling sadly. “The whole house … it’s the same.”

The quiet between us is deafening. For a moment, he simply sits quietly beside me when, suddenly, his deep voice speaks.

“I wanted everything to stay the way you’d left it … in case you ever came back.” He pats my knee. “It could have been one year later or eighty. I wasn’t changing anything you’d picked out for our home, Buttercup.”

My heart feels like it’s being slowly put through a shredder, and I let my head sink against his shoulder.

For only God knows how long … we just sit in silence.

We sit in our room.

After sitting together, side by side, for at least half an hour, if not longer, she cranes her neck to look at me.

“Thank you,” she says, reaching up and brushing a hand over my forehead and sweeping my hair over. Something she always used to do. Before she left.

“What for, Buttercup?” I murmur, dipping my face a little closer to hers.

“For going through these emotions with me.” She shrugs sadly. “I don’t think either of us knows what the future holds. But that doesn’t matter because I’ll forever be thankful for this time together. Even if some of it has been painful and has made us face our problems.”

“I’ll be here for as long as you’ll let me, Paige. You’re my wife. And that’s my job.” I kiss her temple.

We have a lot to discuss, yet I think we’re both stuck in this bubble. A bubble where we just want to enjoy each other and wish all the heavy shit away. The trouble with that is … the heavy shit is closing in on us.

And we’re leaving it all for the last second.

I press one more kiss to her temple. “I’ll go run you a bubble bath with all your favorite smelly shit in it.”

I swear that woman used to take a bath almost every night when she lived here. Sometimes multiple times a day. Yet, since she’s been back, she hasn’t taken a single one—at least that I’ve noticed.

“It’s probably all expired,” she says, grinning. “But I’d love to take one anyway.”

“It’s not expired,” I say gruffly. “I, uh … restocked it with new stuff not that long ago.”

I drag a hand up the back of my head, thinking she’s probably going to think I’m a complete stalker now. “I wasn’t going to kidnap you, I swear.”

“Did you, like … stage your heart attack or what, big guy?” she jokes, poking her nail into my side. “I’m beginning to wonder.”

“Har har.” I roll my eyes, shaking my head and grinning at her. “I’ll let that slide, but only because you’re kind of hot.”

She blushes, biting her bottom lip as I get up and start toward the bathroom.

“Oh, you meant … in there?” She nods toward our bathroom. “I figured you meant the guest bathroom.”

“I mean, you can take a bath wherever you want, babe. But you know this one is the only one with jets, and it’s the biggest.” I stop. “I probably don’t need to tell you that, seeing as you designed every bathroom in this house.”

She wrings her hands together nervously, deep in thought. Finally, she stands. “Today, I made the step of coming into our room. So, it’s only right if I take a bath in my old tub. After all, I picked it out just for me.”

I nod my head once, keeping my eyes on her. “You’re right. Except one thing.”

“What’s that?” she says softly.

“You said your old bathtub. But guess what, Buttercup. Everything in this house still belongs to you.” I swallow thickly. “Especially me.”

Gradually, I turn toward the bathroom. And I run my wife a bubble bath just the way she likes it. Even though it almost fucking kills me to not slide inside of it with her, I don’t.