Page 12 of Iridescent
He sounds too close to the man I miss.
Smells like him too.
I turn instinctively into the scent, my cheek finding the strong column of his throat.
Safety. Comfort. Home.
“Why…” I breathe around a thin sob. “Why are you only just coming home?”
His stubble grazes my forehead as he presses a kiss into my hair. “I’m sorry, baby. Something came up.”
“What could’ve mattered more than today?” Tears slip hotly down my temples, disappearing into my hair. My voice cracks around the words. “My legs went numb from waiting.”
“I know, baby. I know.” His arms tighten around me. “My cousin called from Madrid. Her father died. I had to be there.”
My heart breaks anew. “Oh.”
The word leaves me small.
I should say I’m sorry. I think I do. The shape of it moves through my mouth, but all I can feel is the heat of him around me and the awful, undignified collapse of my anger.
His cousin’s father died.
What kind of wife resents that?
My eyes burn hotter. “A phone call, Xavier. One.” My hand closes weakly into his lapel. “I am your wife. I shouldn’t have to learn where you were from your apology.”
“I know.”
“I waited, Xavier.” Drowsiness drags at the edges of my voice, thinning it to almost nothing. “I waited all night.”
“I’m sorry.” His mouth brushes my hair again, the words rougher than his voice usually allows. “I know an apology is insufficient for what I did tonight. It doesn’t undo the waiting. But for as long as you let me, I’ll prove it wasn’t empty.”
I nuzzle deeper into his neck, too weak to decide whether I believe him.
I almost wish he hadn’t said it.
Sorry is such a small word for a night that spent hours teaching me how much space one man’s absence can occupy.
But I am tired. So tired. I just want to close my eyes and drift somewhere the hurt can’t follow.
Even there, hope finds me.
I know better than to let it get comfortable in my chest, but it rises all the same, stubborn and incandescent. Tomorrow we get the result. One way or another, the waiting ends.
Maybe then, we find our light.
Chapter 3
I’ve been here before.
In this same spot. Holding my breath. Waiting for my body to decide whether it is about to give me everything or take it away again.
I know this script by heart.
The shaking hands. The heart battering against my ribs. The terrible awareness of being trapped in a body I do not trust, no matter how badly I want to believe in it.
But this morning doesn’t quite follow it.
