Page 41 of Steamy Ever After

When Declan went up to bed, I sensed he was still pissed off at me. And I made my mother cry. Shit. I made my mother cry.

I think I have a problem.

It's up to me to fix this.

It always has been.

Fixing it when I was younger meant being the perfect kid. Keeping the stress low when my parents argued and when my father left.

It was easier when I was a kid, I think. Good grades. Not doing things other kids did to get into trouble. I remember right before my dad left. It was a Friday night. I was twelve; almost thirteen. He said "No friends to hang with on a Friday night, huh kid? I guess that's because you're such a nerd." It was the first time I remember being consumed by anger. It raged through me like an inferno. "It's because they're all out drinking, and I don't want to be like you!" He left shortly after that. I blamed myself. Was it because of what I said?

The memory is bittersweet.

After he was gone, I felt the pressure to be perfect more than ever. I helped my brother keep his room clean. I took out the trash. Hell, as a thirteen-year-old I did the family's laundry. As long as I made Mom happy ...

Some days, the compulsion was so strong, I'd wait until no one was home, and I'd scream.

Now, I get angry because the screams are on the inside of me.

I've got to figure all this out. I have only a few days to tell Mom what's going on, propose to Lacey, and ask Declan if he'll stand for me as best man. Declan having Marisol here is going to bite into the time I want to spend with my brother. Her presence is going to chip away at events I had planned for me and Lacey that would lead up to the grand finale of proposing at sunset on the beach. Jesus. Is it too much to ask, that after all these years of trying to be everyone's perfect everything, to just want something to go perfect for me?

I stand on the beach staring out at the crashing waves as the sun begins to breach the horizon. The weight of responsibility feels heavier than ever. The smooth, cool sand beneath my feet offers me no solace as my thoughts swirl with frustration and regret. As I watch the water crash against the shore, a sense of desperation washes over me. I long for a moment of true peace where I don't overthink every thought. I hoped this week would provide a sliver of happiness that was solely mine and Lacey's. The meticulously planned details, all aiming for perfection, are, what I thought, would bring true happiness my way. As always seems to happen, the unexpected thwarted my plans. Thank God I have a woman who seems to find joy in the unexpected. Lacey is everything I dreamed of finding in a partner, and so much more than I deserve.

"Good morning." A gentle hand touches my shoulder. Turning, I see Lacey her skin aglow with the warmth of morning light.

"Good morning. How'd you sleep?"

"Not as well as I hoped I would. How about you?"

"Not well at all," I confess.

"Want to talk about it?" Concern shows in her eyes. She sits facing the ocean and I follow suit. When I'm beside her she touches my thigh with a comforting hand.

"I think I'm just rehashing everything from yesterday. I'm a little mad at myself. Probably as much as I was at Declan.”

"I’m sorry." Her hoarse whisper touches my heart.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. It's me. I mull things over and over until my head hurts and words feel inadequate to mend the rift between us.” Her eyes turn soft with understanding.

"Yesterday was yesterday. One thing I know about you is when things haven’t gone as planned in your eyes, it messes you up. The thing is, what are you going to do about it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I think the solution is, maybe, instead of trying to make things perfect, you focus on living in the moment.

"I don't know if that's possible."

"I think it is. But I don't think you can do it alone."

I can't decipher if she's offering her own help, or proposing someone else's and, if that's the case, I don't want any part of it.

"If you can lower that machismo force field you surround yourself with, you can get someone to help."

That all too familiar guard she's talking about comes around me like a bad habit. "What kind of someone?"

She purses her lips. "You know I'm suggesting counseling—and before you completely rule it out, I'll go with you."

I scoff at the idea. The thought of exposing my frailties to a stranger makes me twitchy. "I'm fine," I state my answer and look away.

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