Page 41 of Guarded

The house was dead quiet when Matt walked into the kitchen after work the following Thursday night. His mom and sister had flown out on Monday, so Briar had been alone all day without any help for the week—at her insistence. She had to be tired and he loved spelling her off when he got home because it was pretty much the only time he got to hold and take care of Rosie.

He set the Indian takeout on the counter and headed for the stairs, excited to see her and Briar. The baby had grown so much already, he hated being away from her so long every day and didn’t want to miss a single milestone.

He stopped in surprise at the bottom of the stairs when he spotted Briar on the couch with the baby. Her eyes were open, her head bent. She didn’t look up at him, didn’t acknowledge his presence even though he knew she must have heard him come in.

A subtle tension took hold in his stomach, instinct warning him that something wasn’t right.

“Hey,” he said softly, walking toward her. She wasn’t nursing Rosie. Just holding her as the baby slept.

“Hi,” she said, finally looking up at him. Dark smudges lay beneath her eyes and he thought he saw shadows in them as well, but maybe they seemed so dark because the only light in the room was a lamp on in the corner.

Concerned, Matt sat down next to her. “You okay?”

She nodded. “How was your day?”

“Good.” She wasn’t okay. “Rough day?”

A tight shrug. “Not really.”

“How’s Rosie?”

“Fine. She managed to hold down everything for all the feedings except one time today.”

“That’s great.” Briar didn’t seem too excited about it, however. He studied her, unsure what was wrong, and she was in no hurry to tell him. “I brought dinner from your favorite Indian place. You hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“I’ll get you a plate.” He went to the kitchen and put a plate together for the both of them, glancing up at her every so often. She reached for the remote and switched the TV on, settled on a comedy sitcom she liked, but he got the feeling it was more to fill the silence and discourage him from trying to talk to her more than anything else.

He carried the plates in and waited until she set Rosie in the bassinet before giving her one. Unsure what he was supposed to do—should he try to get her to talk about whatever was bothering her, or just let it go—he ate with her in silence. She ate everything on her plate, downed the glass of water he brought her, but it was like someone had hit a dimmer switch and doused the light inside her.

He cleaned up the dishes and put the leftovers away, then joined her on the couch again. The instant he sat down, she leaned into him, tucking her hands against his ribs as she laid her head on his shoulder without a word. Seeking out comfort.

Something twisted in the center of his chest. He lifted his arm, wrapped it around her and pulled her in close. Except for sex—which they hadn’t had since the birth and wouldn’t for weeks yet—or maybe reaching for his hand or the occasional hug, she didn’t often initiate or seek out affection. The way she cuddled into him now told him something was definitely wrong, rousing his protective instincts.

He kissed the top of her head, rubbed his hand over her back, considering his approach carefully. “Tired?”

She nodded.

That and her continued silence were starting to really worry him. She was taking on too much by herself. He would broach the idea of hiring a nanny or housekeeper tomorrow. “Let’s stretch out and you can snooze on me,” he suggested, shifting away from her for a moment.

She grabbed at his shirt and pressed closer, as if afraid he might leave her. Hiding her face as she clung to him.

His strong, independent wife was fuckingclingingto him like he was a life vest and she was drowning.

Startled, Matt froze and looked down at her. He couldn’t see her face. He raised his free hand to settle a finger beneath her chin so he could tip her face up, felt her shoulders shake. Once. Twice. Small, jerky motions.

Holy shit, was shecrying?

Alarmed, he pulled back and took her face in his hands. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

She pushed his hands aside and burrowed her face into his chest, refusing to look at him as she continued to hold onto his shirt, her upper body jerking. She didn’t make a sound as she cried, and it broke his heart.

What the hell? “Honey, hey. No, look at me.” He finally eased her away far enough that he could see her face, and the tear tracks on her cheeks. His shirt had wet spots on it. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’tknow,” she cried, and shoved her face back into his chest.

Dumbfounded, not knowing what the hell was going on or what to do, Matt leaned back and pulled her closer, wrapped both arms around her to hold her tight. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen her cry. He’d seen her withstand pain and devastating things that would crush most people, and she’d never come unglued like this.

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