Page 71 of Silent Is The Heart

I don’t know how to respond, but a part of me doesn’t want to say Easton’s name in front of him. Not because Easton’s mad at me, but because he’smine. Even if he’s no longer mine, he’s stillmine. He’s not someone I want to be casual conversation with Jason.

“Didn’t figure that’d be your thing,” he murmurs, looking amused. Sliding a chair out, he gestures for me to sit. “I kept it warm for you.”

I take a seat and go through the motions of eating without tasting. It all feels so formal, not like the haphazard meals Easton and I would share, as though food was always an afterthought to each other’s company.

Jason talks about all the things we can do in Brazil. Hiking. Museums. A theater. When he mentions camping, I do a double take. I can’t remember how many times I asked him to go camping, but he always dismissed it. Would he finally make time for me, or is it an empty promise? A tinge of guilt flickers through me for even thinking so. I never doubted anything he did years ago. Is it him who’s changed or me? Or is it both of us?

My gaze catches on something that seems out of place. My mail is piled on top of my puzzle boxes on the bay ledge below the kitchen window that overlooks the backyard. I spot the puzzle Easton and I last finished canted sideways and upside down. The picture on the box will get scratched like that.

Who sets a puzzle box upside down? My heart sinks, seeing it stowed away so carelessly. I had left it put together on the table as a vigil of sorts, a comfort that made me feel Easton was still here.

“Dessert?” Jason asks. I hardly noticed him clearing my plate and standing.

“Um, no. I had a big lunch. Thank you, though. That…that was good.”

Clasping my hands together, I blow out a breath to try to be present. Except it doesn’t help. Thisisthe present, the wounds of my argument with Easton still fresh.

Why did he lash out like that? It felt almost… calculated. It reminds me of that first day at his apartment and his closed-off demeanor. He was posturing then, I’ve since realized, because he was hurt. The tension in my body eases, considering that information.

I know Easton. I know him now. Today, that wasn’t Easton. Not the one who is ‘very happy too.’Of course, he’s hurt. I’m here with a husband.

Soft music interrupts my thoughts. Watching Jason set his phone down on the counter with a playlist pulled up, I get a flicker of agitation. He still hasn’t given me his number. I could ask, but I shouldn’t have to ask. Why didn’t he give it to me the first day he showed up?

Walking over, he holds his hand out. I take it, realizing I’ve been just sitting here for however many minutes while he rinsed the dishes. I turn to head toward the living room, wondering if talking will be less awkward with the television playing in the background. I don’t get but a step, however, when his hands alight on my hips.

His beard tickles my ear, and his chest presses against my back. “You look good,” he murmurs.

I don’t feel like I look good at all, so the compliment falls flat. “Thanks.”

My heartbeat skips in alarm when his arms wrap around my waist. I should be happy. I should welcome the embrace. I should be grateful that my husband isn’t dead and wasn’t murdered by criminals. Happy people don’t stand like terrified statues, though, when their loved one holds them.

“I missed you,” he breathes into my neck.

I close my eyes and say the words I feel owe him, “I…missed you, too.”

It’s not a lie. I did…once. As he starts kissing my neck, a tear tracks down my cheek. I missed what I thought I knew of him. Maybe ifthat manhad walked through my door, and sooner, I might have fallen down, crying tears of relief.I close my eyes in shame knowing these are tears over the death of a fairy tale I’m starting to think only lived in my youthful dreams.

“Do you remember the night we drove out to that drive-in theater not far from here when we first met?”

God, that was a lifetime ago. He’d never been to one, and the way he looked so out of his element was endearing. We were so happy then, laughing at everything. I was just floored that someone like him even thought to look my way, let alone wanted to spend an evening doing something antiquated with me.

“Yeah. They just opened for the season, but it was still freezing.”

Chuckling, he turns me around. “And you kicked my horn when we climbed into the backseat.”

Groaning, I drop my head as my face heats. “I was mortified. Thankfully, there weren’t very many people there.”

His fingers hook under my chin. When I look up, his beard tickles my jaw. For a second, I see the man I fell in love with leaning in to kiss me. I can’t find a reason to say no when his lips touch mine. He’s my husband. I’m supposed to kiss him.I’m supposed to at least give him a chance.

It’s soft and delicate. I wait for some life-changing moment, some flicker that will right all the confusion in my brain and my heart. And I wait…

When the tip of his tongue slips past my lips and his fingers cup the back of my head, it’s like kissing a stranger. Worse than that, it’s likenot kissingEaston. I can find a thousand reasonsto say no, and they’re all because of him and the betrayal I feel I’m committing coursing through my rigid body.

Breaking away, his mouth travels to the side of mine. He peppers me with another round of kisses there as his hand moves to the small of my back, swaying us to the music. “I can’t wait to see you in our bed when the sun from the coast comes through the windows in the morning,” he croons, while my fingers grip in panic at the front of his sweater. “You don’t have to cook. I hired a chef, and the cantinas there are out of this world.”

I can’t breathe. It’s like I’m paralyzed in fear. His words are like prison bars wrapping around me. His hand tugs, drawing my hips into his. The hard bulge that presses into me shouldn’t be the shock it is. For so long, I wanted for him to want me more often than he did, not just our random perfunctory sex that often left me feeling like my emotional needs weren’t satisfied. Maybe I should be glad I still turn him on, but something like revulsion flows through my petrified body.I want something to wish me away.

Swaying our hips as he grinds into me, he whispers, “I’ll take you out dancing.”

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