Page 38 of Anchor

This cannot be normal, though, saying that, I don’t know many women who stick to their gut and not run back to their cheating husband.

Can it still be classed as cheating when he only did it once, or so he said?

Is it more a major betrayal?

God, I’m so conflicted….

“Heaven?” Travis questions when I zone out. I feel his hand cup my cheek, forcing me to look his way. “Talk to me…. Is this too much?”

My eyes tear up, and I admit, “No, it’s kind of perfect because the last time we came here, you dropped a bowling ball on your foot before falling halfway down the lane when your ball got stuck on your fingers.”

He narrows his eyes playfully and states firmly, “That will not happen again. This time, I’m going to kick your sweet ass, and we are not going to get kicked out again.”

My tears fall at the happy memory, causing his body to sag with worry as I lean into him, but he soon grins when I whisper, “I’llbet you a goodnight kiss that I’ll win,” repeating the exact same words I said all those years ago, my shy seventeen-year-old self wanting nothing more than his lips against mine but not brave enough to take it.

His eyes race between mine as he says, “There’s a reason why you are my only one, Angel, and why, in ten years I’ve only been with you since that bittersweet day…. I love you so fucking much, and you, remembering our first date, seeing the joy in your eyes when you speak of it, proves you are my only and I’m yours.”

I nod, and he presses his lips against mine in a hard, searing kiss. He grips my loose hair, gripping it tightly as he tilts my head, deepening the kiss. He pushes his tongue into my mouth, tangling it with mine, and I can’t help the moan that escapes me at his minty taste.

Letting myself focus on the moment, I grip his cut, holding him to me, making him groan, before he wraps his arm around me, holding me close, and we lose ourselves in each other.

The past fades, with the hurt and pain; all I can feel is him, his warmth, his love….

Someone wolf whistles, breaking our moment but instead of breaking the kiss instantly, he slows it before pressing several kisses against my mouth, cheek, nose, and neck, making me giggle.

“Fuck, I missed that sound,” Travis rasps as he presses another kiss against my neck, making me shiver in delight. I sigh, wrapping my arms around his neck, my body twisted in an awkward position, making it uncomfortable, but I ignore the twinge and grip his hair.

“We’re going to be alright, you and I, Angel, and I swear to you, a year from now, we’ll have our two kids in our home at the compound, and we will have another on the way,” he promises.

My tears fall again, and I choke, “First, I need to kick your butt at bowling, and it will help your case if you end up sliding down the lane again.”

His body shakes with silent laughter before he pulls back, gently lifts me off his bike, and cups my cheek with one hand, the other going to our baby, a wide grin on his face.

“I can guarantee, Angel, that will most likely happen,” he assures, and I smile wide, push up on my tiptoes, and press my lips against his quickly before removing myself from his hold. At the same time, I grab his hand and walk backward, pulling him with me.

“Come show me what you’ve got, Biker Boy,” I say, the same words from our first date. Happiness radiates from him as he quickens his steps and drapes his arm over my shoulders, pulling me to him as he kisses my head and guides us toward the large gray building with a massive bowling ball on top. He does as he says and not only slides along the lane but ends up knocking the pins in with his head after a ball got stuck on his fingers. After he drove me home, I got my goodnight kiss, which lasted at least ten minutes longer than the one we had on our date. The kiss only ended when Steal shouted it was past curfew.

I knew, deep down inside, that Travis and I were going to be okay; I knew his vision of me being by his side was going to happen. I just didn’t know that the future looked bleak for me, that he wasn’t meant to end up with me….

15

Anchor

I whistle as I gently sketch the curve of my wife’s nose, then go over the plump of her lips, my mind fully on her when, really, I should be working on sketching the back piece a client wants, but I can’t fucking focus on anything but my wife.

I need her like I need my next breath.

Since our date four days ago, where, yes, I purposely slipped and fell down the lane at the bowling alley, my head hitting the pins just to make her laugh like I did all those years ago, she’s been a little more open with me.

The odd kiss here, the hug from behind when I’m washing the pots, the secret smiles every now and again when she doesn’t think I’m looking, like she did years ago.

The little things I had no idea I missed so fucking much, the things that showed me how much she loved me on a daily basis, things that I overlooked.

“Dude, why do you keep fucking whistling?” an agitated Bulldozer shouts from across my room at Huntsmen Art, and I snort, not answering him. Instead, I continue to whistle, but louder.

I feel like I’m slowly getting my wife back. The look of betrayal and hate is no longer shining in her beautiful ice blue eyes; instead, it's hope and love, and I can’t help but be happy right now.

“Fuck, I should have suggested couples therapy years ago,” I mutter with frustration at myself for not thinking of it as I throw the notepad to the side where all my tattooing inks are. I sigh as I stretch.

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