Page 46 of Every Promise Broken

“Yeah, well, it feels like Whit and I are in an alternative universe these days. One where I want to talk, and he doesn’t.”

“Again…can you blame him?”

Heaving a sigh, I look over at my friend. “I don’t like this version of you,” I mumble. “Can we go back to you being the one making the questionable choices?”

Chuckling, he leans over, patting me on the back. “But this is so fun.”

I huff. “Yeah, for you.”

Just then, Whit pops his head out of the backdoor. “Hey, you ready? Nana said she’s tired and would like to get home so she can go to bed.”

“Yup, let’s go.” Glancing over at Will, I say, “Thanks for dinner, man. This was nice.”

Will nods. “Anytime. Goodnight, Whit. Nice to see you.”

Whit smiles, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose in a way he does when he’s nervous. “Thanks for having us,” he replies. “Dinner was lovely.”

Standing up, I brush past Whit, stopping to mutter quietly enough for only him to hear, “Ready to go,husband?”

He freezes, eyes shooting daggers at me, but says nothing as I walk past him into the house. We’re talking about thistonight, if I have any say in the matter.

18

Whit Bowman

The lights are off, covers pulled up to my chin as I lie on my side. My eyes are slammed shut as I hear heavy footsteps draw closer to the door. We’ve been home for a little over an hour now, and Conrad must finally be done with evening chores, meaning he’s going to come in here to go to bed.

Something I’ve been trying to do from the minute we got home.

Conrad has been in a feisty, unusual mood all day, but especially since learning about my breakup with Reggie. I have a feeling he’s going to try to talk, but I don’t want that, hence why I’m faking being asleep as he opens the door to the bedroom. Behind my closed eyelids, I can see the light spilling in from the hallway, but I just squeeze them shut tighter.

Even without seeing him, I can make out exactly what he’s doing, and when. Conrad is a man of routine. Of structure. We have that in common. After he crosses the room in long strides, he stops in front of the dresser, where he unbuttons his flannel shirt. Taking it off, he tosses it into the hamper—something he’squite good at. I remember never finding clothes sitting on the floor. After he removes his pants and throws them in the bin too, he then goes into the bathroom.

Five minutes, almost exactly. Never more, never less. That’s how long he’s in there. He brushes, flosses, and uses the bathroom before coming to bed. It’s what he does every single night, and it’s what he’s done for years. Conrad is a creature of habit. Except when he exits the bathroom and flicks off the light, he doesn’t climb into bed. I can feel his presence, though. He’s standing right in front of his side, and I don’t even need to roll over and look to know.

The silence drones on, and it becomes stifling.

What is he doing?

Finally, “I know you’re awake, Whit.”

My heart thumps against my ribs, but I don’t move.He doesn’t know anything.

“Whit, get up,” he grunts, walking over toward the door and flipping the light switch. “We’re not going to bed until we talk about this.”

Without opening my eyes or moving an inch, I murmur, “You know as well as I do how early morning comes, Conrad. Get in bed. We can talk about this some other time.”

“No.” The gruffness behind that one word startles me and has me opening my eyes. I don’t roll over to face him, though. Not yet. “We are talking about this, goddamnit.”

That does it.

Flipping over in bed, I sit up, eyes narrowed. I’m doing my best to ignore the way he looks in just his boxers.

Now is not the time to ogle him, Whit. Focus!

“Who the hell do you think you are?” I snap. “And what right do you get to demand I doanything?”

Hands firmly on his hips, Conrad heaves a sigh. “Why are you being so damn difficult? I’m just trying to have a simple conversation with you.”

---