Page 80 of Cara
Unable to sleep, too afraid I’ll wake up from this dream, I memorize the order of the room.
The gun on the nightstand.
The rocking chair with embroidered teddy bears along the cushions, his mother’s signature in yellow stitching.
The radio in the corner, a stack of CDs nestled beside it.
A chipped baseball bat leaned against striped wallpaper.
The man beside me in bed is completely still. He fell quiet a while ago. When Xavier led me back indoors, both of us still overwhelmed by the unleashing on the beach, I knew a night of passion was unlikely.
I’m not even sure how my body would respond to it.
My eyes drift, settling on his clothed back. I don’t recall a single instance in our marriage when he slept in his clothes.
Not one.
I keep seeing the scars.
Deep down, I know they are the reason he hasn’t stripped, which breaks my heart.
His voice disturbs the silence, making me realize he hasn’t closed his eyes either. “I wish you’d let someone ease your pain. I would have understood.”
“Did you? Let someone?”
I tell myself I can handle it. I can handle anyone but Rosa.
After what he just showed me, I can forgive anything.
“No,” he says quietly.
“Hypocrite,” I tease while closing my eyes with relief.
It takes him a moment to laugh and let what used to come easily to us settle between us. I feel his head shake against the pillow, this bed far too small for both of us. I rest my hand on his back, knowing he’s giving me space, believing I need it.
“Xavier.” His torn shirt hangs open as he turns, exposing his bare skin down to his midsection. With his hands behind his head, he holds his breath while I sidle up next to him, using one hand to unbutton the remainder. “May I touch you?”
“I'm yours.” He says it as if that’s the only answer, all that matters.
Mine. God, that feels so good to hear.
I wet my lips nervously, spreading his shirt apart.
“I don’t know… I’m not sure how far I can take this,” I whisper. “I know it’s been years, and we’re finally together. I might just need some time?—”
He grips my chin, his expression grave. “Don’teverthink of me before yourself, Sophie. Ever.”
He doesn’t know how impossible that is.
My eyes drift closed as I rest my cheek against his chest. It’s even broader than I remember, with rippled muscles stretching beneath trim dark hair. The skin joining his collarbones hollows when he shifts his arm, inviting me closer. It’s then that I notice the rings hanging from a silver chain.
Two of them.
My heart stops.
His eyes dart down to my fingers when I dare totouch them, brushing against the white gold. Lifting my cheek from his chest, his mouth opens, but nothing escapes for a moment.
The sight of those rings has stolen his words. It takes him a while to find them.
