Page 81 of Hidden Vows
But for now, I’m going to focus on the man in front of me.
The man I love loves me too.
The man I love wants to marry me and be my husband again.
The man I love, the father of my child, couldn’t be more excited at the idea of having a baby with me.
There might be some obstacles in our future, but I have a lot to be grateful for.
thirty-seven
JUDE
My eyes blinkopen and it takes me a few seconds to take in the numbers on the clock on Abbey’s nightstand, three in the morning. It takes me even longer to recognize that Abbey isn’t here.
It’s too early for her to be up, even with her hours prepping for the café, this is too early for her. I question if she ever came to bed last night, but the rumpled sheets answer that question—she was here, but for how long?
I slip from the bed and step into my boxers before moving to the door. The second I pull the door open I see her. She’s curled up in her reading nook surrounded by the box of journals I gave her last night.
I’d been a day away from asking Willie and Mae if they shipped the journals when they surprised me last night by walking through the door of Murphy’s. We’d talked a few times since I asked them to mail the journals, but they never gave away that they were planning to come for a visit.
Things had picked back up at Murphy’s since the bookstore opening and I’d been busy helping Jane behind the bar while Cole and Abbey helped on the floor—somewhere I honestly hadn’texpected to need extra help. I found myself wondering many times over how the hell my dad managed to run this place on his own and not have a heart attack sooner.
It took Willie and Mae calling my name for me to look up and find them standing across from me. Once it actually registered that I wasn’t imagining them, I rushed out from behind the bar and pulled the two of them into a hug. I knew I missed them, hearing their voices always brought a wave of sadness over me, but seeing them in person? It really brought home just how much I missed them. Exactly like it’d been with Abbey in my dad’s hospital room, and just like it’d been when I finally got to talk to my dad again face-to-face.
They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and while I believe that, distance also makes it easy to compartmentalize and forget the importance of being with the people you love.
Bringing myself back to the present, I carefully make my way to Abbey, not wanting to startle her. “Mo ghrá,” I whisper, crouching in front of her. “These journals aren’t going anywhere. You don’t have to read them all in one night.” When she lifts her eyes to me, tears well in the corners. “Baby,” I plead, unable to see her cry.
I move to my knees, taking the space on the floor in front of her as I gently pull the journal from her hands and glance at the date, trying to figure out what journal she’s on—2015, the year I published my first book.
There were a lot of emotions coursing through me that year, the biggest one being guilt. The guilt ate at me so much I avoided everyone I cared about—I literally flew to another country half-way around the world to make sure no one could be with me. And I know the journal entries this year were some of my worst. I explored every negative emotion in the book and I beat myself upover and over for all the mistakes I’d made that led me to being alone—something I thought I more than deserved.
A sentence from the middle of the page she has open catches my eye and part of me regrets giving her these journals, but this isn’t who I am anymore, and it’s not how I feel either.
Looking back, I can see that night for what it really was—the start of the end for us.
Placing the journal on the floor next to me, I take her hands in mine, holding them tight in her lap. “Mo ghrá. You know most of this is the farthest thing from how I feel now. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, and that’s all because of you.”
“I know,” she whispers, the simple words choked on a sob. She shakes her head before pulling her hands from mine, and there’s a moment of panic that maybe I shouldn’t have given her these journals, but she collapses into my chest and her entire body wracks with the force of her tears.
“Abbey,” I croak. Lifting her from the seat, I switch places with her, cradling her in my lap. I don’t try to talk to her, not right now, I hold her and sooth her as best I can while she calms down.
This woman’s heart is so big, feeling this pain for a man who doesn’t exist but in the pages of these journals, and it’s one of the things I love most about her—her empathy.
I know we went through some hard times before we made our way back to each other, but I’m so happy with where we ended up. Giving her these journals was simply meant to help her learn about our time apart. It was my way of proving just how much I love and trust her. It was my hope that giving her these journals would help rebuild her trust in me.
I never wanted to cause her more pain.
“I just hate all the time we wasted,” she whispers once her tearshave dried up.
“I know, love, but we can’t live in the past.” I press a kiss to the top of her head and tighten my arms around her. “We have the start of a beautiful life right here at our fingertips, and I want to keep building on that.”
She lifts her head to meet my eyes—they’re red and puffy, but she’s still my breathtaking Abbey. Her mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. I smooth a hand over her cheek, wiping at the tears that still wet her face, and give her whatever time she needs to organize her thoughts.
“We can accept that we wouldn’t change our past because it would change our future, and still be upset about everything we missed out on—two things can be true at the same time.”
“You’re right,” I admit.
