Page 86 of Stealing His Cupcake
At least he has the decency to blush. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“I’m always right.”
He gives me a smug smile. “Well, you weren’t right about Maggie’s grandfather. I told you he was the twin.”
“What?!”
Wyatt hesitates. “It was revealed in the final episode. Did you not—”
“No, Wyatt, I did not see the episode that aired yesterday! I was too busy studying for my road test so I could get my driver’s license and hunt down my stupid husband!”
“Oh. I thought—”
“What, that the moment I discovered you were gone, I kicked my feet up and went ‘Yeah, finally I have all the time in the world to watch TV’?You’re such an idiot. Ugh.” Huffing out a frustrated breath, I start tossing things into the duffel bag. There’s blood all over the bed, which I’m sure the housekeeping won’t be happy about. Hopefully, they won’t call the police if I pass them some extra money under the table.
I’m not too surprised when Wyatt wraps his arms around me from behind, bringing me against his chest. “I’m an idiot,” he whispers into my hair. “But I’m your idiot. Let’s go home, cupcake.”
“Yes. Let’s go home.”
Epilogue
Wyatt
two months later
I’mgratefulAmygother driver’s license because after the horrors I just went through, I’m in no condition to drive. She’s nervous as we make our way from the airport in our rental car but fortunately, the traffic isn’t too bad. As we cruise the interstate, she’s still a little antsy, but my tough wife is handling it better than I handled the plane. God, I can’t believe I actually vomited! Not even the cranky toddler I could hear crying from economy class throughout the flight had to use the embarrassing paper bag and catch looks with varying degrees of sympathy and disgust from other passengers. Talk about living through literal hell.
“Do you need me to pull over?” Amy asks.
I want to reply that I’m fine, tell her to keep driving but hearing the tremor in her voice, I change my mind. “Yeah, I could use some fresh air.” It’s not a lie, although I could easily keep going. Cars don’t bother me.Flying coffins that shake and go up and down and up and down and— Ugh. Yeah. Perhaps some fresh air isn’t such a bad idea after all.
The main reason I agreed, though, is because I can sense how nervous Amy is. She’s gotten proficient in driving during the past few months, especially since she accepted the job at Samantha’s cafe and drives to town four times a week to bake a supply of her delicious pastries for her boss to sell. However, driving around rural Minnesota is a far cry from St. Louis’ packed interstates. Amy is doing great, but I need to pull my shit together and take care of her, especially after the gentle way she comforted me on that stupid plane I won’t get back on for as long as I live. I’d rather drive for eleven hours to get back home than live through the horror called takeoff and landing again.
Pulling over at a gas station, Amy releases a shaky breath. “Okay. That was…intense. I’m really appreciating the roads back home now.”
“You were amazing, cupcake. I’d kiss you, but I probably still have vomit breath.” Talk about being romantic. “We’ll take a break and then I’ll take over.”
Amy looks at me with concern. “Are you sure? If you’re still not feeling well—”
“We got off that plane. I feel fucking fantastic.”
Snorting, she playfully smacks my thigh. “You’re so dramatic. It wasn’t that bad.” It was her first flight, too, and she didn’t throw up. Just me. Could it get any more embarrassing? “But if you want to drive, I certainly won’t fight you. The traffic here is horrifying.”
It’s actually very mild for a Friday afternoon, but I’m not about to tell her that. “Sure. I like driving. I’ll just quickly brush my teeth a few more times and then we can have a light snack.” Now that my stomach has mostly settled, it reminds me how empty it is. I gesture to the bathroom. “I’ll be right over there.”
“Okay. I’ll see what they sell here.”
Grabbing my toiletries from the trunk, I pull Amy into my arms to nuzzle her hair. “I’ll be right back. Promise.”
“I know.” The hug she gives me before heading for the small store is tighter than usual and I know that despite her words, she will worry until I’m back by her side.
After my return home two months ago, it only took me a few hours to see through Amy’s teasing and bravado. To realize how terribly I’ve hurt her by leaving and how deep the trauma I’ve inadvertently triggered goes. As a person who has spent most of my life alone, I cannot truly understand Amy’s fear of abandonment, but after witnessing the depths of her pain, I don’t question it.
The nightmares started that first night after I returned home and continued every night for weeks before finally receding. Even two months later, Amy still gets them now and then. She doesn’t wake up screaming, but she tosses and turns, and her heart-wrenching whimpers wake me up just as certainly as a scream would. She doesn’t talk about what exactly she sees when she closes her eyes, just that she is alone. Always alone. The way she says that word,alone, shuddering and hugging herself for comfort, makes it sound like the most terrible thing that could ever happen to anyone.
Like I said, I can’t exactly empathize with that feeling since I don’t mind being alone, but I acknowledge it and do my best to reassure her that she is not alone and never will be again. She says she trusts me and, perhaps on some level she does, but I’ve already broken that trust once and I’m now realizing how difficult it will be to build it back up.
Being alone together for nearly two weeks helped ease the worst of Amy’s deep-rooted fears. I might be a hermit, as Geraldine sometimes calls me, but I love spending time with Amy, so it wasn’t any hardship I had to endure. It’s not like we were glued at the hip during that time, either. Despite joking about keeping me chained to the bed, which I wouldn’t have minded, either, Amy was content just to know that if she looked up from her cooking or whatever else she was doing, I would be there, so I made sure to always be within her sight or at least promptly reply upon hearing her slightly panicked voice calling my name.
