Page 84 of The Archer and his Rosebud

If I look at him, I’ll break. I close the bathroom door and lock it.

If I look at him, he’ll know. I turn the hot water knob and drop my robe to the floor.

If I look at him… the tears fall. I slip behind the shower curtain and curl into a ball under the still cold water, helpless to do more than break because Ty isn’t playing.

And when it comes to losing my man or my daughter—there’s no choice to be made.

The lights arelow and the apartment is quiet when I exit the bathroom after a long crying session. I pull the clip from my hair when I spot Archer standing—legs apart, shoulders stiff, hands in his pockets—staring out my living room window. My head aches as tears threaten once more.

“She was falling asleep sitting up. I fed and changed her and put her down.” He continues peering out the window. “She was out like a light.”

“Thank you.”

Straightening, he turns. “I’ve told you so many times, you don’t have to thank me like it’s a favor. Everything I do when it comes to Clementine is a privilege.”

“I know. Sorry, I’m just—”

“I love you.”

If I speak, this ends now. I can’t reply. I can’t think. I need him too much. Without thought, my hands drop to the hem of my sleepshirt, and I pull the cotton over my head as my feet steer me toward Archer.

His mouth and hands are on me before my shirt hits the floor. His frenetic kiss stealing my breath and numbing my mind. I travel to another place every time Archer assaults my senses with his lovemaking. Clothes disappear, my back hits the wall, our bodies connect, and I don’t even know how it happened. I’m so lost in being with this man. In loving him. In savoring his touch and taste and sounds.

My thighs tighten around his hips and my nails dig into his shoulders, and because he knows my body so well, his mouth returns to mine, swallowing my cries as a wave of euphoria cripples me.

He doesn’t stop. His fingers bruise my thighs as he moves faster, his strength lifting me higher so he can kiss my chest.

Ahhh, this man.“Archer…”

“I love you, Willa.” His teeth scrape the top of my breast. “I aminlove with you.”

My tears stream as his words dig into my tender heart, and his body sends me soaring. Archer’s breathing turns jagged, and my head bounces against the wall when his muscles tense against mine before he releases a deep groan. I slide my fingers into his hair, gripping his curls as he breathes curses against my throat.

He stays that way for too long. His body mashing mine against the wall, his hands kneading my hips. Eventually, he turns until his cheek rests low on my shoulder, and I rest mine on his damp head.

“I need you to know that, Will. I need you to know I love you.”

His urgency tears me apart. “I do, I know.” I kiss his hair, using his curls to wipe the tears that won’t quit from my face.

“The entirety of my twenties were a mess. From struggling in a new marriage to being betrayed, then the trial and being in jail.” His grip on my thighs slacks, and I slide lower on his body. “To starting over when I was acquitted. I’ve made a life for myself and my boys. A life I see you and Clem fitting into so perfectly.” Once we’re at eye level, he lifts his gaze, pleading. “Please don’t let Ty mess that up, baby.Please.”

He closes his eyes when I don’t speak and my thumb catches a tear running along the side of his nose. I don’t know how long he stands there holding me, still intimately connected, as he offers me his anguish and tears before finally pulling away and lowering my feet to the floor.

I shiver at the loss of his warmth, the sweat drying on my skin, my pulse long since calmed. Archer takes my hand and leads me to my bedroom where we slip beneath the covers, and he hauls my backside against his front. Every time I sniffle back my tears, a lost cause, his mouth ghosts the curve of my neck. Part of me wishes he would say something, call me out, fight me, but neither of us speak, and eventually sleep wins.

The following morning I wake naked and alone with swollen eyes and a sore throat. Rolling out of bed, I tug on the first thing I see, which happens to be one of Archer’s old work tees I stole, and pad barefoot across the bedroom, rubbing the chills from my arms. I’m not surprised at the scene before me. Archer made a habit of waking up with Clem over the holidays so I could sleep in. He said between living for weeks at a time on a working oil rig and his insomnia, which I now know to be a byproduct of spending years in jail, he was a morning person. Since I typically feel the need to linger in a state of half-wakefulness for fifteen minutes before I work up the energy to move from my bed, I never complained. Watching my two loves together this morning makes me wish I’d gotten up with them more often.

Archer’s wearing the joggers he wore when he arrived last night, but he’s shirtless, just the way Clem likes him as she snuggles her little face against his shoulder while they sway in my kitchen. He’s humming softly, and as he turns a little more, I realize his eyes are closed as his cheek rests on her head, and he rubs circles on her back.

Clem releases a soft coo, and I bite my lip as Archer replies tenderly, “Yeah, my little Rosebud, me too.”

Little Rosebud.

Overcome with emotion, I duck back into my bedroom, shaking out my arms, and willing the tears to remain at bay.

“Good morning,” I say, too upbeat, once I work up the courage to show my face. While Archer lifts his head from Clem’s and flashes a soft smile, my daughter barely moves, as usual. Her eyes brighten the closer I come, a little drooling smile breaking. I place my arm around Archer’s back and hug them both, kissing Clem’s forehead. “Let me use the restroom and wash up, then I can make some eggs.”

I carry the weight of his stare as I disappear into the bathroom and rush through my morning routine. Feeling marginally lighter with my face washed and teeth clean, I stop dead as I exit the bathroom when I see a fully clothed Archer lacing his shoes. I glance around for Clem and find her in the bouncing activity center Archer bought her for Christmas.

---