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Chapter Six

Jordan

He was pretending to sleep.

Like a child.

Lying in bed, the popcorn propped on his chest, next to his son, and pretending to drift off.

Because he knew that Abby was going to come up.

Her friends were too intuitive to not have recognized the wound his wife had unintentionally—and he knew it was unintentional because she was too damned nice to hurt him on purpose—but they were too smart to stick around after that.

And sure enough, he had barely made it to the bedroom before he’d heard the footsteps and the dishes clattering then the front door opening and goodbyes being given.

Then fifteen minutes later, footsteps on the stairs and Abby had crawled into bed.

Luckily, he’d begun his fake sleeping already, so Hunter had just whispered loudly— loudly because it seemed like no matter how kids tried to lower the volume of their voices, it was still ear-piercing, “Dad’s sleeping!”

“I see that,” came Abby’s lilting voice, at a much more reasonable volume. The bed shifted as she crawled onto the mattress. “Can I join you for the last little bit of this episode? It’s one of my favorites.”

“It’s epic!” Hunter said over a certain not-quite-Jedi wielding her saber.

“It is at that,” she whispered.

And Jordan didn’t chime in.

Because he was pretending to be asleep.

Pretty soon the episode was over, and Abby left with Hunter to tuck him into bed, but when she returned, he immediately knew the jig was up.

Mostly because she sat down next to him on the bed and said, “I know you’re awake.”

He stifled a sigh but opened his eyes. “Hey, sweetheart, you ready for bed?”

She just looked at him.

He just looked at her.

And then she released a deep breath and said, “I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

She had, but it hadn’t been on purpose. He knew that.

But he’d been so convinced he could just easily fix this little bump in the road she was having if only he took enough off her plate and got her some sleep and time with her friends.

He never considered that the real issue would be . . . her worrying he would leave her.

Some part of her honestly thought he would leave her.

Like his father.

Like her father.

Fuck, but that stung.

But it wasn’t like either of them had great examples of men in their lives.

It wasn’t a surprise that there would be some deep-seated anxiety and fears.

Or that she would be especially vulnerable during times like these, when she was exhausted and there were all sorts of hormones flowing through her.

It was just . . .

He wasn’t his father.

He knew that. She knew that.

So, he didn’t need to make it even harder for her.

Shifting, he slipped an arm around her waist and tugged her close, taking solace in the feel of his wife near him while shoving the slice of pain away.

“I know, baby,” he said. “It’s okay.”

She sighed, her arm coming around him. “It’s not .”

“You said something in the heat of the moment,” he told her, running his hand up and down her back. “I’m not hurt.”

He wasn’t hurt.

Not really.

It was the fatigue talking. For both of them.

Soon things would settle down and they’d be back to normal and he wouldn’t feel like this, like he’d been scoured from the inside out. He would be totally fine and it wasn’t a big deal and—

“Don’t lie to me, Jor,” she said, sitting up enough for him to see her face.

He brushed a finger over her lips. “What’s that they say about eavesdroppers?

” He forced himself to smile. “That they won’t like what they hear?

I’m fine, sweetheart,” he added lightly, needing her to know that it was .

. . and it would be. But more than that, he knew he didn’t need to add his hurt feelings to her burden.

Especially when it would all be fine. He’d get over it.

“Though what’s not fine is you thinking that your body isn’t beautiful. ”

A roll of her eyes. “It’s hard to feel beautiful when you’re a cow.”

Opening his mouth to protest, he didn’t manage to actually get that protest out before she covered his lips with a finger.

“That’s not in the sense of I’m fat and disgusting—though I won’t lie and say that I love all the new stretch marks and sagging bits, especially when you seem to only grow more handsome as the years go by—but I feel like a cow with all the feedings.

No”—a shake of her head—“not just that . It’s this sense of my body not being my own, like I’m standing in front of the mirror and seeing someone else. ”

He squeezed her arm. “You’ve had a lot of changes since we got married. Getting pregnant with Carter and becoming an instant mom to Hunter, the new job, another baby. I feel like that would throw anyone for a loop.”

“But it’s not like you haven’t had any changes.”

“Don’t you see?” He sat up, tugging her up with him, heart full of so much love for her. “I didn’t start actually living my life until I saw you in that bar. I’m so thankful to have you, to have our family, our kids, even your friends.”

Her eyes went damp. “I’m so thankful to have you, too. I love you so much. It’s just . . .”

“Just what?” he pressed when she just trailed off.

“Just”—she bit her lip—“I just worry that you want that beach.”

He snorted, thinking of how delusional he’d been, selling his business, buying an island—an actual island. Jordan had wanted privacy and quiet, or so he’d thought. Because he knew himself well enough now to recognize that he would have been absolutely miserable.

“This life I have with you . . . it’s more than I could have ever imagined. I wake up every morning feeling so fucking lucky to be next to you.”

She sniffed. “Even if it’s being woken up at three A.M.?”

“Even if it’s being woken up at three A.M. paired with the sounds of a child vomiting.”

They both shuddered, remembering the worst throwing up incident of their marriage. At least, he figured she was remembering the same thing as him—avocado exorcist a la Carter.

“Even if your wife says something unforgivable?”

“Even if my wife is obsessing over something that isn’t a big deal,” he said, deliberately meeting her eyes. He believed the statement, too, even if it still smarted, because it wouldn’t be a big deal.

At some point, it wouldn’t be a big deal.

He knew it.

He just needed to . . . something. He needed to get some sleep, let some time pass, and the pieces would settle into place.

And it wouldn’t hurt so much.

And part of him would stop worrying that deep down he was like their fathers.

Because he wouldn’t let that happen, couldn’t let that happen.

Not when he had so much. Not when he knew the worth of having Abby and Hunter and Carter and Emma in his life.

Not when they both had so much more than the men who’d contributed half of their DNA to them.

Jordan knew the worth of that, of the family they’d built, and wouldn’t ever take it for granted.

“I love you,” she whispered, hugging him tight.

“I love you,” he whispered back. “Come on,” he said, coaxing her down next to him, “let’s sleep before Emma decides she’s up to party.”

Abby giggled but curled up into him. “I shouldn’t be tired,” she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder. “I had two naps”—a yawn interrupted her statement—“today.”

“Sleep, sweetheart.”

And after a few moments, she did.

But he lay awake, turning her words over in his head, wondering how he could make her see that he wasn’t ever going to leave her.

Wondering how she could even think that when he felt so tied to her, to their life.

Wondering how he had gone his whole life thinking he was so different, but even his wife was worried that he was the same as them.

Sleep stayed out of reach, her words clawing into him, the barbs locking in deep.

And he continued to wonder.

As the sun rose, dawning on a new day, he hadn’t gotten any closer to the answers. Instead, he just wondered how he was going to prove to her—and perhaps to him as well—that he wasn’t like their fathers.