Page 2 of Holden: Bucked By Love (Crawford Ridge Ranch #1)

Another pinprick in my conscience.

The kitchen is dark, and I flip on a light as I search the fridge for leftovers, hunger winning out over showering, and find there's nothing much to choose from.

I end up pouring a bowl of cereal and grabbing a banana.

I need way more food than this to make up for the hard work I did today, but I'm not about to nag Leni about my needs when she has taken on the entire running of our household.

Plus, I do not need another argument about how she's not my mom and we should be partners.

She's right, but she truly has no idea what my days are like, and I'm far too tired to try to paint that picture for her when it will only end with her listing out all the things she does too.

I refuse to engage in comparison that goes nowhere.

Leni comes out of the bathroom in her pajamas, her dark hair twisted up in a towel, and joins the kids on the couch.

They don't even talk about it, they all simply congregate there, and Mason picks up the remote to turn on a show.

I recognize it as the evening wind-down.

Summer days are long here, and my wife and kids take advantage of them to make up for the winter days that are short, cold, and dark .

I stand at the counter, still hyper-aware of my messy state, and watch over their shoulders, sort of wishing one of them would invite me to the huddle.

Leni has an arm wrapped around each of our children and they snuggle up, three little peas in a pod that I'm not a part of.

I chomp down cereal as they laugh at the antics of some cartoon I'm not familiar with, working my way through three bowls by the time the show is over.

Leni sends Josi off to bathe, reminding Mason that he's next.

Mason tosses me a "night, Dad" over his shoulder and disappears into his room to do who knows what while he waits his turn.

Leni takes the towel off her head and her damp hair falls down her back in waves.

She'll let it air-dry overnight, and by tomorrow it'll look perfectly styled.

Her hair is thick and heavy and always smells like coconut from the shampoo she uses.

I miss running my fingers through it and having that scent sneak onto my clothes.

By the time it's my turn in the bathroom, the kids have both gone off to bed and Leni is nowhere to be seen. I spent a total of an hour around my family today, and spoke what feels like a max of twenty words to them. It's disheartening.

And I'm still hungry .

Thankfully there's enough hot water left in the tank for me to let it run over my shoulders and back, loosening muscles and washing away grime.

Once I feel more relaxed, I turn the water to cold and let it blast the last of the day's heat away until I feel fresh.

I sneak a little of Leni's shampoo to wash my hair, and I can still smell it as I towel off and get dressed in boxers and a thin tee.

The wood floors are cool against my bare feet as I head back to the kitchen, needing another glass of water before bed, and a few pain pills to make up for getting my knee head-butted by an angry heifer who was not interested in being herded today.

My beard growth feels itchy, but I don't care enough to shave.

It protects my face from being in the sun all day, and it's not exactly scratching at Leni lately.

I turn the corner and am surprised to find her sitting at the small dining room table holding her head in her hands.

Her nails – always kept short – sport chipped red nail polish and her eyes are hidden from me as dark waves of hair cover both sides of her face.

Her shoulders sag and she lightly taps one of her bare feet against the floor.

The slapping sound of it matches the tick of the old cuckoo clock she inherited from her grandmother two years ago.

Tap, tap, tap.

Tick, tick, tick.

"Hey," I say, feeling like I should let her know I'm there.

She looks up. "Sit," she replies.

Now she's said five words to me today.

I do as she asks, skipping the water and pills for now, and we hang in a silence that weighs heavy on my shoulders and chest, retightening muscles I'd barely finished relaxing.

I know something big is coming, and I wait for it with the same stoicism I've employed since becoming a husband at nineteen, and a father less than a year later.

Don't let them see your struggle or your worry or your fear.

Prove to them all that this marriage wasn't a mistake.

Be. The. Man.

It had been hard at first, but I've transformed myself into someone dependable and strong. Someone whose family never goes cold or hungry. Someone respected in the community.

Someone who is watching his marriage crumble and can't seem to find any way to save it.

It's a cruel twist of fate, how the harder I work to take care of her, the faster she slips away.

Leni sighs and tips her head up, tucking her hair back and resting her chin on her hand to look right at me.

She doesn't have any make-up on and I love her this way.

Her skin is so soft, her eyes so dark and deep.

I know how her mouth feels against mine, how her exercise-toned body feels in my arms. I miss those things.

I lick my lips and fold my calloused, work-roughened hands on the table in front of me, the only sign that I'm not totally relaxed.

"Holden, this isn't working," Leni's soft voice says at last. "At all."