Page 86 of Omega's Faith

"No. I haven't touched anyone since you left. I haven't wanted to."

He looks at me then, really looks at me, and I see everything in his eyes—hurt, hope, fear, want.

"What now?" he asks.

"I don't know. I'm terrified about the baby. I still don't know if I can be a father. I definitely know I've been a terrible husband."

"I haven't been great either," he admits.

"We're quite a pair."

"The worst," Jonah agrees, but he's almost smiling.

"I want to try," I say. "I want to figure out who we are together when we're not fighting or fucking."

"Language," he says automatically, then blushes.

"Sorry. When we're not fighting or... making love?" I shift on the porch swing, wanting to move closer to him. I think it would be welcomed but I’m still not completely sure.

Jonah laughs, soft and surprised. "That sounds worse somehow."

"Right? There's no good word for it."

"We could go with 'intimate relations,'" he suggests, mock-serious.

"Very Jane Austen,” I say. “'Mr. Colborne and I engaged in intimate relations. It was most agreeable.'"

He's really laughing now. When he finally stops, he looks at me with those impossible eyes.

"I want to try too," he says. "How about I come back to the estate, but we take it slow. Separate bedrooms. Actual dates. Talking."

"I can do that. I want to do that."

"Okay then."

We sit there, not quite touching but close enough to feel each other's warmth. Inside, I can hear his family cleaning up, kids getting ready for bed. Normal life happening while we sit in thegarden making promises we both hope we can keep.

"There's one problem," I say eventually. "My car is surrounded by photographers. I can't leave without causing another scene."

From the back door, Robert's voice carries. "I heard that. I’ll go out and pretend to talk to them. You two can sneak out in Mom's Honda."

"You'd do that?" I ask.

Robert appears in the doorway. "For Jonah. Not for you. Yet."

Twenty minutes later, Robert walks out into the front yard and starts engaging the paps in conversation. I wonder what he’s telling them. Part of me really, really hopes he’s feeding them sheer drivel that they’ll print and look like fools for.

We sneak into the garage and start the car. The escape feels like something from a bad spy movie, but it works.

"Where to?" Jonah asks once we're clear.

"There's a hotel about twenty minutes away.”

He stills.

"We don't have to do anything," I say. "Mostly, I just want to talk. Whatever you want."

He rolls his eyes but follows me inside when I park. The desk clerk recognizes me but stays professional, handing over key cards without comment.