Page 15 of Right the Wrongs (Broken Vows #5)

She shrugs, and when her shoulders drop, it looks like she is giving up.

“We’ve been married for eight years, together for a little over nine, and all this time I’ve been the consolation prize for the woman he can’t get back.

I don’t feel as bad now for secretly being afraid that he would always love her. ”

I nod. That is a lot to hear, and honestly, something I’ve feared for a long time, too.

There’s one truth I know, though, and I pass it along to Claudia.

“There are a lot of things I don’t know, but I do know that when you love someone, you don’t treat them the way he treated Wren.

I can’t tell you that he doesn’t think he loved her, but if he did, his love isn’t worth shit. ”

For the second time in my fifty-three years on this earth, I’m profoundly disappointed in my son.

I reach out and awkwardly pat Claudia on the shoulder. “We are here for you, no matter what happens between you and Liam. You aren’t just my son’s wife. You’re family. You will always be the mother of my grandkids and a friend. Whatever you need, we’ll have your back.”

A sob bursts free from her, and she immediately buries her face in her hands. She doesn’t look up when she says. “You have no idea how much that means to me. I promise I’ll call this week so you can see the kids, but I’m not ready to see him yet. I don’t want him around the kids yet either.”

“I’ll make sure he respects your space,” I promise her.

She rushes back inside. Claudia has a strong spine and a need to present a strong face to the world, but she’s not as strong as she wants me to think. I won’t take away that illusion from her by lingering long enough to watch that facade come down a bit.

My alarm goes off the next morning, and I have to force myself out of bed.

Normally, I’m up before it even goes off.

Not today. There are probably a dozen things that need to get done both at the shop and around the house.

Liam’s injury and absence have had a trickle effect on how things run around here.

It’s hard to continue to be the father my four youngest kids need, the husband Wren deserves, and all the other roles I’ve taken on in life.

I’m juggling so many balls, I’m bound to drop one before too long.

I don’t know how much time I spend staring at the coffee maker until I’m snapped out of my trance when Wren sets a cup in front of me.

“Black, just like the cloud hanging over your head. Anything you want to talk about?” she asks.

How can I talk about something that is still all jumbled up in my head? Perhaps the wisdom is in the palm of my hands, or at least on my mug that reads, “But first, coffee.”

I take a careful sip of coffee. I’m already sore and hunched over from working under that damn truck all day yesterday; I don’t need to add a burned tongue to it.

Logically, I know it’ll take more than a few seconds for the caffeine to work its way into my system, but with the first sip, I feel my thoughts start to untangle.

“Do you think Liam is still in love with you?” I ask in a voice that is barely loud enough for even me to hear.

She doesn’t miss it, though, and the coffee cup in her hand slips from her fingers and shatters on the floor. It might seem like an extreme reaction, but not for someone who lived through the first time Liam got sober.

We’re stronger now than we were back then. We’ve got a decade of marriage under our belts. Ten years of loving hard, and being there every day, making sure the other knew how much we loved the other. Insecurity is a bitch, though, and can creep up on you even when the foundation is strong.

“What makes you ask something like that? I know he and I got into it before he went into rehab, but we’ve moved past all of that bullshit from the past,” she says, ignoring the shards of ceramic all over the floor.

That means she’s really concerned, because Wren is a compulsive cleaner, and even more concerned with eliminating safety hazards. Broken dishes would definitely top the list of things she doesn’t want the children to encounter.

“Just something Claudia said last night,” I admit.

“Maybe we do need to go to family therapy,” she says begrudgingly.

Family therapy. Two words I’d hoped never to have to use again. The first time we sat down in an attempt to heal our wounds, it almost ripped them completely open.

“I’ll agree to one session to start, but?—”

She stretches up on her toes. “Nothing on this earth will take me from you, or you from me,” she whispers and kisses me softly.

“Not enough,” I mumble against her lips.

I look at the clock. By my calculation, the kids should be up any time from now to thirty minutes from now, but this mania I feel won’t be ignored without reminding both of us how our connection began.

I lift her up, and she instinctively wraps her legs around my waist.

She looks over her shoulder and sees that I’m heading for the pantry. Our room is the first place the kids will come looking for us. Heaven forbid any of them try and get their own breakfast, which means we should be fairly safe hiding there.

“The pantry?” she asks, confused.

“I do some of my best work in closets, or have you forgotten? I’m happy to remind you now, but you have to be quiet. Can you do as you’re told?”

The corners of her lips quirk up. “Yes, Daddy.”

God, I love this woman. I don’t care how wrong it was the way we got together, the only thing that matters to me is that we are and that we stay that way.