Page 40 of Until Tomorrow (Love Doesn’t Cure All: The Ashwood Duet #1)

Logan

The lights in our condo were out by the time I got home—all except the small one above the stove. I smiled. Eva’s way of making sure I didn’t trip over myself coming into the house . It was the little things that made such a big difference—the things that made Eva so wonderfully herself.

She was passed out in bed, curled around my pillow and hers in the middle of the bed.

That little notion made my smile widen. I kept quiet as I got ready for bed, avoiding lights and doing my best not to make a sound.

When I finally crawled into bed, I did my best to find a place I could fit.

No pillow, half a blanket, and a small spot on the bed was what I was left with.

It didn’t bother me. There was something endearing about seeing her sprawled out in our bed rather than sticking to her side of the bed.

While I should’ve slept, I couldn’t. I was wildly floating, not anxiously, but with disbelief. With an odd reassurance about myself. About my situation. This was my honest-to-God life.

I gently laid a hand on Eva’s side, unable to help it. I’d never deserve this woman. Not really. The safe space she’d created for me to figure my sexuality out was more than I could’ve ever hoped for. Emotion clogged my throat. I’d never be able to put into words what that meant to me.

“I rode a motorcycle tonight,” she told me sleepily, cutting through the intense feelings weaving through my chest. I pressed my lips together to keep f rom chuckling. There was a sentence I never thought I’d hear. “And I accidentally stole a leather jacket.”

I wasn’t about to touch the theft part of that statement.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” I whispered as I brushed my fingers through her soft hair.

“You didn’t,” she replied. “I’ve been in and out of it. How was your night?”

“I went on a date with Loren and ate six cookies.”

“That’s so many…” That little giggle she let out was adorable.

“I kissed him,” I continued, my heart hammering wildly in my chest. Should I tell her?

We’d agreed to share intimate details only if both of us were comfortable.

I waited for her to object, but she didn’t.

“I liked it… a lot. And I’d like to go out with him again and kiss him again.

I don’t… I don’t quite know how to define my sexuality at all, and it drives me insane.

I don’t feel attraction the way you do or Elliot or a lot of people, and it bothers me.

More than I want to admit out loud because I don’t feel…

normal. I don’t question it—at least not so much right now—but I don’t… I know I’m not straight.”

I sucked in a deep breath after rushing through saying everything. The last few sentences came out jumbled. For as little as I questioned it, it was still overwhelming to say out loud. Even if only to Eva.

“You had a big night,” Eva said. “How do you feel?”

“Relieved?” Why was I asking her? “Maybe… I feel… a little more at ease, I think. I don’t have to wonder if all of this was some big mistake. I feel a little more confident knowing that it’s not.”

“It’s never a mistake figuring yourself out, sweetheart,” she assured me, her tone gentle. “It’s important.”

“He said something tonight that I can’t get out of my head,” I continued. “I told him everything lately feels a bit like a midlife crisis, and he said that a midlife crisis is nothing more than realizing you aren’t happy and wanting to do something about it.”

“I can see what he means.”

“Are we happy, Eva?” I asked quietly.

“I’m happy with you,” she hurried to say, which worried me that I’d given her the wrong impression. I wasn’t questioning if our marriage was solid. Not even remotely.

“But are we happy with this life?” I repeated. “Or did we just fall into what felt comfortable instead of chasing what makes us happy?”

“ Oh…” She fell silent as the question sat heavily between us.

“I’m happy with you, Eva,” I said just so she heard me say the words out loud.

After asking her for a divorce, I knew how that question could’ve come across wrong.

The last thing I wanted was for her to doubt my conviction in us.

“I just… I just don’t know if we did the wrong thing, you know?

Did we give up everything about ourselves for what we have?

My job, our money, our social status… I don’t know if we did the right thing. ”

I couldn’t verbalize what I wanted to say. We’d spent years doing the same thing day in and day out. It was routine. It was all we knew. We’d been happy. At least, I’d convinced myself we were happy.

But now? I didn’t know. That little voice in the back of my head said otherwise. And as the weeks passed, that voice grew louder and louder. It was hard to ignore, but I wasn’t even sure I wanted to anymore. What if it was right? What if we weren’t as happy as we thought?

“Do you want to cuddle?” Eva asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

“God, yes,” I replied a little too quickly. I was desperate for some kind of comfort.

Pillows were tossed around, and the blankets were rearranged as we met somewhere in the middle of the bed.

Her head tucked under my chin as her ear pressed over my heartbeat, and I wrapped my arms around her tightly.

That tiny content sigh she let out was soothing, and it was as if she needed this too.

“I didn’t realize how much I missed this,” I admitted. How sad was that? Somewhere along the way, we’d lost the little things like cuddling in bed and holding hands. Was that normal? Did all couples really grow so accustomed to each other that they grew distant without realizing it?

“Me too,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

“Get some sleep, honey,” I said. I pulled the blankets up to her chin and closed my eyes. I counted each breath as I inhaled deeply, letting that delicate aroma of wildflowers and honey lull me to sleep.

True to her word, my wife stole a leather jacket, but that wasn’t the oddest thing in our dining room when I finally pulled myself out of bed. The stack of crappy bar napkins was .

How long had it been since Eva drew? And I meant, honestly drew something. I wasn’t dumb enough to think the graphic design job did anything for her creatively—not like this.

I spread out the napkins, taking in each incredible drawing.

It was easy to see where she began—the lines were simple and minimalistic, as if she lacked the confidence to do them.

But with every napkin, her art grew bolder and more detailed.

The intricacies of what she created were mind-blowing in a way I couldn’t begin to describe.

How had I forgotten that my wife was so talented?

The bedroom door creaked open, and Eva came wandering out. I smiled at the sight of her. Mussed up hair, my t-shirt clinging to her hips, and an imprint of her pillow on the side of her face. She was gorgeous.

“Morning,” she mumbled when she saw me.

“More like afternoon,” I corrected. I’d slept in until almost noon, and she’d overshot me by over an hour.

“Yay for Saturdays,” she said under her breath. “Coffee. Need coffee.”

“Already brewed and ready for you,” I told her.

I watched her shuffle through the kitchen, grumbling at every obstacle along the way.

Eva needed her sleep—religiously. Take away her sleep window or alter it and she turned into my grumpy gremlin.

At least coffee helped. I found it adorable, but I also knew she wouldn’t hesitate to eat someone alive before she had her caffeine if she wanted to.

“Oh, that’s the stuff.” That loud sigh of hers made me chuckle. “How did you sleep?”

“Great.” And I had. Something about having her in my arms knocked me out. It was the first night in a long time where sleep came easily. “I found your napkins.”

“Oh, they’re nothing,” Eva dismissed.

“They’re amazing,” I said. “You should show these off.”

“I have to give those back to Rhett.” She slipped into one of the dining chairs as she clutched her coffee mug to her chest. “I found them when I went through his jacket.”

“I’m still keeping one,” I replied with a smile.

“It’s just a napkin.”

“It’s going in my office.”

“Logan!”

“I’m putting it on display.”

“It’s nothing special,” Eva insisted. “It’s just… doodles.”

“Honey, have y ou seen my doodles?” I asked. “My doodles look like how many different ways can I scratch my pen on a paper to make one of those stupid tornado-looking things. This? Honey, this is art! Really incredible art. Why did you ever stop?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged as she stared down at the napkins. “It’s not useful.”

Useful? I frowned.

“Honey, who the fuck cares if it’s useful?” I demanded, but she just shrugged once more. I grabbed a chair and dragged it next to hers. Sitting down, I took her hands. “Eva, you used to draw all the time. Your art used to be all over our house—”

“We grew up, Logan,” she cut me off. “That was nice, but we moved here, and that just doesn’t work here. Can you imagine if our home looked like that when your co-workers were here? It just doesn’t work, and that’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” I insisted. I stared down at our interlocked fingers, realizing I was very much to blame for this. Inadvertently, I’d put Eva in a box without ever realizing it. “There’s that art store—”

“Logan, please, drop it.”

“No. Eva, this is your home—our home. It should represent you just as much as it does me—”

“Logan—”

“Eva—”

“Stop!” she exclaimed loudly. Her cheeks flushed with anger, and she pulled her hand away. “Just stop! I’m not that girl anymore. Sometimes, you just have to grow up and deal with it. This is our life, that doesn’t fit, and no further discussion is needed.”

I dropped it because arguing with Eva never did anyone any good. Instead, I just nodded. Her fingers dusted along my jawline, brushing over the thick growth I had.

“I like the beard,” Eva told me, her tone softer as she pointedly changed the topic. It was easier to just let it go. For now. Part of her journey was finding herself, and I truly believed in reconnecting her with her love for art.

“It’s growing on me,” I said. Her lips pressed together as she tried not to laugh.

Unfortunately, it took me a solid ten seconds before I realized the pun in what I’d said.

I chuckled before leaning forward to kiss her briefly.

“I don’t feel like cooking. Would you let me take you out for a late lunch? ”

“Let me shower first.” She kissed me once more. Grabbing her coffee, she left. I watched her go, my heart heavy in my chest. I picked up one of the napkins and ran my fingers over the ink.

I hated that I was a part of why Eva buried parts of herself—vital parts.

That should’ve never happened. I should’ve protected those parts of her as much as I tried to protect the rest of her.

And now that I knew, I wasn’t giving up.

If Eva could embrace and encourage me exactly as I was, I would absolutely do the same for her.