But it’s not just nerves. I can’t get comfortable. Can’t settle. Even when I remind myself a hundred times over that Dr. Klein is arguably the safest, gentlest man any of us know, there’s something else still tugging at my consciousness.
It’s almost like the letdown that comes after an exhilarating experience, but it doesn’t make any sense. This process with Michael has been about getting him back on his feet. What he’s doing tonight is exactly what we’ve been trying to help him achieve—the confidence and courage to take a chance with another man.
So why do I feel so empty?
Empty. That’s what it is.
And here comes the guilt. I resist the urge to fidget beside Ian and draw his attention to my discomfort, because this is something I really don’t want to explain. I’m not entirely sure I can explain it, but I damn sure don’t want to. How the fuck would I tell my husband I feel down and sad because Michael’s not here tonight? Because Michael’s out with another man, and all three of us have our fingers crossed that it works out?
I cuddle closer to Ian, ostensibly to give our ever-expanding dog some more room, and rest my head on his chest. Ian kisses the top of my head and adjusts his arm around my shoulders.
This is perfect. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’ve never once felt like there was anything missing in my marriage. Ian isn’t perfect, but he’s the perfect man for me—I’d sworn off marriage and monogamy alike right up until I realized I was in love with him.
There’s nothing missing from my marriage to Ian, but where is this hollow feeling coming from? I’ve always been thrilled when Michael finds somebody—even that asshole, before I knew what he was really like—but tonight, I’m floundering.
Out of nowhere, Ian says, “You think he’s having a good time?”
My head snaps toward Ian. “Huh?”
“Michael.” He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “What?”
“I’m just, uh…” Surprised you’re thinking of him too. I clear my throat and shrug. “I hope he’s having a good time. God knows he deserves it.”
“Yeah, he does.” Ian’s expression hardens a bit. “And God help that vet if he doesn’t treat him right.”
That protectiveness sends a tingle right through me, and I fidget to mask a shiver. “No shit.”
“It sounds like he will, though. My fingers are definitely crossed for him.”
“Mine too.”
Ian eyes me. “You don’t sound all that enthusiastic?”
“I am.” My face burns. “Is it wrong that I’m going to be kind of disappointed when Michael moves on?” I cringe at my own words. “I mean, the sooner he’s in a good place, the better, but…”
“I know what you mean.” Ian takes my hand, and a little smile works its way onto his lips. “I think we’d both be lying if we said we haven’t enjoyed being with him, particularly now that it’s not so rough on him anymore.”
“True.” Why doesn’t that explanation feel like enough? “I guess it has been pretty fun for all three of us, especially the more he’s recovered.”
“It has.” Ian grins. “Let’s face it—our sex life is better than it’s been in a long time.”
I can’t really argue with that. We’ve been having more sex lately than we have for the past few years, and it’s been absolutely smoking hot. Not that it was ever lacking, but lately it’s been better. Just like our marriage—nothing has been missing all these years, but tonight it suddenly feels like there is.
Shame turns my stomach. It’s just an adjustment, that’s all. There is absolutely nothing missing in my marriage.
“Damn,” Ian says. “How is it already quarter to ten?”
Where is Michael now? Are he and Dr. Klein—
No, no, no. Don’t need to think about that.
“Time flies, I guess.”
“It always does.” Ian kisses my temple. “We should head to bed. Some of us have to be up at the crack of dawn.”
“Sucks to be you,” I say with a halfhearted laugh. “And what the hell? It’s not even that late yet.”
“Uh-huh. But if we go to bed now…”
Oh.
Oh.
Ian’s alarm startles me awake. I usually sleep through it, or if I wake up at all, it’s not for long, but this time, he may as well have kicked me.
As he always does, he slips out of bed almost silently and goes into the bathroom to take a shower and get ready for work. That’s my cue to start drifting off again. He’ll wake me briefly with a kiss good-bye, murmur “I love you” in my ear, and then he’ll leave me to sleep until my own alarm screeches.
Except that drifting-off part isn’t happening. At all.
I listen to the shower come on. A few minutes later, it turns off again. The faucet runs. His razor clinks against the edge of the sink.
Fuck. I’m not going back to sleep, am I? With as much time as I spent wide awake last night, I could’ve used that extra hour or two of sleep, but it’s not happening. Might as well get up.
Rosie is still curled up on Ian’s pillow, and Ariel is sprawled across the foot of the bed. I carefully pull my legs out from under her so I don’t wake her up. She’s not much of a morning dog, though, and just grumbles and fidgets a little.
Sitting on the edge of the mattress, I rub my eyes as if that’ll actually banish the fatigue. At this hour? Not likely.