“So this isn’t new. How you feel about him.”
I blink. “I—what? Look, you know he and I dated in the past, and yeah, I’ve always felt something for him.”
“But not like this.”
That stops me in my tracks. No, not like this. Not even close.
Abruptly, though, Ian scoots his chair back from the table. “It’s three in the morning. We both need to get some sleep.”
“But what about—”
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” There’s still no anger or hostility in his voice. It’s still that same quiet resignation that cuts right to the bone.
He stands. So do I.
Sleep is a lost cause, but I follow him upstairs anyway. Maybe we’ll have one of those miraculous “I’m too upset to talk, but let’s fuck anyway” moments, and then we can talk a little more before we try to go to sleep. Somehow it’s always easier to see eye to eye when we’re both covered in the same sweat.
But Ian doesn’t even look at me. Neither of us speaks as we rearrange the animals and climb back into bed. I’m used to sleeping with fifty pounds of boxer in the middle. Now, we might as well have an entire team of sled dogs between us.
“Ian.”
“Hmm?”
I try to make out his features in the darkness. “I meant what I said. This doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“I know.” I pause, my heart speeding up again. “I love you.”
For the first time, I’m not sure if he believes me.
And deep down, I’m not sure if I blame him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Unsurprisingly, despite the late hour, sleep doesn’t come easy. When it does, it comes in fits and starts, and it’s fucking awful. In my dreams, Michael’s walking away again, and Ian’s right on his heels this time. I don’t know how many times I wake up in a panic and reach for Ian, and then fall asleep and do it all over again.
It’s the longest, most restless night I’ve had in years.
Asleep or awake, I can’t get rid of this feeling that my husband and my best friend are both slipping through my fingers, and I don’t know how to make it stop. Especially now that I’ve fessed up and told Ian the truth. The proverbial cat is out of the bag, and it likes me about as much as Rosie does.
My own sleep-deprived, overstressed, semi-delirious thought almost makes me laugh. Almost. I waver between sort of awake and not quite asleep, and exhaustion finally takes over, apparently, because at some point, the dreams stop waking me up and I don’t open my eyes again until my alarm goes off.
Ian’s already gone. That’s expected, of course, but something doesn’t sit right. I don’t remember him giving me a kiss before he left for work. There’s no way I would’ve slept through that. Not after last night.
That’s not a good sign.
There’s not much I can do about it at this point, though, except get out of bed, get dressed and pour enough coffee down my throat to make it through the day. Worrying and obsessing didn’t help me sleep, and it’s not going to help me work.
By the time I get to the office, it’s pretty clear that nothing short of a miracle is going to help me work. I’m absolutely useless. All day, I’m either struggling to stay awake or trying not to obsess over Ian and Michael and the conversation Ian and I need to have when I get home. Assuming he’s there. He wouldn’t overreact and just walk out, would he? Of course not. Ian’s the rational one. He’s the one who’ll want to talk this all the way through, no matter what. Even if he’s already made up his mind and has one foot out the door and a U-Haul on the way.
No, he won’t make up his mind just yet. Talk first. Decide later. That’s his MO. Now if I can convince my stomach to settle, maybe I can make it through the rest of the day in one piece. Or at least without puking up what little I’ve eaten throughout the day.
And of course, my go-to tic when I’m uncomfortable—playing with my wedding ring—is only making everything worse.
Good God. I’m a wreck.
When the two-thirty slump shows up, I’m done. Just done. I don’t usually play hooky from work, so hopefully my boss will forgive me just this once, and after a quick phone call and some lame excuses, I’m out of there before three o’clock.
All the way home, I’m on the verge of shivering even though I’m not cold. I stay in the right lane on the freeway, not because I want to drive slower than everyone else, but because I want easy access to the shoulder in case this nausea suddenly gets worse.
I make it, though. Up the driveway. Into the garage. Out of the car. Deep breath. Into the house.
Ariel greets me at the door, bouncing and wiggling as she always does, and she gets me to crack the first smile I’ve managed all day. “Hey, sweetie.” I tousle her ears. “You miss me?”
She whips herself in the sides with her tail, and when she spins around in her excitement, she cracks me in the back of the knee with it.
“Hey! Watch it with that thing!” I laugh and pat her side, trying to stay out of the line of fire as her tail continues wagging. “Come on, let’s go see—”