Her Reluctant Husband by Erica Marselas (summer beach reads txt) 📗

"You always wake up with this sudden jolt. Like the boogeyman is chasing you in your dreams."

"Because he does," I admit, pulling the sheet up to my chin. Deacon’s letter has really gotten to me. Deacon was angry, manic. It’s nothing new, but this one was different than the others. I’ve always been waiting for him to jump out of every corner and ruin my life, but with his letter today, it felt sooner than ever.

"You want to tell me what it was about?"

"No," I whisper. I want nothing more than to release myself from the chains Deacon holds me to. Let the words burst and flow and set me free, set us free. It’s all I want, but the thing is, the words get knotted in my throat.

Nobody would believe you.

"Wow. Okay. I figured me being here was showing you I care. That I want to know.”

But you don’t, a little voice yells in the back of my head.

“It isn’t easy to talk about, Alex,” I mumble. “Why do you have to be an ass and take it personally?” I deflect and curl myself away from him. “And you’re holding back from me too. You left the studio without a word after I finally opened up to you. So, you know, just because we’re fucking and getting along for the most part doesn’t mean we need to start talking about our feelings.” I close my eyes tightly, hoping that sleep will find me again.

He sighs and the bed shifts and creaks from his shifting weight. I think for a moment he’s leaving, but then he scoops me into his arms.

“Do you remember that one summer I found you in tears crying in the closet?”

“Yeah, I remember, I’m actually surprised that you do.”

He tightens his grip on me. “I can’t forget it, June. You told me I couldn’t help you then either. You pushed me away soon after that too.”

I draw my finger along the curve of the dent made in the sheet, not sure what to say.

“Listen, I’m not trying to make this about me but there are times I wonder…” he murmurs before he trails off.

“Wonder what?”

“If I had done more for you or taken you with me when I left home after your dad died. Would things have been different? Could I have saved you?”

“Saved me?” I mumble, shaking my head. “From what?”

“From the drinking, the depression you were in…” He brushes my hair with his fingers.

“From the accident?” I finish for him.

His fingers halt in my hair and I feel him tense behind me. “Yeah.”

“Things would have been different if my dad never died and my mom didn’t leave me here.”

“Or if I didn’t leave you either.”

“You grew up, and it wasn’t your responsibility to take care of me, so why would you take me? I had Kathleen and Liz.” I shrug. “Hell, if you think about it, if my parents never brought me here in the first place, I guess your life would have been perfect.”

“That’s not where I was trying to go with what I was saying.”

“No? Sounds like it.”

“Come on, June. You can’t tell me you don’t think this way sometimes? I think Liz and I let you down.” He traces his lips across my shoulder. “We tried, but not enough. We should have seen how much you were hurting and done so much more. Especially with the drinking.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I murmur. They tried, but I was trapped in Deacon’s web. There wasn’t much anyone could do to untangle me from it till he released me.

“I can. It’s just been bouncing around in my head since you’ve come back into my life. If you weren’t so young…I…we could have been…” He freezes and sits quiet, all while my brain buzzes wondering where he’s going.

“What?” I finally ask after what feels like an eternity.

“Never mind. Forget what I was saying,” he says gruffly. “Just go back to sleep.”

“Okay, I will,” I snap.

The sound of our light breathing fills the room and I know I’m never going to be able to fall back to sleep just trying to lay here. The two of us are so terrible at just trying to convey what hurts the most. It’s all sitting on top, waiting to be peeled back, but neither of us is ready to scrape off the pain. It's as if it will expose us both.

“You asleep?” he whispers.

“Does it sound like it?”

“Think this is what real married couples do? Have a spat in bed then stew in silence till one finally passes out? Or smothers one with a pillow.”

“Probably.” I grin a little. How I want to smother him daily sometimes.

Smooth strands of my hair tickle my shoulder, as Alex pulls gently at my locks separating them into three sections.

“Why red?”

“Why not? I had purple for a while.” I even did jet black for a bit just for the change. To feel like someone else for a while, but it didn’t work. I was still me, covered in pain but with a new hair color.

He sighs against my back. “You’re avoiding.”

I am. I don’t know what else he expects from me. “I needed a change. Even one as simple as hair.”

“I like it.”

“It’s like I’m a different person, right?”

“Hush.”

I roll my eyes and let him continue braiding my hair. It’s soothing. This is the Alex I love. My Alex.

“You braiding my hair reminds me of the times when you didn’t hate me,” I say softly and he tenses behind me but doesn’t say anything.

When I was little and I would cry after my mom and dad would leave me here in the summer, he would pull me to his lap and braid my