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

I swear I hear him say, “I don’t hate you, June. In fact, I think I’m falling for you all over again.”

Then again, it might have just been part of a good dream.

I awaken the next morning to the rooster crowing and the sun peeking in through the thin slits of Alex’s blinds. My hand flops next to me and I’m met with the cool and empty sheet next to me. I’m guessing he’s left for work already, so I pull his side of the sheet to my nose and inhale the familiar scent of my husband and the lingering scent of our middle of the night lovemaking.

Lovemaking, not fucking.

I can say that.

It wasn’t the raw, tension filled, battle of wills fucking like all the other times. Last night, was like five years ago, where he took his time with me, to make sure I was cherished and cared for—not that I couldn’t say that he wasn’t attentive before, but this was slower. Passionate. I could feel his true emotions for me, none of which were hate, but rather, the opposite.

As I stretch my limbs and take in the new day and realize I feel…happy.

Happy. It’s a feeling I haven’t truly felt in years. It’s been suffocated underneath the pain, sorrow, and fear.

There’s still one problem.

One we both choose to ignore.

I pull his sheet back to my nose, inhaling it again. Loving the smell of him as my mind taunts me, telling me it will soon come to a head no matter how much we want to move past it and live in a pretty rose-colored bubble.

But Alex likes me better in this rose-colored bubble.

 

At some point, I manage to make my way out of Alex’s bed and downstairs to make some coffee. When I arrive in the kitchen, I find the coffee pot already full and two blueberry scones set out in front of it. Along with a note with my name on it.

I flip it over and laugh.

 

Honey bear,

I know you like these, so no excuse to not eat! So fucking eat them.

Alex.

 

Asshole!

My Asshole.

I pick up the scones wrapped in the Mott’s Bakery wrapper. He remembered. I squeal as the sweet aroma hits my nose. I haven’t had anything from Mott’s in over five years.

Mott’s bakery was our favorite place when we were younger. Marion Mott has this cute little Bakery just on the edge of town and Liz would take us all every Sunday. Back when I could eat normally, I could eat five of Marion’s blueberry scones in one sitting and feel no shame. The fact that he had to go out of his way to bring these back to me before he went to work sings to my happy little heart this morning.

I make myself a cup of coffee with two creams and a sugar and take my scones back to Alex’s room. I curl his blanket around my legs and take a large bite of the blueberry scone. As the morsel hits my tongue, I moan as my taste buds come alive, enjoying every bit of the flavor because it’s everything I remember. I’m pulling off another bite when the doorbell rings. It’s only nine in the morning so I’m wondering who the hell it could be. I abandon my scone, much to my disappointment, and make my way back downstairs once again.

I swear if it’s Bookings again, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind. I fling open the main door, but no one is there.

I swore I heard the bell.

Then a fluttering tap against the glass catches my attention. There is another folded note, taped on the storm door with my name on it, but this one isn’t written out with Alex’s scribble. It’s slanted and messier and more familiar. With a shaky hand, I open up the door and step outside. I look around the porch and call out a nervous hello, but no one answers. I yank off the note and brace myself as I flip it open.

This is a warning sweetcheeks.

I’m here.

I’m close enough to smell you.

I’ll be back for you when it’s time.

As you know I always keep my promises.

I crinkle the note in my hand as my adrenaline pumps through my veins. He’s still here. He has to be.

“Deacon?” I yell as I rush to the edge of the deck. “I know you’re out there.” My eyes dart around the field, hoping to find any sight of him. The only answer I get is the chickens clucking and the breeze across my face. Of course, not my monster, but I feel him, and it just angers me more that he won’t show his face. I don’t want to keep chasing this bad dream. I want my bubble with Alex. I want fucking peace. And if I can’t have that, I wish he would just fucking take me, so I don’t have to feel like this anymore. “Why don’t you just come and get me, Deacon? Huh? It’s what you want?” My head drops to the railing and I know he’s not coming. It’s all a game. He loved playing mind games with me. “Why can’t you either just take me out or just leave me alone?”

I scream into the open field, hating the bastard for ruining everything for me once again.

I don’t want this anymore.

I’m so tired.

I charge back into the house and lock the door behind me. I’m fighting off tears as I storm upstairs. I don’t know what I’m doing, but before I know it, I’m getting dressed and heading out the door.

When I get into my car, I don’t know where I’m going or where I’ll end up. I feel myself running away