Trying

by Heather MacKinnon

  I shrugged and handed him the plate, standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, not knowing what to do with myself.

  Thankfully, Bryson took pity on me. “Why don’t you head into the living room and get comfortable. I’ll finish up in here and be right in.”

  I shrugged again and did as he suggested. When I got to the living room, I quickly folded the blanket I’d used last night and stacked it along with my pillow on the far end of the couch. I looked around the room and noticed it could use some tidying. There were crumbs from the crackers I’d eaten yesterday, and watermarks from the drinks I’d had in here.

  I knew Bryson would give me an earful if I tried to clean, so I did my best to ignore the mess, and instead, curled up in the corner of the couch and turned the tv on. A few minutes of mindless programming later, Bryson stepped into the room, carrying a mug of tea. He placed it on the table and took a seat on the cushion next to me.

  I shifted uncomfortably at his presence. I’d done it to myself though, by leaving the blanket and pillow on the other end. He had no choice but to sit this close.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him lean back and rest his arm along the top of the couch, only inches from my shoulder. I forced my eyes back to the screen and willed myself to get over how close he was. How I could feel the heat of his body from where I sat. How I could smell his soap in the air between us.

  “What do you wanna’ watch?” Bryson asked, thankfully distracting me from thoughts I shouldn’t be having.

  Or should I?

  He was still my husband. But things were so strained between us, it was hard to remember what roles we were supposed to play. Was I allowed to lust after him? Could I lean into his body and let his arm wrap around my shoulders like he’d done thousands of times?

  I didn’t know the rules, and it was driving me crazy.

  “Mack?”

  I whipped my head in his direction, realizing I hadn’t answered his question. “Oh. Um. I’m not sure. Anything you’re in the mood for?”

  He shrugged and turned to face the tv again. “Is there anything recorded we need to catch up on?”

  We.

  Like we did anything together anymore. Like there even was a we left.

  I flipped through menus until I pulled up our recorded shows.

  “Woah, how do we have so many Criminal Minds?”

  I shrugged but didn’t meet his gaze. “We don’t watch tv together anymore,” I answered quietly.

  “Huh.” He reached up and scratched at his scruffy face. “I guess we don’t, do we?”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t think he needed one. He knew damn well how little time we’d spent together.

  Or maybe he didn’t.

  Maybe the days had blurred for him and he really hadn’t noticed how much he’d missed. Maybe he didn’t realize how far we’d drifted with his eyes always stuck on a screen in an office somewhere. Maybe he’d been as oblivious as I’d been painfully aware. Was that even possible?

  “Why didn’t you watch any of these episodes by yourself?”

  My heart beat once painfully in my chest. Like it was reminding me it was still there.

  I opened my mouth and gave him the truth. “It didn’t feel the same without you.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him turn to face me, but I kept my gaze locked on the television. We stayed like that, fighting a silent battle of wills until Bryson sighed and ducked his head.

  I decided to throw him a small bone. “You up for watching some serial killers?”

  He chuckled once. “Serial killers sound great.”

  We spent hours watching episode after episode. We took one break while Bryson retrieved pizza from the delivery man that he’d ordered on his phone. And then another when that pizza made a second appearance for me in the toilet an hour later.

  It was a quiet day. One filled with less hostility and awkwardness than any of the recent ones before it. It was an easy day. Where he was just Bryson, and I was just Mackenzie and neither of us were in a relationship that was barely holding on by a thread. Instead, we were just two people, enjoying a marathon of one of our favorite shows and eating pizza.

  I must have fallen asleep on the couch at some point because I awoke when cool sheets hit my skin and Bryson retracted his arms from around me. Without thinking, I grabbed his hand and tugged.

  And in that hazy place between wakefulness and sleep, I asked my estranged husband for just one thing.

  “Stay.”

  My eyes were still closed, but I felt the bed dip beneath his weight as he crawled between the sheets next to me. His hand found mine, and he squeezed it three times before sighing.

  And just before I lost all sense to the alluring nothingness of sleep, I heard him whisper, “Always.”

  Chapter 30

  It was late in the morning judging by the light coming through the blinds and I noticed two things immediately.

  One was the soft snoring of the man lying next to me, and the other was the heat of his hand that was still wrapped around mine.

  I carefully rolled over until I was facing him and took my time exploring his features. His brows, darker than the dark blond color of his hair were soft and high on his forehead, a contrast to how they drew down into a frown so often recently. His full, dark pink lips were parted slightly as he breathed slow in sleep.

  He was so handsome it made my stomach clench as I scanned his face. The urge to lean over and kiss his soft lips was almost unbearable. I remembered how silky his hair always felt and longed to run my fingers through the messy strands covering his forehead.

  He stirred in his sleep and I dropped my gaze to our hands. How we’d managed to sleep through a whole night with our fingers locked like this was a mystery to me. I usually tossed and turned a lot in my sleep, but I guess I’d slept deeper last night. More restfully than usual.

  “Hey,” Bryson croaked softly.

  I looked up at his face and caught the small smile on his lips as he squeezed my hand. Just once this time. Not like the three pumps he gave it last night, saying in our silent way that he loved me.

  I wondered if he remembered doing it or if he was asleep by then. Maybe it was just a reaction? Something he’d been used to doing and still did out of habit. But, neither one of us had told the other that we loved each other whether verbally or not, in so long. I couldn’t remember the last time one of us had squeezed the other’s hand like that.

  “Morning,” I whispered back, willing myself out of my head and into the present.

  He reached toward me with his other hand but stopped short just inches from my face. His eyes searched mine as if he was asking permission to touch me. He must have found it because his fingers finished their journey and brushed a few strands of hair off my forehead.

  “How’d you sleep?” he asked.

  I shrugged as nonchalantly as I could, all the while my insides were buzzing and tightening at the intimacy between us.

  It felt new.

  Like we were doing this for the first time even though we’d been together almost a decade.

  “I’d love to get some cleaning done, but I’m sure you’ll object to that.”

  “You’d be right,” he smiled. “I’ll clean whatever you want cleaned. Just tell me.”

  Bryson and I had always balanced the household chores between us, so him offering to clean wasn’t completely out of the ordinary, but it did surprise me. Tidying and cleaning the inside of the house had usually fallen on my shoulders while most of the outside duties fell to him.

  “Well, the living room has been used a lot recently. It could use a quick wipe down and a vacuum.” There was more that I could list, but that was at the top and I didn’t want to push my luck.

  Unexpectedly, he pulled our still-joined hands to his mouth and placed a soft kiss on my knuckles. “Consider it done.”

  I was shocked speechless. His tender display of affection was sending my insides into a tailspin and I didn’t kno
w what I would say even if I could find my tongue.

  “And I talked to your parents yesterday and asked if they’d like to have dinner. So, if you’re up for it, we can go there later.”

  Words suddenly resurfaced in my mouth. “You called my parents?”

  He nodded, his face serious. “We haven’t been by enough recently and they miss you.”

  “What about your family? We barely see them either.”

  He shrugged. “You know I’m not as close to them as you are to your family.”

  “But, why call them?”

  His eyes fell from my face to study the sheet beneath us. “I realize now how shitty it was for me to send you to Thanksgiving dinner without me, so I wanted to make it up to you.”

  “You’re just realizing this now?” I asked suspiciously.

  His hazel eyes met mine, the center of them so green with just the smallest bit of brown around them. “No, I’ve known for a while, I just didn’t know what to do about it.”

  My heart squeezed with his confession. A part of me knew I’d been hard on him and that he hadn’t meant to do a lot of the wrongs I’d perceived, but my hurt had been too strong. This confirmed for me that he actually got it. That he realized he’d hurt me and was doing something to try to fix it.

  This meant more to me than he could know. One simple call and a request for a family dinner was more profound than any apology he’d ever uttered.

  His eyes continued to scan my face, and I knew he was looking for a reaction. I squeezed the hand he was still holding. “Thank you. I’d love to go to my parents’ for dinner.” To most it probably seemed insignificant, but to me, it was progress.

  His smile stretched across his face and his eyes lit up. “Sounds good. I’ll get started on breakfast if you want to take a shower.”

  “You don’t have to make me breakfast,” I told him halfheartedly. Despite the changes he was showing me, the urge to take care of myself was still deeply ingrained.

  He kissed the back of my hand once more before finally releasing it. I missed the warmth immediately.

  “Of course, I do,” he said simply.

  I watched as he sat up in bed and stretched his arms over his head, his plain white t-shirt riding up in the back and exposing his golden skin. He didn’t work out like he used to when we were younger, he didn’t have the time, but he was still lean and muscular. When he stood, I saw he was only wearing boxer briefs and I willed myself not to look at his perfectly rounded ass, but I failed miserably.

  “Enjoying the view?”

  My eyes jumped to his as my face heated painfully. “I… what?”

  He chuckled softly, but his eyes were serious, and dark as they roamed down the length of my body. I watched his throat bob with a swallow before one side of his lips tilted into a crooked grin. “Nothing. I’ll go get started on breakfast. Come down when you’re ready.”

  When I was finally alone, I let out a big gust of air and felt my tense muscles slowly relax. I shook my head and climbed out of bed. I was acting like a horny teenager and I needed to cool it. Sex with Bryson would just complicate an already sticky situation. We needed to think with our heads and our hearts, not our libidos.

  The water of the shower running down my overheated body did little to alleviate the ache between my legs. Images of the last night we’d spent together flashed through my head while I washed my body and hair. My thighs clenched as I remembered how good it had been between us. It was passionate and raw and unlike our usual lovemaking, but just as fulfilling. And hotter than any other time I could remember.

  When I was finished showering and dressing, I found Bryson in the kitchen, still in his tight t-shirt and boxers, just finishing cooking. His eyes found mine before slowly raking down my body and back up again.

  Knowing we were going to my parents’ later, I’d dressed up a little, opting for a floral sundress and strappy sandals. I didn’t think it was anything special, but the heated look in Bryson’s eyes said differently. I cleared my throat awkwardly from the doorway and his gaze snapped back to mine. His lips stretched into a strained half-smile before he looked away.

  “Breakfast’s done,” he called over his shoulder as he plated my eggs. “I’m going to go take a shower while you eat.”

  He carried the plate over to where I sat at the table and I looked up with a frown when he remained hovering over me. His jaw was tense, and his eyes were uncertain. Finally, he sighed and leaned down to press his lips against my temple.

  I froze in place while my stomach flipped violently inside me. My lungs constricted, and I stopped breathing all together while he straightened back up. Without moving a single muscle, my eyes darted to his to see conflict written all over his face.

  “I’ll be back down in a few,” he finally said before turning on his heel and leaving the kitchen.

  The moment I heard the upstairs door close, my body finally relaxed, muscles unclenching and breath returning to my lungs. I remember complaining internally about how he only kissed me on the head and not the lips or face anymore, so why did this feel so intimate? Was it because there had been zero contact between us for so long?

  I don’t know how, but it felt like our first time all over again. Like he was building up the confidence to kiss my lips, like he had almost ten years ago. My head was chaos as I choked down my breakfast. How could a single kiss to the side of my head send my thoughts into such turmoil?

  After breakfast, Bryson insisted I curl up on the couch while he cleaned the room. I snuck glances at him as he dusted the media console, wiped down the coffee table, and finally pulled out the vacuum. No matter how hard I tried to concentrate on the e-reader in my hands, my eyes were continually drawn to Bryson.

  Was it normal to find a man cleaning so sexy? I watched closely as the muscles in his back and shoulders extended and contracted while he ran the vacuum over the carpet. My belly tingled, and I squeezed my legs together, hoping to create enough friction to alleviate the ache, but it was no use.

  I’d done some research and apparently it was perfectly normal for a pregnant woman to experience an increased sex drive. The problem was, I wasn’t in a normal situation. I couldn’t just throw my husband a seductive smile and let him lead me up to the bedroom.

  Things were way more complicated than that. And sex would only serve to further complicate things. The most I could hope for would be to sneak away for a moment and take care of the throb between my thighs on my own. I cursed myself silently for the missed opportunity in the shower this morning. Maybe if I’d indulged, I wouldn’t be staring at Bryson now with my tongue practically hanging out of my mouth.

  “See something you like?”

  Bryson’s voice snapped me out of my lascivious thoughts. “Huh?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t press the fact that he’d just caught me staring. Again.

  He unplugged the vacuum and began winding up the cord while his hazel eyes stayed locked on me. “I was just wondering if you’d seen something you liked since you’ve been watching me all this time.”

  I cleared my throat nervously. “I… um… just wanted to make sure you weren’t missing any spots.”

  Bryson’s lips pulled up into a lopsided grin. “Is that the story you’re going with?”

  I turned my attention back to the discarded Kindle in my hands, my stomach clenching and my palms sweating. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Uh huh.”

  I resolutely ignored him while willing my face to cool off as Bryson finished up with the cleaning. When he was done, he took a seat on the cushion next to me again, despite the fact that there was plenty of space for him to sit. His arm rested on the back of the couch next to my shoulder and I was painfully aware of how close he was.

  Why was I being so awkward around him? This was Bryson. The same man I’d slept next to for almost a decade. The one who had seen me in more compromising positions than I cared to remember. I needed to pull myself together and stop acting so weird around hi
m.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  I shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

  “What time is your appointment on Wednesday?”

  I took out my phone and pulled up my calendar app. “It’s at ten– hey, wait, it’s Monday.”

  I don’t know how I’d lost track of the days, but it seemed I had.

  Bryson quirked a brow. “Yes?”

  “Why aren’t you at work?”

  “I took a few days off,” he explained nonchalantly.

  Bryson hadn’t taken a day off in years. Ever since he’d gotten promoted and started taking on more clients and more responsibility.

  He laughed at what must have been the shock written all over my face. “What?”

  “Bryson, you never take time off anymore.”

  He winked at me.

  Winked!

  “That just means I have a ton of vacation time saved up.”

  I attempted to pick my jaw up off my lap, but I wasn’t done with my questioning. “Why did you take off?”

  “You’re on bed rest.”

  “Which means I can’t go to work or do anything strenuous. It doesn’t mean I need a babysitter.”

  He shrugged and picked up the remote, focusing on the tv instead of me. “I thought you could use the help. Or the company. Maybe both.”

  There goes my jaw again.

  “How long are you off for?”

  “Through Wednesday,” he shrugged again. “Depending on what the doctor says, I might take the rest of the week off.”

  A week.

  He might take off a whole week.

  I could remember a dozen arguments off the top of my head that stemmed from him not wanting to take a Saturday off. And now he was offering to stay home for a week?

  My phone vibrated in my hand and I slid it open immediately.

  Mason: Where are you?

  My stomach dropped, and I snuck a look at Bryson. He seemed to be engrossed in the ESPN program he was watching, so I tapped out a quick response.