Page 61 of Love Wells Kept

“No, no. I only took the class because of a girl I had a crush on at the time, but at least it’s finally serving a purpose. I don’t have a single artistic bone in my body.”

He pulls back to get a good look at my face, and when his eyebrows bunch tightly together in confusion, it dawns on me that I momentarily forgot he no longer knows everything about me. I have to re-share all the parts of myself I was nervous he wouldn’t like back when we were kids—what if he doesn’t like them now?

What if he doesn’t like me now?

Amid the trauma of his accident, and the fear he wouldn’t survive, then the intense caretaking role I stepped into with hesitation, it didn’t occur to me that after all this, he might not like me. For years, I’ve made teasing comments about whether or not he wants to stay married to me, and for the first time, I’m afraid of what his response would be.

I speak back up before he has the chance. “Yes, I said a girl I had a crush on. I…uh…forgot you don’t know that about me. I like both men and women, I’ve been with both, and I married a man but that doesn’t mean I don’t still find women attractive—I would never cheat on you or anything, though…God, now I’m rambling.”

The rain’s slowed to a spit, and I’m tempted to go stand in it with my flushed face held toward the sky. Very few people know I’m bisexual—not because I’m ashamed, but because when you’re a woman who’s been married to a man for over a decade, it doesn’t come up in casual conversation often. And this is the first time I’ve had to share this part of myself with anyone in a long time.

After a few too many heartbeats of silence, Jackson clears his throat. “You’ve been with both?”

“I have, yeah. A long time ago, obviously. I’m not a cheater. You’re the only person I’ve been with since I moved to the ranch when I was twenty.”

“I didn’t ever cheat or do anything fucked up like that, right?”

“You still have a dick, don’t you?” I know him well enough to know the thought of looking at another woman that way has never even crossed his mind over the last sixteen years. “You didn’t cheat. You weren’t with anyone before me, either.”

“Damn.” His gaze flicks over my face, nostrils flaring. “My wife’s been with more women than I have.”

The laughter that bubbles up in my chest surprises both of us. He has no idea how much weight he lifted with a simple touch, a look, and zero judgmental undertone in his words. Every cell in my body aches to wrap my arms around Jackson’s neck, let him pull me into his lap, and kiss my husband like it’s our first time all over again.

My free hand holds his jaw, the sharp bristle of facial hair a delicious scratch on my palm, and I search his expansive brown eyes. They’re the warmth of black tea in the middle of the night.

Just kiss him. Do it.

I’ve been fighting the urge since our almost-kiss. If I’m being honest, I’ve been fighting the urge since he woke up from the coma. I’m tired of being patient, waiting out a miraculous recovery that—according to Jackson and his therapist—might never happen. I want my husband back, in every sense of the word. Maybe a kiss would do exactly that.

I’m so close to finally giving in, silently begging for him to close the space between us, when Odessa’s voice radiates from deep within the house. The raucous yelling of Mom! pulls me from the moment. I gather my hair in my hand, then let it fall with an exhausted sigh.

“I should go see what all the screaming is about. Rhett’s probably being a minor inconvenience and Odessa’s being a touch dramatic about it.”

Our kids are miniature versions of Jackson and me, I swear.

“Date night—tonight at two o’clock?” If I was the one needing to fall back in love with him, I’d already be a goner thanks to the arrogant smile curved on his lips, crinkling his eyes. “I’d offer to come pick you up, but you’ll already be sleeping in my bed, so…”

Jackson

Though I’ve been home for well over a month, I haven’t stepped foot upstairs before tonight. Granted, until recently, I wasn’t leaving the bedroom unless necessary. My hand wraps around the smooth light wood of the stair banister, and I head up the long, wide staircase to read the kids a story before bed.

I didn’t admit to Kate exactly how disconnected I feel when it comes to the kids. It feels easier to find that footing with Kate again—maybe it’s that the feelings never stopped on her end. But there’s also something about her that makes me feel comfortable opening up to her. Even if there was nothing else, the wanton look in her eyes and the way her touch sends heat through my entire body would catch my interest. The chemistry between us is pretty damn undeniable.

While they’re mostly sweet and cute, Odessa and Rhett still feel a lot like random kids in the house, and the guilt over my detachment—whether not immediately having that bond with them makes me the world’s shittiest father or will screw them both up permanently—only makes me less likely to engage with them. Almost like pretending it’s not a problem will make those fears disappear.

But my therapist told me to make room for the guilt, sadness, anger, all of it. Sit with the kids while they’re doing things, even if I feel detached. Take it slow. Don’t expect that paternal bond to happen overnight.

Rhett’s waiting impatiently at the top of the stairs while I take my time, being cautious to not get dizzy on the ascent. His hair’s still wet from the bath, and there’s a bit of toothpaste dribbled on the front of his Spider-Man pajamas. Once he’s confirmed I’m nearly to the top of the stairs, he darts into one of the bedrooms, and the sound of the kids bickering soon follows.

The moment I walk into the room, I’m hit with, “Dad-uh, Rhett jumped onto my bed and hurt my ankle.”

Odessa’s sitting in the middle of her hot-pink bed, hands tenderly wrapped around her injured ankle.

“I said sorry,” Rhett protests. He’s sitting cross-legged at the end of her bed with a sheepish look on his face.

“You aren’t sorry.” She thrusts her foot toward his face. “Kiss it better.”

“Gross.” He chops at her ankle with the narrow edge of his flattened hand.