Page 85 of Love Again

She sighs again. “It means you have to start realizing you don’t have to prove your strength to him. He already loves you for that. You don’t have to compete with him—he doesn’t want your competition. And when he does something for you, you don’t have to act like it’s nothing or that you could have done it too. He knows you’re capable.” Her smile is wan. “Don’t be like me. Don’t be weak.”

“What do you mean ‘weak’? You’re the farthest thing from ‘weak.’ You’re a rock.”

“Just like you’re strong and fearless when it comes to physical stuff, I’m that way when it comes to being responsible. But you and I have a lot of fear and this keeps people out.” She kisses my cheek. “You need to be strong enough to realize you don’t need to prove anything to him anymore. Being strong around him means being able to receive from him. You need to learn to do this, Devon. Just receive everything he has to offer.”

My thighs start to shake. Those are the exact same words Luke used, and though they sound strange coming from her lips, I realize she’s right. They both are. I don’t have to prove anything.

I have to stop being weak. My strength lies in letting him in.

I am terrified. “Do you know how many men I’ve slept with?”

Claire smiles at me. “Let me guess . . . one?”

That hot lump is making it really hard to speak.

Her smile is sweet and so loving I’m afraid tears will spill right now. “And would you have it any other way?”

΅

The bedroom is dark, but Luke’s even breathing is soothing. One hand lies across his chest, the other tucked under his head.

He is my husband. My husband. I shouldn’t have to keep reminding myself. I strip off my clothes and sit on the edge of the bed for a long time, my back to him. I imagine every inch of his body, every curve and every muscle. The way the sun glints and catches the few blond hairs in his stubble. His eyes when he looks at me. His mouth, hungry and satisfied at the same time. And his smell: wind and salt and something powdery.

I turn in the dark and slip in under the covers, naked. Warmth radiates from his body. I turn on my side to face him, one arm folded under my head. He’s facing the window, away from me. From this angle, I can only see the curve of his cheek and his jaw. He shifts slightly and swallows, and then there’s a sigh.

I touch his arm. I can tell he’s still running a low fever. He must hate this: not being whole. Not being well. And I know he’s impatient with himself.

I’m suddenly so grateful that he’s been patient with me. I rise slightly on an elbow and lean over him, and his breath is warm against my cheek. His lips are full, and I kiss him as he stirs.

Even drugged with sleep, he responds. His mouth is hot with fever. I kiss him deeply, my tongue trying to find every part of him. He drags a hand to my face and kisses me back, and then he drops it heavily on the bed.

I kiss his bare shoulder and tuck the sheet under my chin.

I’m asking for forgiveness in a way that is new and different for me.

I’m asking forgiveness with who I am as a woman, with my lips.

I love him.

Claire is right. It’s a miracle he loves me back.

΅

When the alarm on Luke’s cell phone goes off at three thirty in the morning, I groan, lean up on an elbow, stretch across his chest and stab at the “Dismiss” button. I’m surprised he doesn’t stir. Pressing a palm to his forehead, my stomach drops.

He’s burning up.

“Hey,” I whisper. “Wake up.”

It’s my voice that makes his eyes fly open.

He’s disoriented, though. “Yup. Up. You okay? You have a nightmare?”

“No, it’s our turn. We have to go surveillance.”

He struggles to sit up, and I know he’s in pain.

When he’s in the bathroom, the medicine cabinet opens and closes, and there’s the dice roll of aspirin in a bottle. I make coffee for the thermos while he’s busy. When he steps out, his eyes are bloodshot. Waving off coffee, he takes a big drink of water. We have a short discussion about him not coming but I know it’s useless.