“Marriage counseling is for people with cheating spouses. It’s not for people like us.”
That’s what Deacon told me when I worked up the courage to talk to him about it a few months ago. Then he insisted I was overstressed and promised to give me more back rubs and foot massages.
It made me feel like an awful, ungrateful wife because as much as I appreciated him offering those favors, it’s not what I needed or wanted. Before I could try to explain, Willow had burst into our bedroom in tears from a nightmare, effectively cutting our conversation short.
Never to reconvene again.
I just want to be wanted. And maybe it’s a weird stage I’m going through in life, or maybe I’ve been reading too many romance novels and set my expectations too high, but a traitorous little voice in my subconscious has been whispering, What if Deacon isn’t the love of my life?
As terrible as it sounds, it’s the reason I’ve continued to tuck money away from my part-time job. For that just in case I do the unthinkable and file for divorce moment.
So, I’ve continued cleaning the investment banking firm’s offices twenty minutes away in Wilmington, which isn’t hard labor, by any means. I’d started working there on weekends when I was a junior in high school, and they’d asked me to continue working for them while I was home on summer breaks from college.
Deacon calls it my “fun money” and has always insisted I keep it separate from our joint account, but I’ve never been the type to spend money on myself. At the rate I’m going, I’ll be able to cover the cost for all of Willow’s textbooks when she eventually attends college and even graduate school.
One bonus of working at the firm, though, is that I sometimes get to use my computer systems analysis degree to help out one of the execs with a snafu. Sure, it’s hush-hush since I’m not supposed to be privy to the inner workings of their network and whatnot, but when you grow up in a small town, everyone knows everyone’s business. You know who’s trustworthy and who’s a snake in the grass, just waiting to strike and double-cross you. Thankfully, I’m among those they deem trustworthy.
Deacon loops his arms around my waist. “Cash and I are golfing on Saturday morning down at Ocean Isle.”
I grimace. “I told you Kenneth asked me to come in on Saturday. And Dad’s got plans with Doc, so I need you to watch Willow.”
Deacon’s brows crease. “Can’t you take her with you?”
I widen my eyes in exasperation. “Deacon. You know I can’t.”
A sigh spills from his lips, laced with irritation. “Okay, sorry. I’ll tell Cash I need to cancel.”
Disappointment swirls within me, intermixing with frustration and sadness. His priorities have become so skewed lately.
Then, as if I’d simply imagined the trace of irritation from a moment before, his brown eyes lock with mine, and mischief shines in their depths. “Maybe later on tonight…” His soft lips sweep along my cheek before pausing at my ear as he murmurs huskily, “My wife’ll let me have my way with her.”
I hum a sound of approval even as I wilt a little inside. “That does sound tempting.” Because even though the sex has stayed as hot as ever, there’s still that disconnect, like something’s shifted between us.
What’s wrong with me?
I miss the moments we’d make love and his touch simply felt different. It wasn’t two people using one another to get off. It was a husband and wife who knew each other’s bodies inside and out. Even if it was a quickie while Willow napped, there was still a unique tenderness in each touch, as if he savored each moment with me.
Deacon leans back and briefly glances over at where Willow’s talking to Dad, animatedly detailing an anecdote from something that happened on the playground.
“Ready to show our girl what we got her?” I murmur.
“Absolutely.”
I clap my hands together, and Dad and Willow turn to us. “So we’ve been talking, and we all agree that you’ve proven to be responsible and have a good head on your shoulders for our special gift. Especially after getting straight A’s on your report card and now getting the Student of the Month award for the character trait of honesty.”
“A special gift?” Willow’s eyes widen, and she practically bounces on her feet with excitement. “Oh, Mama! What is it?”
A moment later, the look on Willow’s face is everything.
“A bow and arrow?” Wonder is etched on her face as she glances around at the three of us. “And a quiver, too?”
My father nods. “This here’s the perfect size for you, and we can practice more this weekend.”
Dad and his good friend, Doc Hogue, have been working with her for the past few months, using my old bow—the same one I’d started out with when I was her age—and Willow has really taken to it.
Willow clutches the new compound bow as if it’s made of gold. “Thank you so much!”
“Isn’t she amazing?” I murmur to Deacon. I commit her face—so animated and alight with happiness at this moment—to memory. This is one of those times I know I’ll remember for years to come.
Straightening when I suddenly realize what I forgot in the car, I turn to my husband. “I forgot the cookie cake in the car. I’ll be right back.”
“You want me to get it for you?” Deacon offers.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll be back in a sec.” Before I can take a step, Willow hurls herself at my waist, hugging me tight.
I smooth back her silky hair and smile down at her even though her face is practically buried in my middle. “Thank you so much for my bow and arrow, Mama.” Her voice is slightly muffled.
“You’re welcome, sweetie pie. I’m glad you like it.”
She finally raises her head and smiles up at me. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” I lean down to kiss her cheek. “More than the whole world and universe.”
She grins wider. “I love you most.”
I squint at her playfully. “One-upper.” She giggles and moves aside to hug and thank Deacon. I walk over and snag my car keys from behind the display case but I don’t get far before Dad stops me and pulls me aside, out of earshot of Deacon and Willow.
He lowers his voice, his expression sobering. “I want you to be extra careful and aware of your surroundings.”
I study his face, searching for clues, but come up empty. “What’s wrong?”
He glances over at where Willow’s with Deacon a few feet away, helping her arrange her arrows in her new quiver. “I already talked to Deacon. I didn’t want to worry you, but…” He scrubs a hand over his balding head.
Unease prickles at me, and I edge closer. “Worry me about what?”
“Some men have been nagging me about letting them”—he falters, as if choosing his words carefully—“use our shop for some of their business. Said they’d offer an incentive if we agreed.” His features harden, voice turning steely. “It ain’t the kinda business we want around here. So, I told them no. Again.” He draws in a shaky breath, blue eyes churning with worry. “But this time ain’t like the last. They told me I’d regret saying no.”