Brady got the shower going, twisting his wedding ring around as he waited for the water to heat. Sam always took her rings off at night, something she’d started when her fingers got swollen from pregnancy and she was afraid they’d get stuck. At least she never removed her necklace—the ten-year wedding anniversary gift he’d given her a year ago.
Pulling his ring off, he ran his thumb over the inside, felt the comforting sensation of the inscription there.
“I take care of you, you take care of me.”
End of story. It was a cheesy line in a card he’d given her once, and since he’d been the one to buy their rings, he’d put it there, too. It was his promise on their wedding day. Sam had stayed, so he was going to take care of her.
He was still trying, all these years later, but he worried the actual end of their story was here.
He pushed his ring into place, pulled back the curtain and got under the hot stream. The nozzle didn’t go high enough to fit all of him, so he had to crouch in order to douse his head completely. He would’ve preferred a bath. The tub didn’t fit him any better than the shower, but it was more relaxing, and better than freezing his bare ass while attempting to rinse out shampoo.
He didn’t have time to sit in a tub, though, not with a family to take care of, two kids to send off to college eventually and a business to run. And real men didn’t take baths, right? Real men ripped their bathrooms apart and redid them with their bare hands, installed gleaming countertops and mega-sized tubs they said were for their wives but they secretly wanted for themselves. But Brady’s skills were with code, not construction, and Sam hadn’t wanted to spend money on a reno.
He rinsed out the shampoo, crossed his arms and watched the bubbles pool at the bottom of the tub. He hated how unhappy Sam was, but he couldn’t blame her. She’d had dreams—big ones she put on hold for her family, then abandoned for him. It was why he’d tried to change the channel so quickly last night. But she’d wanted to keep watching, and he hoped she hadn’t noticed how he’d tensed when she’d grabbed his wrist and given him an order.
If she did, she hadn’t said anything. She’d turned over and disconnected from him instead. He’d known she was crying, and he’d wanted to…what? Apologize? Kiss her? Anything to make her feel better, but he’d felt defeated, unable to close this gap. It was like there was an invisible force field down the middle of the bed, keeping them apart. He missed her, though, even with her right there next to him.
When had they stopped saying they loved each other? A year ago? Two? It was probably longer that things hadn’t been good, but it was the last time he could remember them being anything more than roommates. He tried to fix things by being the same goofy guy she fell for, but she didn’t like his jokes anymore.
It sucked, ’cause he was never good at talking. Making people laugh was easier.
Humor was how Brady functioned, how he dealt with his size. Most people were intimidated by his sheer mass, so he smiled as often as he could—the whole gentle-giant thing. Most of the women he’d dated before Sam were disappointed to discover he was just a big softie, but she hadn’t minded. She had control over him despite being over a foot shorter and had him wrapped around her finger as easily as their daughters did from the moment they were born.
He shut the water off, and the screeching pipes sounded like reality crashing in on him, like one of those cartoon anvils falling from the sky. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact cause, couldn’t hit it the way he worked a line of code, but somewhere along the way, he and Sam had fallen apart. And he didn’t have a clue how to fix it.
He dried off and trimmed his beard, then high-tailed it through getting dressed. Good thing he had his trusty collection of superhero T-shirts to layer under his assortment of flannel shirts, because it was Ice Planet Hoth-level cold out there. Throwing on his Empire Strikes Back one in homage to the weather, he threw his wallet and phone in his jeans pockets and went downstairs for his coat. Shoveling the front walk before the bus came would make Sam happy, but by the time Brady was inside and stomping snow off his boots, Allegra and Hope were already having to be separated.
“It’s not fair,” Allegra shouted from the front hall. “Why doesn’t Hope have a behavior chart?”
A lot wasn’t fair to Allegra, the first of which was having a younger sibling at all. It wasn’t fair that Hope got to be carried. It wasn’t fair Hope had so little homework. Wasn’t fair that she didn’t need a time-out while Allegra was in one more than basically anywhere else.
“Hope doesn’t have a chart because you’re both different,” Sam said.
Very politically correct. Hope didn’t need to be reminded to brush her teeth while Allegra was so distracted that if Sam reminded her to brush, she’d lose track of what she was doing by the time she got to the bathroom. Not a big challenge to figure out which parent she’d inherited that from.
“Now finish getting ready.”
Allegra tore through the house, not even seeing him as he walked down the hall. Hope, however, was sitting on the living-room couch and flipping through flashcards.
“Morning, Daddy,” she said placidly.
“Morning, munchkin.”
He bent to kiss the crown of her head, a fiery red that rivaled her mother’s. Their faces were almost identical but that was where her similarities to Sam ended. Hope had his blue eyes and was like him in all the ways Allegra wasn’t—silent in the face of confrontation and good at math. At four, she’d mastered number recognition and was now problem-solving on a second-grade level. A big bone of contention for her big sister. It was more than your run-of-the-mill sibling rivalry. All kids butt heads, but their arguing was one-sided.
He got why Hope acted that way though. Brady knew a thing or two about being lost in a sibling’s shadow.
When Brady entered the kitchen, Sam was making a plate of food for him.
“Man, it’s wicked cold out there,” he said. “Lucky Charms for breakfast?”
She paused and looked up. It was a joke from college, a game they used to play when they’d ditch the dining hall, eat sugary cereal and watch bad TV. Crammed into his twin-size bed, they’d dig their hands into the box and see who came out with a four-leaf clover marshmallow first. Sam’s grin would be wild when she did it, and Brady became addicted to that smile.
“Since when do we eat that?” she replied. “Frosting rots the kids’ teeth.”
“Right. I forgot.”
And bad thinking to open the morning with a joke. His attempt at humor last night had bombed like the Batman vs. Superman movie. Better to avoid an argument and soothe her ruffled feathers.
He took the plate of eggs and toast, poured himself a cup of coffee and sat.
“Thanks for making this,” he said, because he did appreciate what she did. And wasn’t there something else? “And for taking care of everything last night.”
He didn’t remember everything, specifically. Something about Allegra’s scarf and the trash that had been shoved aside in his mind once the support tickets started blowing up his phone. Having one of his clients hemorrhaging money hijacked his concentration.
“Finding the gloves on my own was easier than interrupting you.”
Gloves. That was it, gloves. “And faster,” he said, sipping his coffee and offering her a grin. “You always know where everything is.” It was a feat that truly amazed him. When he put something down, there was a fifty-fifty shot he’d never find it again.
She wiped off the counter and leaned back against it. She was tired—her warm brown eyes showed signs of exhaustion—but she still managed to look sexy in an old Boston University T-shirt and flannel bottoms.
“And you?” she prompted. “Did you take care of everything you were supposed to this weekend?”
Brady blinked. “Everything?” She was staring at him expectantly. Shit.
Sam crossed her arms. “The sitter posting.”
“Crap, I forgot. Sorry.”
“At least you’re not
cursing in front of the kids.”
Brady frowned. It wasn’t like he used that language on purpose. It was how they talked at work, and it wasn’t easy to switch gears. Trying to head off a fight, he went with logic. “Your parents haven’t put their apartment on the market yet. We’ve got time.”
Sam pinched her lips and exhaled heavily. It was a combination he’d learned to dread.
“My parents are the only steady babysitters the girls have ever known. This is going to be a hard transition for them, Allegra especially, in case you’ve forgotten that, too.”
“I haven’t,” he mumbled, his cheeks heating.
Once, Sam’s reaction when he got things wrong turned him on in ways he couldn’t explain, like in college when she’d spend an hour helping him with some book or historical fact and he couldn’t retain it. She’d smile and say they’d have to start over, and he’d need to shove his football jersey on his lap to hide the more-than-semi he’d be sporting.
Now her annoyance had turned into all-out exasperation.
Sam turned to the side and braced her hands against the counter. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t want to fight.”
His chest tightened, then loosened. “Me neither.”
She shook her head in that way she often did—the way that let him know she hadn’t meant to be so abrupt but was too worn out to stop herself. “You’re working. I shouldn’t expect you to do more on top of it.”
The sadness in her voice cut through him. She should expect more. She should expect the goddamn world from him.
“I’ll get the post done tonight. Promise,” he said, even palming his phone and putting a reminder in his calendar for it. “If not, you can put me in a time-out.”
She laughed softly, and a flare of happiness went off in Brady’s chest. No matter how shitty things got, hearing the sound of her laughter lightened everything. It was a drug to him—her happiness—and he’d do anything for another hit.
He glanced at the clock. Five minutes before the bus came. Five minutes to try to fix things. “What are you doing today?” he asked.
She rattled off her list, a host of chores including everything from stopping by her parents’ place to laundry to groceries to picking up Allegra’s new dance shoes. Brady marveled as he listened. He might run a business, but he had a whole team to help him there. She made this family run all on her own. She knew if they were low on toilet paper, when everyone’s doctor appointments were and how to make their favorite foods while somehow keeping them healthy.
She went up on her toes, stretching her supple body to put an unused juice glass back in its place. The move pulled her nightshirt away from her back, offering Brady a slice of skin in between the cotton and the edge of her pajama bottoms.
He adjusted himself and tried to think about something else, and not just because his kids were nearby. Even if they weren’t, he’d bet nothing would happen. Sam’s lack of interest in sex had been from the baby weight she’d gained. Brady never minded when she was heavier—he’d joked that there was more of Sam to love. To him it was a reminder of the years they’d spent building this family, the lives they’d lived. Her hips had seemed more lush back then, too, her breasts fuller. She’d stopped letting him play with them when she was nursing, and now that she’d lost the weight, he’d been waiting for the green light to go back there again.
She’d never given it.
They’d become platonic, disconnected in a sexless marriage. He’d taught himself to shut down his impulses, trying to find satisfaction with his right hand. But now, watching her move around, her messy red hair up in a bun, he wished he could get her even messier, wished he could reach for whatever she was trying to get, and after he’d given it to her, she’d hop up on the counter and take off her shirt. She’d tell him to kiss each tender nipple, then order him to the floor. Laughing, she’d comment on how desperate she’d gotten him, how she’d bet he couldn’t wait until his face was between her thighs.
Brady tore his gaze away from her, his cheeks blazing. He wasn’t supposed to fantasize like that. A real man didn’t want his wife to order him around, to let her take what she wanted and to revel in whatever pleasure he could give her. He was the ex-football player, the breadwinner, the dad of two little girls. He was supposed to be strong. Dominant. Like the men in her books.
He’d peeked at them once when she’d left her iPad open. After months of saying she felt fat, that the kids would hear, or one of the dozens of other reasons she’d given him, he never imagined she’d be reading, well, smut. And the men who filled those digital pages gave orders and grabbed fistfuls of hair. They were rough and aggressive, took what they wanted and commanded obedience.
That wasn’t him. And if that was what Sam wanted, there was no point in reaching for her at all.
It was ironic. A real flaw in his DNA. He knew a few strands different and he’d be more like the kind of guy Sam wanted. The kind who was forceful in bed and didn’t miss half of what she was saying because he had so much on his mind he couldn’t focus. It was like the information got stuck between his ears and his brain, which often had him standing stock-still and trying to recall what she’d asked, lowering his head in embarrassment when she had to repeat it.
Like right now.
“I’m sorry, what?” he asked.
Sam sighed and shut the cabinet door. “Never mind.”
“No, Sammy—”
“It’s fine.”
The roar of the bus yanked their gazes toward the window. Sam turned to the living room.
“Time to go,” she hollered, and then it was all hands on deck, Brady swallowing the remainder of his breakfast before shoving his arms back in his coat. He turned to look at his wife as she zipped their daughters’ jackets and whisked on their backpacks.
I want to make you happy. I’m sorry I suck so much at it.
He rushed the girls out the door, barely making it to the curb in time. Once they were on board and seated, Brady’s shoulders slumped with relief. He walked toward his car and glanced back at the house. Sam was standing at the kitchen window looking at the bus, but her phone was in her hand.
He took out his own phone. Typed the words “I’m sorry,” and hit send.
Her face shifted into a faint smile. A message came up on Brady’s screen.
“I’m sorry, too.”
His breathing went shallow—a sharp pinch that wasn’t from the cold. He wanted to type that he loved her, that he could still take care of her, but he was doing a piss-poor job at it anyway, and he was terrified she wouldn’t say it back. Even if she did, those feeble words weren’t going to stitch them back together. So he chose other words instead.
“Sitter posting today,” he typed as he got into the car. “I promise.”
“Thanks. Have a good day.”
He started the engine, then backed down the driveway, repeating a chorus of the words “sitter posting” in his head. He was going to fix this. He’d make things better for Sam.
He had to.
3
Sam watched the bus chug down the road and prayed she wouldn’t get a call from school today. She’d gotten up extra early to make a hearty meal, because Allegra managed better if her belly was full of good food, but it hadn’t helped at the breakfast table. Every day since Hope was born had felt like an apology. At least the hair-pulling and biting had stopped. Allegra couldn’t always manage her verbal aggression and emotional immaturity, but Hope sat there and took it, and Sam’s heart ached for both of them.
Being a stay-at-home mom didn’t mean she knew what she was doing. Sometimes she thought she was doing more harm than good.
Her smaller, doppelganger self, Hope was a smile wrapped up in skin. Born with Brady’s gentleness and bright blue eyes, she was soft-spoken and unwilling to fight back. Allegra was like her father in a different way—she had his golden-brown hair and was a bull in a china shop, crashing through everything around her. But she’d also inherited Sam’s eyes, as well a
s Sam’s tendency to speak her mind without thinking about the consequences.
And Sam had done exactly that this morning, snapping at Brady and being nothing short of mean.
He backed out of the driveway. Sam turned from the window and sighed. Another shitty morning when she was too tired, too impatient to be nice. He’d even shoveled without her asking, and she hadn’t even thanked him. Her fuse was so short, her cup so full, it took almost nothing to knock it over. It was so frustrating when he zoned out. He’d been in his own world again, blanking out when all she’d asked him to do was pick up Allegra’s prescription refill on his way home.
She knew she was only seeing the negative. It wasn’t worth fighting about. She could stop at the pharmacy herself later. But she was already feeling so invisible. Couldn’t he at least listen to her for five minutes?
He couldn’t, though, and there was a time when she’d been more patient with it. But having a child with severe ADHD was hard enough. Having a thirty-six-year-old husband who made jokes instead of dealing with his own shit made it even harder.
She got dressed, grabbed her gym bag and headed out into the cold. The air was teeth-grittingly frigid, and she burrowed into her winter coat as she waited for her car to heat up. At least the gym was only a short drive away. The local YMCA had plenty of classes, a decent workout area and a dedicated childcare space, which had made it easier when Hope was home with her.
A December baby, Hope had missed the kindergarten cutoff and had been home a year longer than planned. Junk food had become a staple by then, and Sam had been shocked to discover at a routine physical that she’d almost doubled her body weight. Certain her doctor was wrong, she’d gone to her closet only to realize she no longer fit into any of her pre-baby clothes. After sobbing on her bedroom floor, she picked herself up, dusted off her gym pass and started eating better. It had been a hard habit to get into, but she’d finally gotten herself back to the shape she’d once been in. Thank you, kettlebells.
Their Discovery (Legally Bound Book 3) Page 3