Bait: The Wake Series, Book One(119)

When our clothes were removed and we were situated inside the large porcelain tub, facing each other again, I almost felt like I could do it. I almost felt like I could say the words.

I wanted him. Not Grant.

I wanted to be Casey's wife.

I wanted all of it. This house. His kids. A life here. But I didn't know how to do either, how to make it all happen or even say the words.

Instead, I asked him something that had been haunting me for over a year. “Why didn’t you ever sleep with me? Why didn’t you ever just stay?” My voice was low and somber, but my question sort of was, too. It always bothered me that he never wanted to wake up with me in his arms.

He reached for a large cup that was positioned on the tub shelf beside us and filled it with warm water. He poured its contents over my head, wetting my hair.

“I never wanted to leave, Blake. I had to.”

“But why?”

As he sunk the cup again to refill, he paused his work to think about what he was about to say.

“Because it hurt too much to wake up with you and then not wake up with you. Does that make any sense?”

His answer did make sense. I remembered that first morning and I ached to feel that with him again. That morning was a gift, and had I known how dear and precious it was, I would have paid attention to every single small detail and laid there with him for hours.

“I understand. I'm sorry I did this to you. To us.” This time I looked back at him, giving him the focus he deserved. Sometimes I felt like I was looking at him, but not allowing myself to see him. It was much too hard not seeing him when I needed to most.

“Will you sleep with me tonight?” I didn't mean to sound as desperate as I did; it just came out that way.

He looked torn. Then poured the water over my head.

“Are you really going to stay here?” he asked. I took the cup from him and repeated what he’d done to me, pouring the water over his practically bare head.

“I want to, if that's all right. I know you're going through a lot. I don't want to be something else to add to your stress. I’ll be in San Francisco for a little while. Maybe a month. I don't know about every night, but I know I want to stay tonight.”

Truth.

“What does Grant think about you staying here for so long? Did you have a fight?”

We didn't have a fight, we rarely did, and I’d left before it was possible. If I would have waited for him to get home from work and told him face to face about my trip, I wouldn't have been able to get here as fast.

So I only sent him an email, which was normally how we communicated during the day.

Yes. I emailed my husband that I was leaving for a month. It was cold, heartless even. It felt disgusting, but I did it. Guilt ate at me as I typed it, but ease replaced it when he sent one back like it was the customary way to do that sort of thing.

I got his reply when I was waiting to board the plane. He wasn't happy about me being gone for so long, but I was often gone for weeks. He asked me if I could come back, for a weekend, in the middle of my trip and I agreed. That seemed to be enough for him and he replied to travel safe and be careful.

I never felt like he missed me. Not the way Casey did.

Every time I saw Casey after a long break, his face would split into a wide open smile, his teeth were so perfect and bright, and he'd come to me like he couldn't wait another minute for me to walk all the way to him. That always felt so good.

“No, we didn't fight. We never really do.”

How weird was that? Something that should have been a good thing in a relationship was such a bad thing for our marriage. There was never a fight. No passion. No desperation. It just was.

“Not like we do,” I said and tried to smile.

“We do know how to fight, don't we? It's becoming a second language fighting with you. Over and over and over. I think by now we're almost fluent.”

I dipped the cup under and tipped the whole thing on him, more on his face than on his head.

“I miss your hair, Casey. I don't like it this short.” I couldn't help myself and I inched closer to him. Wrapping my legs around his waist and rising up higher on his lap. His hands found my backside and pulled me even closer. I could feel him growing hard between us. My hands moved over his short hair and my thumbs ironed out the fine red wrinkles on his forehead that the sun had made and time had creased.

I touched his face and lips.

“I miss your mouth.” And then I kissed him chastely on the side where his lips met in the corner. “I miss the way your eyes undress me the moment you see me.” I dotted kisses along his jaw to his ear, feeling him harden even more under my lap, his hands firming their grip on my ass. I said into his ear, “I miss the way your breath feels in my ear. I want you, Casey. I always want you.”