Page 24 of The Temptation of Truth
I snort out a laugh. “Torren King is engaged to the lead singer of Caveat Lover, remember? Long red hair? Voice like an angel? And Jonah Hendrix has a two-year-old with his girlfriend. Both of those very kind, verybeautifulwomen are also on tour. I met them, too. Trust me, you have nothing to worry about.”
He gives me the same playfulmmhmmI gave him, drawing another little laugh from me as my eyelids grow heavier with exhaustion. Silence stretches between us for long enough that I’m seconds from slipping into a dream world before his next question pulls me back to the present.
“Do you miss me?”
“Yes.”
My answer is immediate. I don’t even have to think about it. It tumbles out of my mouth like a natural reflex, and it’s not a lie. In this dark hotel room, with this giant, empty bed, I do miss him. I miss the comfort. I miss the security.
I don’t tell him that I didn’t think about missinghimuntil he asked, though.
“Do you miss me?”
“Of course I miss you. You’re my wife, and you just left me to fly across the country with some depraved rock stars.”
The change in his tone has my eyes popping open and my brows furrowing. We were having such a good conversation before. Now the guilt is back, and my body has grown tight with tension.
“I’m sorry,” I say, digging my fingers into the cool, softer-than-soft bedsheets and squeezing. “I just...I didn’t want to pass up this opportunity. You said you were okay with it.”
“I was. I am.” Brady sighs. “It’s just harder without you here. That’s all.”
I nod even though he can’t see me, and my voice drops to a whisper that sounds timid even to my own ears.
“I’m sorry.”
“If I change my mind, if I’m not okay with it anymore, will you come home?”
I want to sayno, but something else has me telling him the opposite.
“If that’s what you really want, I’ll come home.”
Brady goes silent for a moment, and when he finally speaks, his voice is quieter. “Would that be a selfish thing for me to ask?”
I want to sayyes.
Yes,it would be selfish of you to ask me to leave. Yes, it would be selfish to take something away from me when I’ve given everything to you.
I want to say it, but again, I don’t. Instead, I force a swallow and try to keep my voice from trembling.
“I don’t know. What do you think?”
Another long pause stretches that has my stomach roiling with nerves, and I halt my own breathing so I can listen more closely to his. He’s going to ask me to leave. I just got here, and now I’ll have to turn around and go back home.
My muscles grow heavier, defeat mixing with the exhaustion. I look at the empty side of the bed. The blankets and pillow are smooth and untouched. The room is peaceful, so different from the bedroom I share with Brady back home. I usually fall asleep to the sound of my husband watching sports highlights on his laptop. Tonight, it’s just quiet, and I was enjoying it. The thought of being alone, of being blanketed in silence, used to terrify me, but not tonight.
“It would be selfish,” he says finally, catching me by surprise.
“What?”
“If I asked you to come back, that would be selfish.”
“Oh.” I blink. “Okay.”
“I’m being an asshole.”
“No. No, you’re not. It’s fine.”
He sighs again, this time sounding more frustrated than tired, and I listen as he pours himself a cup of coffee. I don’t have to be there to know that he’s probably using the blueMr. mug we got as a wedding gift. He uses it every morning.
