of the muscle car feeling utterly alone and abandoned, even though I’d just been fucked seven ways from Sunday by the man I loved. I watched his back as he ran one hand through his hair. Sex on the hood of his car hadn't been a stress relief for him—it had somehow created more anxiety.
Tears sprang to my eyes and I wiped them away. I slid off the hood and pulled on my pants then turned to look at him, still facing away from me.
"I'm ready," I whispered. He nodded once and then turned and we both got back in the car. Carter started the engine and we drove home in complete and utter silence.
Chapter Eleven
Monday morning we woke up and packed to leave. We were flying back to Boston and would be home early in the evening. All day Sunday an uncomfortable silence had fallen over us. The tension in the house was palpable as we went through the motions. I checked work emails, did some research on a story I had to write, wandered into the library, and leafed through some books. I even spoke to Cate on the phone for a while. She still had no idea we'd gotten married. And at this rate maybe she would never need to know. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't keep my mind off our fight and the angry fuck that had left Carter even more despondent.
I was sure Carter had overreacted but maybe I had offended him by bringing up his past in some way. I was so confused, I wasn't sure of anything anymore. And while Carter had only been in my life for a few weeks, he had his patterns, and lovey post-orgasm Carter was who I’d grown used to; somber post-orgasm Carter was new, and frankly, I was afraid.
I had been worried about going back to Boston, but now I was worried that Carter was worried about being married period. And frankly, maybe I was too. My brain was working in such a confused jumble; I'd lost my appetite and felt on the edge of nausea all day.
I’d gone to bed Sunday night by myself and I’d heard Carter slide in much later, once he thought I was already asleep. He didn't touch me, and slept facing the other way all night. I knew because I had been wide-awake, a softball-sized lump in my throat and an impossible ache in my heart.
When we boarded the plane Monday afternoon we settled into our respective seats silently. We had the same flight attendant as last time and she beamed when we stepped on the plane, and then her face fell when she picked up on the tension between us. She brought me a water and Carter a whiskey. Alarms immediately went off in my head when I recalled the last time we'd fought and he'd had whiskey. Did I need to be concerned that he was headed down that path again? Should I ask him not to drink it? Should I tell him not to? I was his wife, I thought that gave me some sort of right to say something, but I didn't know how he would take it, so I didn’t.
I put my headphones on, cranked the music and opened a book on my tablet. I normally had no problem getting lost in the words, but for the entire flight I read the same few sentences over and over as my mind wondered about my future.
We landed that afternoon at Logan International. Carter had nursed a few glasses of whiskey on the flight, so he wasn't drunk like he'd been last time, just quiet. Parker met us at the airport.
"To Beacon Street, sir?" Parker questioned once we'd gotten in the car.
"Chandler Street. Thanks, Parker." My eyes shot to his profile. Carter was taking me home. He was dropping me off at my apartment after we'd gotten married and spent two blissful weeks in Aspen. I glanced at the shimmering ring on my finger. It suddenly felt so heavy, like a burden weighing me down. Thoughts raced through my brain at the possibilities and implications of those two words.
Chandler Street.
I kept hearing his emotionless voice repeat them over and over. My heart was pounding wildly in my chest and I felt like I was going to choke; my anxiety had instantly
Tears sprang to my eyes and I wiped them away. I slid off the hood and pulled on my pants then turned to look at him, still facing away from me.
"I'm ready," I whispered. He nodded once and then turned and we both got back in the car. Carter started the engine and we drove home in complete and utter silence.
Chapter Eleven
Monday morning we woke up and packed to leave. We were flying back to Boston and would be home early in the evening. All day Sunday an uncomfortable silence had fallen over us. The tension in the house was palpable as we went through the motions. I checked work emails, did some research on a story I had to write, wandered into the library, and leafed through some books. I even spoke to Cate on the phone for a while. She still had no idea we'd gotten married. And at this rate maybe she would never need to know. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't keep my mind off our fight and the angry fuck that had left Carter even more despondent.
I was sure Carter had overreacted but maybe I had offended him by bringing up his past in some way. I was so confused, I wasn't sure of anything anymore. And while Carter had only been in my life for a few weeks, he had his patterns, and lovey post-orgasm Carter was who I’d grown used to; somber post-orgasm Carter was new, and frankly, I was afraid.
I had been worried about going back to Boston, but now I was worried that Carter was worried about being married period. And frankly, maybe I was too. My brain was working in such a confused jumble; I'd lost my appetite and felt on the edge of nausea all day.
I’d gone to bed Sunday night by myself and I’d heard Carter slide in much later, once he thought I was already asleep. He didn't touch me, and slept facing the other way all night. I knew because I had been wide-awake, a softball-sized lump in my throat and an impossible ache in my heart.
When we boarded the plane Monday afternoon we settled into our respective seats silently. We had the same flight attendant as last time and she beamed when we stepped on the plane, and then her face fell when she picked up on the tension between us. She brought me a water and Carter a whiskey. Alarms immediately went off in my head when I recalled the last time we'd fought and he'd had whiskey. Did I need to be concerned that he was headed down that path again? Should I ask him not to drink it? Should I tell him not to? I was his wife, I thought that gave me some sort of right to say something, but I didn't know how he would take it, so I didn’t.
I put my headphones on, cranked the music and opened a book on my tablet. I normally had no problem getting lost in the words, but for the entire flight I read the same few sentences over and over as my mind wondered about my future.
We landed that afternoon at Logan International. Carter had nursed a few glasses of whiskey on the flight, so he wasn't drunk like he'd been last time, just quiet. Parker met us at the airport.
"To Beacon Street, sir?" Parker questioned once we'd gotten in the car.
"Chandler Street. Thanks, Parker." My eyes shot to his profile. Carter was taking me home. He was dropping me off at my apartment after we'd gotten married and spent two blissful weeks in Aspen. I glanced at the shimmering ring on my finger. It suddenly felt so heavy, like a burden weighing me down. Thoughts raced through my brain at the possibilities and implications of those two words.
Chandler Street.
I kept hearing his emotionless voice repeat them over and over. My heart was pounding wildly in my chest and I felt like I was going to choke; my anxiety had instantly
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