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Mom’s theatrics pull a snort from Faye and a giggle from Mabel.

Owen returns with the ice cream and Dad gives him a clap to the shoulder. “Just in time to save the day, my man.”

And that does it. Both my kids are smiling, so I’m smiling.

Still, I reach into Faye’s lap for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze until I catch that twitch to her lips.

That’s the moment that all is right in my world.

38

WHAT AM I AFRAID OF?

JUNE 2021 – 31 YEARS OLD

“Oh, you're home.” Faye shoots me a blinding smile over her shoulder, and I do my best to return it with zero trace of the wince that seems to live ever-present in my expression lately.

Even through the pressure that threatens to burst apart my skull, I don’t miss her beauty. It’s nice out today, blindingly nice. The kind of nice that would have had me cracking a beer and whisking my wife in her pretty peach sundress onto the back deck to listen to the river slosh over rocks—if I didn’t have this fucking headache.

“Yeah,” I grunt. “I decided to call it an early day.” Translation: I couldn't move through the pain in my head anymore.

“That's fantastic,” Faye says. "I'm just getting the lasagna in. There's no sports tonight.” She twirls, bare foot, from one counter to the other. She pulls a bottle of red wine from the back of the counter, giving it a wiggle as she flashes me another smile. “I'm pouring myself a glass of red wine. Gonna soak up the sun and peace.”

Normally, I’d laugh at her dramatics. I know she loves watching Owen play soccer, but I also know it’s nice to just have a night in. A night where we’re not on the run to here, there, and everywhere.

But tonight, just the thought of wine sends a hot prickle of sweat beading the length of my spine.

I ignore the hot prickle as I lean in to kiss her, smoothing her hair back from her temple as I do. I inhale the scent of her—the sweetest peaches and vanilla, warm and spicy, and mine.

It's the scent I catch at random moments in the day, and I think of her.

I want her.

My vision blurs. I blink it clear and reach up above her head to the cabinet above the stove. I pull the bottle of Advil down this time, extra strength, pouring two into my hand.

Faye's smile falls, and I fucking hate that I've taken it from her. That I'm the reason it falls at all.

Her brows pull together in concern. “You've still got that headache?”

I shrug. “It comes and goes.”

That is mostly a lie.

I've done all I can think to do. I've seen the chiropractor. I've tried three new pillows. We're going on six weeks with the new mattress. Faye loves it. I'm not so sure. I wake up sore, unrested, with a headache I haven't been able to kick for months.

A headache that's just getting worse…

“Maybe you should go back to the doctor.” I hate the fear I hear in her voice.

“He said to give it a couple weeks.” My fingers twitch to put pressure on my temples. “I just started that new nasal spray.”

They say it's a sinus infection, and I'm inclined to believe them because the nasal spray and the antibiotics did work in the beginning. And then it came back.

But I've read online that sinus infections can be a tricky bitch. This one is definitely that.

“I don't know, Tate.” She twists her fingers together into a knot of anxiety she can't hide from me. “I think you should go back in.”

“I will.” I lean in to press another kiss to her temple. “I'm going to lay down, just for an hour.”