“You’re not okay,” I whispered across the island, breaking the silence.
“I’m fine,” he argued, running a hand over the scruff of his beard.
“You just woke up screaming.”
“Won’t be the last time,” he muttered, stirring honey into his tea.
“That’s not fine.”
His jaw ticked as he slid the honey over the granite so I could use it.
I caught it, then added some to my own cup, shaking my head. “I hate this—”
“You don’t have to sleep next to me.”
I drew back, despite the soft tone he’d used. “Let me finish. I hate this for you. What happens in the nightmares?”
Terror flashed across his face before he managed to mask it. “Let it go.”
“If you don’t talk about it, you’ll be a wreck by the summer.” I rounded the island and put the honey back into the cabinet.
“I’ll handle it.”
I leaned against the counter, facing him. “No, we’ll handle it, because that’s what people do when they’re in a relationship. But I won’t be on tour to make you tea, and I can’t help you if you don’t let me in.”
He turned, folding his arms across his chest. “I let you in.”
“No, you don’t. You let me skim the surface, but you never let me in.” I was starting to wonder if he ever would, or if this was as close as he’d let me get.
“I bought you a house!” He backed up a step.
“Nixon.” I groaned, putting my hand on his chest. “Baby, that’s not what I mean.”
“How much more in do you want?” he challenged, pain mixing with leftover fear in his eyes. “I bought you a house. With me. You want my bank account? I’ll get you a card. You want a key to the penthouse? Wait. You already have that. You want your name plastered on my chest in front of a hundred thousand fans—”
“I want you to tell me why you have nightmares!”
“I want you to tell me why you can’t ignore your email for twenty-four goddamned hours! Neither of us sleep, but mine is an issue and yours is what?”
“Work!” My head snapped back, but I kept my hand on his chest, right over his pounding heartbeat.
“You promised to take the week off,” he reminded me.
My mouth opened and shut a few times before I sighed. “You’re right. I did. I’m sorry. But that still doesn’t touch the reasoning behind your nightmares.”
Deflect. Deflect. Deflect. I’d gotten pretty used to Nixon’s go-to move in a fight.
“Let it go,” he begged, his voice dropping.
I glanced at the powerful chest under my hand, the physical proof he was healthy. Then I blinked at the clock inked beneath my fingertips. 7:12. “I thought you said this was your first tattoo?”
His brow puckered. “It was. Why?”
“Huh.” I lifted my eyes to his, but I couldn’t see much in those dark depths in this lighting. Go figure, even his eyes are hidden from me. “That’s the day you went to rehab. Talk about a coincidence.”
The way his muscles tightened told me it wasn’t. “Zoe. Baby.” He took my face between his hands. “Let it go. Please.”
“I don’t understand.” I was missing something. A piece of a puzzle that was all one color and mixed in with a thousand just like it.
“You don’t have to.” He shook his head gently.
“Yes, I do!” I snapped, the frustration bubbling over and pricking my eyes. “That’s part of being together. Helping each other. I’m supposed to understand. I’m supposed to help you.”
“Why?” He retreated again. “Why can’t you just accept that there are things about me you don’t get to know? Things I don’t share with anyone?”
“Because I love you!” I shouted, my voice breaking.
His face slackened.
“Because I love you,” I repeated, this time softer as my vision blurred. “Because I fell for you, and now I’m yours. My family is yours. My hometown is yours. My entire career has been wrapped around yours. And it hurts, Nixon. It hurts to know I don’t even merit a visitor’s parking placard in your head when you own me, body and soul.” I batted away the tears that streaked my cheeks.
“God, Zoe.” He moved toward me, tense with an emotion I couldn’t name.
I stepped back, but he followed, holding my face between his hands and brushing the tears away with his thumbs.
“Don’t cry. Fuck, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“I can’t help it.” I blinked rapidly, hoping to make