Rend (Riven 2)

“But I don’t want to make him feel bad,” I’d told her.

“They’re your feelings,” she’d said. “Not truths. It’s up to Rhys to have his own feelings.”

Rhys was very much in favor of this idea, though I suspected that Rhys would have agreed to anything Susan suggested might help. He even went a step further and decided he’d tell me all the things he loved about me. I told him he didn’t have to and he said, “Doctor’s orders.” “That’s not what she said, and they weren’t orders,” I told him, but he had that stubborn look on his face that meant he wouldn’t be talked out of it.

Every morning now, Rhys told me how glad he was that he was married to me. Sincerely, without any hint of ax-murderer zeal.

During the day, he texted me sweet and silly little things he liked about me.

You’re such a good kisser.

Can’t wait to take a walk with you tonight.

You were so fucking hot last night I’m still thinking about it ;)

You’re so beautiful.

I thought of a place we should add to our list!

Max and I love you, with a picture of the two of them.

And sometimes, You’re mine, Matty. Don’t forget it.

We’re married. That means I’m yours forever.

The sweet ones made me squirm self-consciously, the hot ones made me blush madly. The ones where he said I was his . . . they filled me with a deep, hot, sense of joy that made me want to hide it away so no one could take it from me.

I thought I probably should feel ridiculous. After all, I was such a wreck that my husband felt he had to text me daily affirmations. But . . . I couldn’t bring myself to be anything but grateful.

I didn’t text back. Rhys had told me not to. “You can text me anytime you want,” he’d said. “But these are just for you. Just think about them and how much I love you. You don’t have to do anything.”

And at night . . . well, at night we went at each other like the world was ending. Sometimes I jumped him as soon as I walked in the door. Sometimes we made it to dinner only to find one of us on his knees under the table. Me, usually. Rhys was far too big to fit under the table. When we made it to the bed, we fucked every which way. Slow and intense, fast and intense, teasing and playful, teasing and serious, we took each other apart and put each other back together again.

I knew things wouldn’t go on like this forever, but I also knew I felt different than I had before. A little. Different enough that I had hope. For myself, for Rhys, for both of us. And I had another appointment with Susan just after Thanksgiving.

Now, a tinny voice came from near my hip. The phone.

“Oops,” Rhys said. “Uh. It’s my mom. I saw you coming up the drive, and I told her she could talk to you.”

“And you just kept her on the phone while you made out with me?” I punched him in the shoulder, and he gave me a lascivious wink and held out the phone. I shrugged my coat off and took it from him.

“Um, hey, Mona, hi.”

“Hi, sweetie. It’s so good to talk to you! Happy Thanksgiving!”

“Happy Thanksgiving. How are . . . everyone?”

“Great! I sent Morgan to the store before it closes to get her out of my hair because she was driving me nuts trying to help. Doug and Neil are throwing a football outside. They’ve been at it for a whole five minutes so I’m sure soon one of them will hurt themselves and they’ll come inside to watch football on TV instead. Sarah’s out there with them. I think she wants to play. Tommy’s building . . . something that I think just fell over. All’s well!”

I smiled at the picture she painted, and my mind added Rhys to it. Would he be outside playing football with his dad? Inside chatting with his mom? Terrorizing the kids? For just a moment, I wanted to see it.

“I, uh, I’m really sorry we didn’t make it. I—”

“Don’t worry, sweetie. Rhys told me all about how you begged to come visit us and he said no.”

“I—he did?”

“No, honey, I’m messing with you.” I snorted. “Anyway, you all have fun with Caleb. Tell him I said I expect an invitation to visit sometime. And tell that rock star boyfriend of his I wouldn’t turn down a ticket next time he comes through here, okay? You are having a real dinner, right?”

I assured her that we were, and wished her happy Thanksgiving again.

Rhys and I were bringing apple cider and pies, but Caleb had insisted that he had the rest of the meal under control.