On Hart's Boardwalk (On Dublin Street 6.7)

“I should have talked to you,” I whispered, feeling guilty that he’d had to hear what was going on in my head about our marriage because I was confiding in a girlfriend instead of him.

“Aye, you should have. I felt like someone stabbed me in the fucking stomach. ‘I hate the way I feel about myself when I’m with him.’ That’s what you said.”

Tears of anguish filled my eyes. “Nate, I’m sorry I said that, I didn’t mean—“

“You did mean it,” he choked out before I could say another word. “Because that’s how I’ve made you feel.”

For a moment, we were silent as I fought for the courage I needed. Finally, I just forced the question out. “Why?”

He understood what I was asking and shrugged sadly. “I’ve felt lost since Peetie died.”

“Our problems started before Peetie, Nate. They just got worse when he died.”

“We didn’t have problems, for Christ sake,” he snapped. “We’ve got our kids, and we both have jobs that take up way too much fucking time. So we let our relationship slide by the wayside for a time. Every couple goes through that. We’ve been through it before. But we always say enough is enough and find our way back to each other.”

Anger flushed through me. “But you have never shut me out emotionally before. Even when we were too busy to sit and have a long chat or pay for a hotel room on our lunch hour for hot sex, we always had affection and openness. You don’t touch me anymore unless it’s to roll on top of me, come, and then go to sleep.”

Nate flinched, the muscle in his jaw flexing as he looked away.

“Have you met someone else?” The words were out before I could stop them.

I wished I’d stopped them.

The look my husband threw me could have felled a lion. Furious, he threw off the duvet and launched himself out of bed. I watched warily as he paced alongside it, then turned to face me. It was almost as if I could feel his anger scorch my skin.

“See,” he said, his voice hoarse. “When I heard you say that to Jo yesterday, I wanted to put my fist through the wall. But thinking about everything during the night, I talked myself into the idea that you’d only voiced unbelievable, fucking stupid shit like that because you were emotional!”

I winced at his shout and hissed, “Do not wake the girls.”

His hands curled into fists at his side. “Liv,” he warned.

My answer was to get out of bed and face him with the mammoth bit of furniture between us. “It is not stupid of me to wonder if my husband, whom I barely recognize as my husband, is fantasizing about someone else. I know you would never cheat. That doesn’t mean there isn’t someone out there you have feelings for and are confused over. It would make sense. I mean anything is better than the idea that you are no longer attracted to me and have fallen out of love with me.”

Nate stared at me incredulously. “After everything we’ve been through . . . how could you think any of that?”

He was hurt. Deeply. And it gave me pause. “Then explain. I’m not going insane, Nate. I feel like you’re a million miles away, and I’m not making that up in my head.”

“Do you really hate who you are when you’re with me?” he asked, sounding defeated.

“I don’t like how insecure I feel right now. I don’t like that I’m finding ways to blame myself for your defection. I don’t like that I’m standing in front of mirrors in my underwear sobbing because I feel fat, unattractive, and old, and wondering if my hot husband sees me the same way. That isn’t the kind of role model I want to be for my girls, and I know that turning forty might have something to do with it, but not all. Because if you were my Nate, the Nate I married, I would feel beautiful and sexual and needed and wanted. And I can’t go on feeling invisible around you.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, clearly on the defense. “Are you saying you’re thinking about leaving me?”

“Are you saying I’m no longer needed and wanted?”

“I love you!” he suddenly roared and I flinched. “I lost my fucking friend and I lost myself along the fucking way! Where’s my Liv? The Liv I married is compassionate, not fucking roasting me on the spit, blaming me for every fault in our marriage months after my friend dies!”

In that moment, I’m ashamed to admit that I forgot about our kids and I yelled back. “Cam didn’t shut Jo out! He turned to her! Because that’s what married people do! When something tragic happens, you turn to the person you love, Nate! You don’t turn away from them. So don’t stand there and turn this all on me! What does it say about our marriage, Nate? What does it say?!”

“So you want to leave me?” he cried, face red with fury. “You want to give up! Because that’s what it sounded like yesterday! Go then. Pack your fucking bags and go! But the girls stay with me!”

Agonizing pain and fury mingled. “You son of a bitch.”

“Mummy.”

We froze at the sound of Lily’s voice outside our door, our heavy breathing the only noise in the room. Lily hadn’t called me “mummy” in a few years.

“Mummy.” She sounded scared and so much younger than eleven years old.

I flew to the door, throwing it open, to find Lily standing outside it with fear in her eyes, while her little sister held her hand and glared at me.

“Oh babies.” I lowered to my haunches, tugging them toward me.

“Are you and Dad really mad at each other?” Lily whispered.

Guilt overwhelmed me.

My kids had been lucky. Nate and I had a passionate relationship, so of course the kids had heard us have disagreements, but those arguments very rarely involved an all-out shouting match and ugly, hateful words.

“Of course not,” Nate said above my head. Then suddenly he was on his knees by my side, one arm around me and one around the girls. I couldn’t help but stiffen under his touch but he ignored it. “Mum and I were just having a disagreement about something. But it’s nothing to worry about. We’re sorry we upset you.” He pressed kisses to their faces until Jan was giggling and pushing him away.

Lily, however, stared into his face solemnly. “You told Mum to leave us.”

Tears filled my eyes and I looked away.

He had.

He told me to leave.

He’d never told me leave.

“That was wrong of me,” Nate said, his voice thick with emotion. “Sometimes your dad says stupid stuff he doesn’t mean. And I’m sorry.”

I shot to my feet, not feeling very forgiving. “Come on, babies, let’s get you washed and dressed. I’ll take you out for breakfast.”

As I moved to usher them toward their rooms at the other end of the hall, Nate grabbed my wrist and stood up to face me. I reluctantly turned to him.

“We’ll take them out for breakfast.”

Realizing he was right, that we’d have to show a united front if we were to reassure the kids, I nodded, but I couldn’t meet his eyes.

While I got the girls ready, Nate washed and dressed in our room. I left the girls with him downstairs so I could get ready for the day. The entire time I’d felt like my insides were trembling. I tried to tell myself it was adrenaline and I was okay, but I felt like I was so very close to shattering into a million pieces.

Nate was avoiding the real issue between us—why he wouldn’t turn to me in a time of need—and it scared me.

Once I’d showered, I wrapped my hair in a towel and another larger one around my body and stepped out into the bedroom. I halted abruptly at the sight of my husband sitting on the end of the bed, clearly waiting for me.

His eyes drifted up my body in a way they hadn’t in a while. Like he was seeing me. Really seeing me.

When our eyes met, there was frustrated heat mingled with residual anger in his. “I should never have said that,” he said, running a hand through his hair. Then he slumped forward

, his elbows resting on his knees, as he stared at the carpet. “You know it would kill me if you left me. It was a stupid thing to say.” His eyes flew to mine. “Don’t leave me, Liv.”

The tears I’d been holding back spilled down my cheeks. “You left me first.”