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They were fighting. It was probably something stupid, but it meant an awful lot right then. She’d said something; he shouted something back. She froze for a second. What did he say?
“Ok,” and she turned, setting a hand on the doorknob.
A few days, two weeks, six months. Church couldn’t breathe. He watched it turn in slow motion. Say something. Stop her. Move. Scream. Something. Anything!
The light spilled onto the porch. It was pulling Tex with it. Or she was taking the light with her. They were both leaving him. He couldn’t breathe. Her boots crossed the threshold.
Six months.
His knees hitting the floor sounded an awful lot like the door slamming shut. He felt sick. He waited. To throw up, to scream, for the sound of an engine. The sound of the engine came first.
Then he screamed.
She faltered. Her foot on the clutch. Necessity, ready and willing. But the sound that echoed from the house buried itself in her chest.
His face had lost all its color when she reached for the doorknob. She had never seen him that terrified before. It looked like she had punched him in the gut.
She needed to get out of here and clear her head.
What if he wasn’t faking...?
He was so used to her leaving him. He should be used to her leaving him. He knew she’d come back, right? She’d come back. She couldn’t stay away.
“For better or for worse.”
Church ended up in the hospital when she’d left after Carolina’s wedding. What if he hurt himself? He knew better than to try to pull that bullshit, right?
What were they even fighting about?
She turned Necessity off.
He couldn’t even form a coherent thought to yell at himself. It felt like he’d just been shot in the chest. His cheeks were wet with tears. He was sobbing.
Tex was gone. Tex was gone. Tex was gone.
He couldn’t hear the motorcycle anymore. She’d left him. God, he was so stupid! Just don’t argue with her! You should know better!
Six months.
Unless she realized what a mistake it was to marry him, and then she’d never come back.
The door opened, but that couldn’t be right. Tex was gone.
Her voice in his head, “God, Church. You’re such a big baby.”
Just agree with her. Just fucking agree with her. “Yes. Yes, I know. I’m so goddamn sorry. I’m the world’s biggest baby, and you’re—” Gone .
And then there were arms around him pulling him against her and that was her scent and she was here and she was real and she came back.
He only cried harder, clinging to the cold leather of her jacket, afraid that she’d vanish if he let go.
He cried until he fell asleep. He fell asleep against her. He was such a drama queen. She was tempted to slip away and drive for the rest of the night.
He’d die.
She would still be here when he woke up.
He didn’t wake up while she moved him to the bed. Or while she climbed in next to him.
They were married, he was her’s, she had to take care of him. She vowed not to leave for a while, silently, to herself, in the dark. Teach him that he didn’t have to be afraid; earn some trust.
I do love you, Church. I married you on purpose.
She was still there when he woke up.