Paper Bride ✔️ (Book 4 - DP Series - COMPLETE)

3. I'm Gonna Kill Him

I don't sleep the rest of the night. Instead, I curl up on the couch with a cup of tea and try to watch a movie. When I realize it's a romance, I quickly change the channel to some CSI sort of show. I'm not really watching it, but I try to. I try everything in my power to get my mind off of Seth and what he could possibly be doing right now. I refuse to cry anymore. I hate tears and I've had enough to last a lifetime just tonight.

I hear a car pull into the driveway and a cold dread wisps through my chest. It's nearly five-thirty. He's been gone for at least three and a half hours. Lot's can happy in that amount of time. I expect him to walk through the door with a pleasant smile gracing his face, or some kind of glow perking up his handsome features, but he doesn't.

He actually doesn't even enter the house for another fifteen minutes and I'm curious enough to flick off the tv and peer through the curtains. I try not to draw suspicion as I lean forward, pushing the sky-blue material slightly to the side and looking out the small gap.

My stomach sinks at the sight. Instead of anger washing over me, I find pity settling into the empty crevices in my chest that he's created. There he is, sitting in the driver's seat, hands on the steering wheel as he stares unseeingly at the dashboard. I watch as he rubs a hand down his face, shakes his head a few times—as if trying to wake himself up—and then swings his door open.

I hurry back to the couch, not too worried about him finding me up. Maybe he'll even regret getting caught sneaking out. My eyes follow him as he slides his jacket off and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. He looks completely exhausted—which could mean one of two things: our marriage issues are taking just as much of a toll on his sleeping habits as they are on mine, or the woman he was with didn't allow him to get any sleep. I cringe at the possibility of that being the reason for his shadowed eyes and tight shoulders.

It's not until he has kicked off his shoes and turned towards the living room that he spots me. He freezes, a hint of panic flashing through his eyes. Almost just as quickly, the panic has been replaced with weariness. I stare with shock as he sinks down into the couch next to me. It's so unlike him to purposely close the distance between us, but the action instantly wipes away all my suspicions. He sure doesn't act like a guilty man. A guilty man would be slinking around trying to avoid confrontation.

"Couldn't sleep?" I ask simply.

I see him peer at me from my peripheral vision, but don't take my eyes off the blank tv. I don't want to appear like I'm prying. I don't want him to see the doubt in my gaze. He watches me for several seconds before leaning his head back against the couch with a sigh.

"Nope," he says, his voice tired and raspy with sleep.

"Me either."

We stay silent for some time, neither of us wanting to break the blanket of calm that seems to have settled in the room. It's still tense, but the typical suffocating feeling is absent. Strange, considering that just moments ago I was mentally accusing him of adultery.

"Work stressful lately?" I risk asking.

He doesn't answer right away, and I start to wonder if he even will, but then he shifts on the couch, turning towards me slightly.

"Not particularly," he answers.

He's watching me again. I can sense it, and I carefully turn my head to catch his eyes with my own. Neither one of us speaks for a moment and I'm dying to understand what his face is trying to say to me. His expression reveals nothing. Actually, it almost feels like he's looking through me.

"What's wrong?" I ask, courage awakening from a dead sleep. I haven't asked that question in months, but for some reason, at this moment, it feels right.