It was the fatigue talking. For both of them.
Soon things would settle down and they’d be back to normal and he wouldn’t feel like this, like he’d been scoured from the inside out. He would be totally fine and it wasn’t a big deal and—
“Don’t lie to me, Jor,” she said, sitting up enough for him to see her face.
He brushed a finger over her lips. “What’s that they say about eavesdroppers?” He forced himself to smile. “That they won’t like what they hear? I’m fine, sweetheart,” he added lightly, needing her to know that it was . . . and it would be. But more than that, he knew he didn’t need to add his hurt feelings to her burden. Especially when it would all be fine. He’d get over it. “Though what’s not fine is you thinking that your body isn’t beautiful.”
A roll of her eyes. “It’s hard to feel beautiful when you’re a cow.”
Opening his mouth to protest, he didn’t manage to actually get that protest out before she covered his lips with a finger.
“That’s not in the sense of I’m fat and disgusting—though I won’t lie and say that I love all the new stretch marks and sagging bits, especially when you seem to only grow more handsome as the years go by—but I feel like a cow with all the feedings. No”—a shake of her head—“not just that. It’s this sense of my body not being my own, like I’m standing in front of the mirror and seeing someone else.”
He squeezed her arm. “You’ve had a lot of changes since we got married. Getting pregnant with Carter and becoming an instant mom to Hunter, the new job, another baby. I feel like that would throw anyone for a loop.”
“But it’s not like you haven’t had any changes.”
“Don’t you see?” He sat up, tugging her up with him, heart full of so much love for her. “I didn’t start actually living my life until I saw you in that bar. I’m so thankful to have you, to have our family, our kids, even your friends.”
Her eyes went damp. “I’m so thankful to have you, too. I love you so much. It’s just . . .”
“Just what?” he pressed when she just trailed off.
“Just”—she bit her lip—“I just worry that you want that beach.”
He snorted, thinking of how delusional he’d been, selling his business, buying an island—an actual island. Jordan had wanted privacy and quiet, or so he’d thought. Because he knew himself well enough now to recognize that he would have been absolutely miserable.
“This life I have with you . . . it’s more than I could have ever imagined. I wake up every morning feeling so fucking lucky to be next to you.”
She sniffed. “Even if it’s being woken up at three A.M.?”
“Even if it’s being woken up at three A.M. paired with the sounds of a child vomiting.”
They both shuddered, remembering the worst throwing up incident of their marriage. At least, he figured she was remembering the same thing as him—avocado exorcist a la Carter.
“Even if your wife says something unforgivable?”
“Even if my wife is obsessing over something that isn’t a big deal,” he said, deliberately meeting her eyes. He believed the statement, too, even if it still smarted, because it wouldn’t be a big deal.
At some point, it wouldn’t be a big deal.
He knew it.
He just needed to . . . something. He needed to get some sleep, let some time pass, and the pieces would settle into place.
And it wouldn’t hurt so much.
And part of him would stop worrying that deep down he was like their fathers.
Because he wouldn’t let that happen, couldn’t let that happen. Not when he had so much. Not when he knew the worth of having Abby and Hunter and Carter and Emma in his life. Not when they both had so much more than the men who’d contributed half of their DNA to them. Jordan knew the worth of that, of the family they’d built, and wouldn’t ever take it for granted.
“I love you,” she whispered, hugging him tight.
“I love you,” he whispered back. “Come on,” he said, coaxing her down next to him, “let’s sleep before Emma decides she’s up to party.”
Abby giggled but curled up into him. “I shouldn’t be tired,” she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder. “I had two naps”—a yawn interrupted her statement—“today.”
“Sleep, sweetheart.”