I thought he'd be thrilled, but the look on his face says otherwise. I had bought him a set of tickets to a boxing match this weekend in Chicago. He had a secret love for boxing that he didn't share with any other sport. So I figured he'd be thrilled by my gift to him—a gift I paid for with my very own, hard-earned cash.

His lips twitch, something close to astonishment glinting in his grass-tinted eyes. He peers down at the tickets in his hands and then back up at me, and then repeats the process. He's utterly speechless, and I'm assuming that's a good thing. But when I reveal the second half of my gift, something changes. I watch as a hint of warmth slipped from his expression.

"I thought you could meet Jamison in Chicago, and the two of you could spend the weekend doing bro stuff," I explain. But I lose momentum with my excitement when his face slowly falls.

I said something wrong. I know it. He was halfway to happy with the news at first, but somehow, I'd just ruined it, and I have no clue as to why. I'm aware he's not the biggest fan of Chicago. He doesn't like the hectic lifestyle or the pushy pedestrians, but I never thought it'd keep him away from watching a pro-boxing match.

"You and Jamison are still close, right?" I find myself asking, fearing that something had died in their relationship. They used to keep in touch constantly, but over the years, communication has become sparse.

Seth must see something close to panic on my face because I watch his expression soften—if only slightly.

"No, no, we're good." He tilts his head down, peering at the tickets between his fingers for a moment before glancing back up. "This is great. Thank you." A smile touches his lips, but it's lacking sincerity.

I suddenly regret everything about this decision. He's clearly not happy with the gift, and I'm wondering if it's due to his exhaustion. Surely he doesn't hate Chicago enough to miss a match like this. Maybe work is more hectic than he's letting on. Weekends are his only opportunity to catch up on anything—sleep included—and I just booked his entire weekend solid.

Good going, Merc.

I'm tempted to take back the gift and apologize for my thoughtlessness, but then I realize that I know Seth better than that. He doesn't mince his words. He says what he means—or he used to. Right now I'm not so sure, but I refuse to test my assumptions. He used to hate it when I second-guessed him. So, instead of badgering him on whether he's sure he really wants to go, I just let it be. He's a big boy. He could've said no if he really didn't want to go.

"Well, I already contacted Jamison to see if he was free this weekend," I tell Seth. "I didn't mention anything else though, so I'll leave that up to you."

Seth just nods, so I continue, "I'll take you to the airport, and Jamison will pick you up at O'Hare. From there you're on your own." I smile, clamping my hands together as a sign that I'm finished speaking.

"Sounds perfect," he says, shooting me another quick smile.

"Your acting skills have gone downhill," I tell him, half teasing and half serious. "Even if you're not over the moon about it right now, I hope you still have fun. You deserve some time off."

His eyes shoot to mine, an inquisitive heat radiating from his gaze.

"I do?" he asks, clearly stunned by my statement.

"Well, yeah," I tell him. "I mean, you work all day and into the night with these client dinners. I'd say you've earned a little time to yourself."

"Oh." His face falls. "Right."

And just like that, my guts are a twisted heap of angry unease. He didn't sound all that confident in his response, and I can only come up with one reason as to why...

He hasn't been working that hard.

These so-called late-night client dinners might very well be nothing other than a rendezvous with his mistress. The stress I've seen clouding his features has nothing to do with an overbooked schedule or a withering marriage. It's guilt. Right? It has to be. What else, if not work, could be eating at him to such an extent that his entire demeanor changes? He's a stranger to me.

I want to throw up.

"Uh, okay, well." My lips thin themselves into a tight smile. "I'm gonna get back to work then."

"Okay."

Now that I've been officially dismissed from this tense conversation, I spin on my heels, eager to escape before my emotions can paint themselves all over my face. But I'm not quick enough. Just as I'm opening the back door to flee to my workshop, Seth catches my free hand in his. He spins me around gently, his brows woven with concern as he takes in the water shimmering in my eyes.

"Thank you," he says, his voice low, nearly a whisper. I don't know what I see in his eyes, but it's neither disheartening nor reassuring.

I nod once, before aiming my thoughts on my previous task. Escaping. Unable to wait another moment, I pull my hand carefully from his and step outside. The door clicks shut behind me and I take brisk steps until I'm securely trapped in my shed.

I'm trembling. Adrenaline is coursing through me with the strength of a tidal wave. I feel like it's going to just burst through my veins, alighting my entire workspace with some kind of powerful light energy.

I clench my fists into themselves, digging my nails into my flesh. I can't imagine shooting adrenaline out my fingertips to be a very pleasant experience, so I crouch down on the floor, pulling my legs into myself. Hopefully, by tightening myself into a ball, I can prevent my emotions from exploding out of my body.

I don't cry. Minutes pass, and I do nothing but stare into the dim space around me. I didn't even bother turning on the light when I came in, and now the sun is going down. Pretty soon, I'll be sitting in a black hole. Funny, because as strange as it seems, I feel like I've been sitting in a black hole for months now.

I tilt my head back, letting it rest against the wall.

Think. Think. Think.

There's got to be some way of winning my husband back. Sure, tickets might have seemed like a nice gesture to him, but it's obviously not going to do the trick. I need to do something far more dramatic.

Thoughts trickle in, but none of them stick until a certain hunky farmer creeps into my memories.

Jackson.

———

It's Friday and I'm expecting another visit from Steve. I get the feeling that Adam has been badgering him about my progress, so he feels the need to babysit me whenever he gets the chance. It's seriously getting on my nerves.

"Don't you have work you're supposed to be doing?" I ask once I've let him into my workshop. I close the door and turn around to face him. My lips twitch in amusement, but I've got my arms crossed in a way that I hope comes off as intimidating.

"Yep," he says, shrugging off his jacket and laying it over a folding chair, "I'm doing it."

"Oh, so I'm your job?"

"No," he counters, "but I hired you to work for me, which makes it my job to ensure you do yours."

I nod once. "Great."

He plants himself in the folding chair he just blanketed his jacket with and then leans back as if preparing for a good show. I just sigh, plucking my safety glasses from the top of my head and shoving them back on. I shoot Steve one more suspicious glance and then cram my earplugs back in place.

Flicking on the table saw, I get to work slicing planks of wood into acceptable lengths and widths. Hours seem to pass without any effort at all, and I'm so on a roll that I barely notice that someone's knocking. If not for Steve nudging his head in the direction of the door, I probably never would have figured it out. I watch him stand as I shut the machine down and remove my gear.

He opens the door and I'm surprised to find Seth standing at the entrance. His gaze shifts from Steve to me, and then he smiles.

"Hey," he says, but I don't miss the way his fingers are twitching at his side.

"Hi," I answer, my lips involuntarily lifting upwards. "What's up?"

He looks at me for a moment and I get the feeling he wants to ask me something but doesn't know how. He clears his throat and leans forwards slightly, resting one hand on the doorframe.

"I brought lunch home."

"Oh." I'm baffled beyond words. Where has this considerate Seth been for the past several months?

"I didn't realize you had company, though." He glances at Steve briefly, before finding my gaze again. "Not sure I got enough for three."

"Oh," Steve chimes in, clearly surprised by Seth's concern over food. "That's perfectly okay. I should probably get going anyway." He turns to face me. "Good work, Merc. I'll leave you to it."

"Great," I say with a smile, and then just to rub in the fact that I don't need a watchdog, I sarcastically add, "you better not be back, Steve."

He laughs, shaking his head at my rather rude joke.

We've worked together long enough that I'm able to get away with it. Though, things weren't pretty in the beginning. Clearly, I'm not great at holding my tongue, and it got me into trouble with Steve a few times. He's used to me now, though. I think I've bulked him up a bit; he's not nearly as sensitive as he once was. I have myself to thank for that. Well done, me.

"Later," Seth says, lifting his chin at Steve in a manly farewell. Then he turns to face me, his smile dimming slightly. "Hungry?"

"Sure."

I trail behind him as he leads the way inside. The moment I step through the door, I'm tempted to break out into song. There's no way he got me tacos for lunch. No way! Because if that's the case, then I have no doubt he still loves me. He knows about my relationship with Mexican food, and he knows he will always come second to it.

"You didn't..." I say, an uncontainable smile nearly ripping my face in half. I'm so outrageously giddy that I'm half a second away from pouncing Seth and smooching as much love into him as possible.

My smile falters when he doesn't respond. He just removes four burritos from the to-go bag and then slides the rest of its contents across the table towards me. I watch as he turns and makes his way to the living room. Not a word leaves his mouth and I'm tempted to ask what crawled up his butt and had babies, but I don't.

Instead, I quietly carry my stash of tacos to the couch and drop down next to him. I mutter a thank you, and I watch his narrowed eyes flicker towards me. He nods in a way that translates to something as dull as a simple 'sure', and then his eyes leave mine.

I wish I was one of those girls who refrained from eating when emotions were high, but I'm not. Instead, I wolf down four tacos in fifteen minutes and then burp my appreciation. Seth doesn't even flinch.

Something bubbles beneath my chest, and before I can coax it into hiding, it's floating out of my mouth on a wave of rage.

"What's wrong with you?" I ask, my tone anything but polite. I'm genuinely ticked that he's treating me like some disease-ridden varmint. Why go through the trouble of kindly bringing me my favorite lunch, only to ignore me the moment we sit down to enjoy it?

His eyes don't even leave the TV screen, but I'm positive I see his shoulders tense. He's been waiting for this, and now he's prepared to let me unleash my frustrations everywhere so he can look like the reasonable one. I know him. He wants me to make a fool of myself so that he doesn't have to.

I groan, hating the sizzling energy between us. It's uncomfortable. Actually, truth be told, it's painful. So painful.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and then turn to face Seth, pulling my knees into my chest.

"What did I do?" I ask softly, hating the vulnerability in my voice.

I hear him huff out a sarcastic laugh.

"What did I ever do?" I repeat, my words slightly more heated and a lot more broken. I couldn't hide my heartache even if I wanted to. I was never a skilled actor. Seth was. And now I'm waiting for him to step off the stage and be honest with me.

"Tell me," he begins to say, "what do you think it was that you did?"

"Seth!" I hiss, tears threatening to fill my eyes. "Why can't you ever just be straight with me? Just answer the blasted question."

"You want to know what you did?" he asks, repeating my own question back at me. I nod, and he turns his body to face mine straight on. "Nothing."

"What?"

"You heard me," he says, some of the sarcasm and fire evaporating from his words. "You didn't do anything."

Sorrow begins to tickle my chest, and I take a deep, steadying breath. "Then what's the problem?"

He waits for a moment, and I watch him inspect the callouses on the undersides of his hands. He starts picking at one, and I can tell he's debating how to answer me. His eyes lift slowly to meet mine, a tenderness nestled deep inside the angry depths of jade.

"Why'd you buy me those tickets?"

I almost want to argue with him again, to tell him to stop dismissing my questions with questions of his own. But I don't. I breathe out loudly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

"I, uh," I pause, making sure to take in every expression on his face so I know exactly how he feels about my next words. "I wanted to make you happy."

His eyebrows lower, and he pinches his lips together. He definitely wasn't expecting me to be quite so honest. He's caught off guard, and for a moment I see sheer awe dance into his eyes.

"Isn't that what marriage is supposed to be about?" I question, not ready to let this conversation die just yet. "Giving up our own desires to please each other?"

He just stares for a moment before speaking.

"So," he starts to say, hesitation in his voice, "you did it purely out of wifely duty?"

"Yes," I say with an exhausted sigh, but quickly realize my mistake. "Wait, no. That's not what I—"

"It's fine," he says, pushing my words away with a wave of his hand. "It's good to know how you truly feel."

"Seth," I plead, "listen to me. I didn't mean it like that. Yes, I did it out of wifely duty, but that's only part of it." I scoot forward, hoping that getting closer to him will help us bond in some kind of way. Maybe the waves of emotion rolling off of me will somehow penetrate his thick exterior and he'll suddenly understand every feeling swirling within the cyclone of confusion dancing around in my head.

"Oh," he answers, any hint of enthusiasm from before has now vanished, "then please do elaborate." The sarcasm is back in full swing.

"I hate this," I suddenly say, defeat forcing my shoulders to slump and I fall back against the couch. "I hate what we've become. Is it so wrong that I just want us to be back to the way we used to be? Is it so wrong that I want us to be okay? Why can't we have that? Why are we suddenly so freaking complicated?"

My flood of questions comes to a screeching halt and the room falls deadly quiet. I peer up at Seth and quickly divert my gaze. Anger is flaring in his gaze with such force that I don't dare stare too long.

He's watching me, but he doesn't say anything. I feel like I've purposely just taken a sledgehammer to my own emotional barricade, and now I'm standing naked and vulnerable in front of a man who despises me. Now would be the time for him to utter those three simple words.

My mom used to tell me that those three words were the glue to a marriage. You make sure you say them daily and you make sure they come from the heart and nothing will be able to pull you away from your love. Unfortunately, life became distracting, and one day I realized we'd stopped saying the most important words anyone could ever say to another.

I love you.

A stampede begins forming in my gut, and it's headed right towards my mouth. I'm seconds away from blurting those very words to the angry man across from me, but before they can leave my lips, he's standing. I can't even register what has happened before he's already out the front door, his headlights flickering a farewell as he backs his truck out of the driveway.

And then he's gone.

I stare out the window, my eyes pinned to the road where I watched him drive away. I was mere seconds too late. Had I just spoken what was truly on my heart, tonight could have gone so much differently.

I trail a finger over my trembling lips, a tear kissing the rim of my mouth as I sit unblinking. My muscles don't work and I don't try to make them. I just sit and gaze unseeingly into the distance. In this moment, I'm not sure if I can even hear my own heartbeat. Even my mind is quiet for once and I realize that this is the first time I've ever truly heard silence.

I used to think silence was loud and heavy, but I was mistaken. Real silence is just that:

Silent.

It's an endless pit of emptiness, a deceptive wink of wickedness, and the eery lull of loneliness.