Evans
I take a private car service home from Barcode, the effects of the whiskey and the evening wearing me down. All I want to do is curl up in bed with Ciara and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. I wonder if she’ll welcome me into our bed or if she is still angry.
I close my eyes and lean my head back against the soft leather headrest, mentally replaying the end of the evening. Did I overreact with Elena, or was it just the whiskey and the stress? Elena and I, we’ve worked side-by-side for years, and I’ve never gotten a romantic vibe from her until tonight.
Maybe she’s really good at hiding secret crushes. Thinking back, she’s never talked about having a boyfriend or girlfriend, not to mention going on any dates. Was that because she liked me this whole time? Is she jealous of Ciara? If Elena had some sort of nefarious plan to get rid of Ciara so she can be with me herself, she would have had plenty of opportunity to cause trouble. She’s never told the press anything, and she’s always had my back.
People think money and fame make your life easier, but I sometimes feel like I can’t make any moves without being scrutinized. Maybe that’s how Ciara feels about our contract and me getting angry over her lunch with Luis. Maybe she feels like she can’t have a life of her own outside of mine. The thought fills me with sadness. I don’t want our life to be like that. We should be able to have our own satisfying personal lives while still being close and committed to each other. That’s what a marriage is to me.
Will Ciara be awake when I get home? I know that she has trouble sleeping when she’s upset, and says she has a hard time turning off her thoughts. Meanwhile, I basically tried to drink my pain away like some kind of bad country song.
Is she going to want to talk to me? What if she thinks I want to break up? Or what if she breaks up with me? Why can’t I stop thinking of the worst things happening? When did I get so pessimistic?
I was such a coward last night. I never should have left without saying anything. I should’ve been mature and walked right into the bathroom and talked to Ciara. I’m not used to so many emotional problems in my life. After Anne I was like the walking dead; I didn’t feel anything. When I met Ciara it felt like I woke up. She’s brought out the good in me, and I feel like our relationship has changed me for the better. I’ve become a whole person. And there’s no way I’m going to let my stupid, irrational, unfounded jealousy ruin it.
After the car drops me off, I quietly unlock the front door and step into the dark house. Everything is so still. I walk upstairs to check on Alfred, who is snoring in his crib, his little fists clenching and unclenching in his sleep. He’s so perfect; I can’t believe this is my child. I can’t believe I was part of creating such a beautiful baby. That’s what’s so incredible about birth: no matter how messy a relationship is, something perfect and innocent can come out of it.
With a stab of trepidation, I slip into our bedroom. Ciara is curled up beneath the covers of our bed, fast asleep. Her hair is pulled back in a braid, and the escaping tendrils curl sweetly across her cheeks. Carefully I sit down beside her, just watching her breathe. For a moment, I remember watching her sleep in the hospital after Ciara was born and feeling a rush of love for her. She looks so peaceful, so angelic. I resist the urge to stroke her hair, not wanting to risk waking her. What did I do to deserve someone as special as her?
She rolls over in her sleep towards me and I lean over and kiss her gently.
I’m not going to ruin this. I’m going to do whatever it takes to make Ciara happy.