Play Along(71)

He hangs up at the same time he hangs his head, breaths coming a bit more even now.

What the hell is going on?

Isaiah turns in my direction, and I’m quick to close my eyes before he catches me staring. Moments later, the floor creaks and the bed dips. I cautiously peek an eye open to find him sitting on the edge of the mattress, elbows to his knees and back to me.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” he mutters under his breath.

I watch his back, the way his muscles strain with tension. He runs a palm over his head, pushing his hair away from his face before dropping back down to lean on his elbows. He stays like that for a while. Not moving. Just sitting.

I wish he’d crawl back here, maybe realize I’m awake and tell me what’s going on. But there’s a bigger part of me that hopes he doesn’t, because what am I going to do to help? I’ve never been someone’s comfort. I’m cold, that’s what Connor always said. I have no idea how to be what Isaiah needs.

I don’t want to be cold with him. I just don’t know how to be anything else. He makes me feel vulnerable, like he can see all of me when no one else has even tried to look.

Isaiah’s phone dings with a text. He reads it, lets out another sigh of relief, then tosses it to the ground where his makeshift bed is.

Once again, he turns to look back at me, but this time he’s not looking for my face. He finds my leg that’s untucked from the covers, reaching over and settling his palm over my ankle, gently rubbing his thumb over the bone.

He seems a bit more settled and when another boom of thunder rattles the room, this time, Isaiah doesn’t flinch.

Ironic, in a way. I tend to recoil from physical contact, but it’s what keeps him from doing the same.

He stays there, holding my leg for a moment before giving it a gentle squeeze and leaving the mattress, dropping himself back to his bed on the floor.

I don’t want him to go. I think I want him to stay. I want him to be okay. I want to be the one to make sure he’s okay. Yeah, that seems like something that someone in a relationship would do. It’d be a good learning lesson if I felt the need to spin it to myself that way.

But the truth is, I don’t care about learning how to comfort anyone else. I just want to comfort him.

Another boom of thunder rattles the room, and the subsequent sound is the ruffle of blankets—Isaiah adjusting on the floor.

I’m off the bed before I can think twice about it.

I find him with his arms folded tightly over his chest, back flush to the bed frame.

“Kenny,” he whispers when he finds me, as if there’s someone in this room who is actually sleeping, and he needs to remain quiet. “Why are you awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

He quickly sits up, as I stand by his feet. “Are you okay?”

“Are you?”

His concern melts away, his voice even softer as his attention drops. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What’s going on?”

He shakes his head before falling back to lay on the single pillow positioned on the floor. “It’s late, Kennedy. Get some sleep. Please.” Turning his back to the bed frame again, he faces the wall.

I can do this. My instincts are screaming to lay down there next to him.

Do what feels good.

Isaiah’s words are echoing in my ears as I crawl into two feet of space between him and the wall, angling my body to face him.

“Fuck, Ken. I don’t want you on the floor.”

“You’re on the floor, so why can’t I be?”

“Because you’re my wife.”

The words come out sharp, like he forgot that though we’re technically married right now, soon enough, we won’t be.

He lifts his head, urging me to lift mine, only to slip his one and only pillow behind my head, leaving his own to rest on the ground.

Then he takes his blanket off his body and drapes it over me.

“Isaiah, what’s going on?”

He shakes his head. “Please forget you saw anything. I don’t let people see me this way.”

I can attest to that. I’ve never seen him this way. Frazzled. Uncomfortable. Not smiling through a shitty situation.

His bare chest is right there in front of me, and I want to touch him. Feel him.

Do what feels good.

Without concern if my hands are too cold or anything else I could overthink, I reach out, placing my palm over his heart before running it up over his skin to gently hook around the back of his neck, keeping us connected.

His eyes close at the contact, nostrils flaring through an exhale.

“I don’t let people see my weaknesses either, Isaiah. But still you know all of them.”

“There’s nothing weak about you, Kenny. You’re just a perfectionist who doesn’t see how perfect she already is.” He places his hand over mine, behind his neck, fingers toying with my wedding ring. “Please go back to bed. This is fucking embarrassing.”

“Why? Because someone is seeing you be something other than arrogant or happy? This isn’t going to make me like you any less. In fact, knowing that life affects you might make me like you even more.”

“I don’t know how that’s possible. We both know how absolutely obsessed you are with me already.”

A tick of a smile raises on the corners of his lips before it immediately falls.