Code Name: Solace

CHAPTER TWO

I sucked in a breath.

He was stroking himself, his grip tight, his breath uneven. His muscles flexed with every movement. I had never seen him like this before—not so raw, not so tense. He looked... frustrated. Like he was trying to force something out of himself. Like this wasn't about pleasure at all.

I should have looked away.

Instead, I watched.

Then, suddenly, he let go, exhaling sharply.

I barely had time to step back before he turned into the spray, water hitting his chest. He pressed his palms against the tile, cursing under his breath.

I fled before he could see me.

I shouldn't have seen that. Even though he was my husband, it felt like I had intruded on something private. Something secret.

I knocked softly on the door, my heart pounding. "Warren, can I come in?"

A low grunt. I didn't know if it was a yes, but I entered anyway.

He was rinsing the shampoo from his hair, eyes closed, water running in thick streams down his face.

"What's the matter?" His voice was slightly raised over the rush of the shower.

"I went to the doctor today," I said.

"I know."

He stepped back under the spray, washing the soap from his skin.

"She said my blood pressure is a little elevated," I continued. "That I need to relax or I could end up on bed rest."

He nodded but didn't say anything.

"She also gave me some..." I hesitated, my nerves tangling together. I felt like a child asking for attention. "Techniques we could do together. To help me. To help the baby."

He turned off the water and reached for a towel.

I stared at the part of him I had seen just moments ago, at the piece of him that wasn't mine anymore. Had it ever been?

He wrapped the towel around his waist and walked to the counter. "Are there any you can do alone?"

"Yes, bu—"

"Well, those should help while I finish this project in a few weeks."

My stomach twisted. "You can't make any time? Not even thirty minutes to do a stupid breathing exercise with me?"

"They aren't stupid," he said, rubbing a towel over his hair. "But you know I'm glued to that computer. This project has been my top priority for the last four months. Now that we're at the finish line, I can't slow down."

He turned to face me, his arms crossing over his chest. His tattoos stretched over taut muscle, his expression unreadable.

"In a few weeks, I'll be all yours again," he said. "But I need you to give me time."

I stared at him. At the distance between us. At the wall I couldn't seem to break through.

"Now," he continued, "is there anything else the doctor told you that I should know?"

I felt small. Managed. Like a child asking for a privilege instead of a wife asking for support.

"No," I said. "Nothing."

He tilted his head slightly, eyes sharp. "Are you sure?"

I lifted my chin. "I said no."

Then I turned and left.

That night, sleep evaded me. Every time I closed my eyes, my mind replayed our conversation, his dismissiveness, the way he made me feel like an afterthought. The ache in my back didn't help either, so I sat up in bed, reaching for my phone. I scrolled through an online boutique filled with baby clothes—tiny onesies, soft little hats, and knitted booties.

A white onesie caught my eye, embroidered with tiny gold stars. It was perfect. I turned the screen toward Warren, who was beside me but a million miles away. The glow of his computer illuminating his sharp features. "What do you think about this one?" I asked, hoping for something—any kind of engagement.

He barely glanced at the screen. "It's fine," he muttered, fingers flying across the keyboard.

"Fine?" I echoed, irritation prickling under my skin. "You don't think it's cute?"

"It's a baby outfit. It doesn't matter what I think." His tone wasn't harsh, but it was distant.

I sighed and placed my phone on the nightstand, watching him for a moment. His focus was razor-sharp, his posture tense. I had seen him work late before, but there was something different tonight—something almost frantic in the way he moved.

Curiosity tugged at me. I slid closer to him, leaning toward him under the pretense of stretching my back. When I got closer, my eyes flicked to his screen.

At first, I didn't understand what I was looking at—strings of code, a flashing window filled with what looked like a real-time satellite feed, and a list of names I didn't recognize. Before I could process anything, Warren's hand shot out, slamming the laptop shut.

I jumped, my heart hammering.

"Why are you still up?" His voice was calm, but his eyes were sharp, scanning my face like he was reading me.

I swallowed. "Couldn't sleep."

His jaw ticked, and for a brief moment, I thought he might explain what I'd just seen. But then he exhaled, pressed a kiss to my forehead and stood. "Try to get some rest," he murmured.

I nodded, but as I settled back into bed, my mind raced with questions I wasn't sure I wanted answers to.