Noah’s arms were still crossed, and coupled with the… Larkin didn’t know how to politely describe his husband’s day-off—hip?—attire… he looked a touch like a petulant teenager. “I shouldn’t have to work an argument about our marriage into your schedule,” he hissed.

“Noah, I can’t.” Larkin’s throat was tight, and it was another moment before he could roughly get out, “I have had too many associations this morning.”

Noah’s jaw audibly cracked before he said in a clipped tone, “There’s an excuse I haven’t heard before.”

“Honey, I need you to give me a break. I’m struggling today.”

Color had rushed into Noah’s face, those beautiful cheekbones now a feverish red. “Yeah. Sure. It’s my fault, of course.”

“Jesus Christ.” Larkin put a hand over his eyes and massaged his temples. “I don’t even remember taking off the ring. I certainly didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sorry. I’m forgetful, Noah, not stupid.”

“Selectively forgetful—”

Larkin raised his eyes and shot Noah a look he usually reserved for when playing bad cop.

And it worked, because Noah looked away and muttered to his shoes, “You have an appointment with Dr. Myers tonight.”

“I know.”

“Six o’clock.”

“Right.”

“I emailed her the notes for the last three weeks.”

“Thank you.”

Noah hesitated but then added, like he couldn’t fucking help but wedge the last inch of the blade into Larkin’s heart, “Maybe you should set a reminder on your phone.”

“I don’t need a reminder.”

“You forgot—”

“Dr. Myers is habitual routine. Every third Monday at 6:00 p.m. I don’t forget.”

Noah’s shoulders had barely worked their way down to resting before they were at his ears again. “Of course. It’s just those inconsequential details you forget, like us being married.”

Larkin gave up. He expelled a quiet breath, wanted to scream because he could feel how his chest shook with the effort, then scrambled for the carefully modulated tone that was his security blanket. “I’ll see you this evening.”

Noah raised both hands in a gesture that could have been “I’m going to strangle you” or “talk to the hand,” and honestly, Larkin would have welcomed either outcome right then. But Noah managed to bite back whatever nasty comment was on the tip of his tongue, turned, and stalked out of the precinct.

Larkin watched the door shut. The details of the quiet but intense argument were already housed in his long-term memory. The words, the expressions, the sensation of having his soul scraped from his body with a melon baller, leaving only the raw skin behind—it was all one more goddamn association. Always there, ready to hurt, Larkin only needed to retrieve the memory like plucking a card. He closed his eyes, took another breath.

’Til death do us part.