“Shh. No more worries.” He soothed her, wiping another tear as it slipped through her lashes. “Come now, I wish to see what my amazing wife has thought to bring with her.” She started to scoot from his lap, but he pulled her back, lifting her chin again. “I am proud of you, Gwen. For all that you have accomplished. And I would have told you so often, I would have.” He would have given her everything she needed, love and affection, things that she obviously lacked from her parents. He understood her vulnerability now. Why she hid behind her bluster. “I am sorry you were alone while I was not.”

Gwen lost it then. She threw herself against Greylen, sobbing openly as he whispered soothing words in her ear. She’d kept it in for so long and sharing her feelings with him—and that he understood—seemed to make everything better. Greylen loved her and he made her feel safe.

She finally stopped making a complete idiot of herself and left the comfort of his lap. She reached for the plaid at the end of their bed and with shaky hands opened the Gore-Tex bag. She was terrified that if water had somehow seeped inside, her instruments could be ruined. Her fears, however, were unfounded.

She ran her fingers over everything and could only imagine what her collection of essentials looked like to Greylen. There were shiny instruments in leather cases, glass vials of varying sizes, and an old iPhone and speaker. Something caught her eye, and she reached back inside the bag. Stunned, Gwen held up the garment she’d retrieved, staring at it, truly confused.

“Trust me,” he hissed. “You couldn’t be more bothered than I.”

“These are my marathon shorts, Greylen. I don’t remember packing them.” She couldn’t imagine how they go inside, but there they were folded, neatly at the bottom.

“Tell me ’tis an undergarment.”

“Sorry,” she said, scrunching her face. He seemed angry she’d ever worn them. “I wear them when I run a race. They bring me luck,” she added in justification.

“You run races in those? With others present?”

She barely looked up. “I’m sorry, Greylen, but they were made from my favorite pair of jeans, and I’ve worn them every time I’ve needed to feel alive again.”

“We’ll discuss this later,” he bit out in an angry tone. “What of the other things?” Gwen knew her husband was trying to control his rage, but he was failing miserably.