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John Shelby woke up naked in bed by himself. He frowned, grasping the sheets around him as his hand searched for the other pillow. Cold.
He groaned slightly as he hauled himself from the bed and found his trousers in a pile on the floor. He rubbed his eyes before opening the bedroom door as quietly as possible.
John moved through the house like a ghost, stepping over every creaky board and uneven place in the floor, sidestepping every toy as he opened every door, counted every child, and still could not find his wife. He stepped outside to his garden, squinting in the dark in hope to see any signs of life.
His eyes narrowed at a small steady waft of smoke coming up from the other side of the garden wall. He instinctively grabbed a long piece of wood the kids had been using as a bat earlier in the day and treaded quietly to the gate.
He swung the gate open wide as he raised the bat to find Esme sitting with her back against the wall, cigar in her mouth disfiguring her scowl.
“Do it then,” she frowned, “Might finally rest.”
John dropped the stick immediately, the clang making him wince from how jarring the noise was in the quiet.
“Can't sleep?” He asked, moving to sit beside her.
“Can't sleep,” she said, gnawing on the cigar. “You know, I think I see why you like these.”
John chuckled, slipping his arm around her shoulders to pull her to him and kiss the top of her head.
“You were having nightmares again,” she said softly. “You've been talking more lately.”
“I'm sorry, love,” John frowned as he looked down the road. “What have I been telling you?”
“Martha, mostly,” Esme whispered. “You miss her. Sometimes I think I feel her here, with the kids, checking in like.”
“I do,” he said softly. “We were so young. She would like you. Both aren't scared of putting me in my place.”
John smirked before he kissed her head again.
“She's not bothering you, though, is she?”
“I'm not worried about a dead woman, no,” Esme said carefully before she paused and inhaled the cigar again.
John waited, holding Esme close in the chill of the night. She would tell him eventually. It just had to roll around in her brain, form a cohesive thought. Rushing her would only make her angry. She has to find the right words.
“You talk about the war sometimes,” she finally said. “You twitch and whimper in your sleep. That I can handle. You've seen things. You've loved others. You've killed, both for war and Tommy. What I can't abide,” she took a deep breath, “is you wishing for Lizzie Stark.”
John's throat went dry. Esme sat up, giving him a careful side eye.
“You were talking to her in your sleep, John,” she finally sighed. “You asked to marry her.”
“It's not exactly what you think, Ez,” he said as he reached out to touch her shoulder. “Let me explain.”
“I think,” Esme said as she shrugged his hand off of her before taking another drag off the cigar, becoming more and more interested in the flaming cherry at the end. “You had a gaggle of kids and a dead wife. You were broken from whatever hell you saw in France, maybe before that from whatever hell you had at home, and Lizzie was a smart girl that spread her legs to keep her family fed.”
Esme looked at John, lip trembling.
“Tell me I'm close, John,” she begged in a whisper. “Tell me I'm not competing with the living and the dead for your heart. A girl can only fight so many off, and I like her, John. I don't want to hate her.”
“Oh Esme,” John said as he held her face. “No one's taking your place, love. I'm yours. You're my wife. You're not competing with anyone.”
“I'm not daft, John,” she sighed and shook his hands away. “It's not like we chose each other.”
John gave a frustrated sigh as he brushed the back of his head.
“Okay, yeah,” he sputtered. “I did ask to marry her once. Before you.”
Esme's exhale shook from her chest.
“I used to see her,” he continued. “Like a dozen other men in Small Heath did. We'd talk sometimes. She's good at listening to broken men.”
Esme waited through his pause, scared to move. John kept going.
“What I didn't know then that I know now is Tommy had been seeing her, too,” John spat. “So when he told me Lizzie was seeing clients, I didn't realize it meant she was seeing him. My own brother.”
“Tommy's always been about himself,” Esme said, slowly thawing back into his side. “You should have known something was wrong when he broke it off and offered you me.”
John chuckled.
“I thought Tommy's prize was to make peace with your family,” John kissed Esme's temple as he pulled her back to his chest. “I figured Lizzie was canon fodder until she became his secretary.”
“And now?” Esme asked in a small voice.
“And now I still care about her safety,” John said as he took the cigar from Esme's hand to take a puff. “But she chose my brother and every problem that comes with it. Lizzie's a smart girl, a good woman, but she sees Tommy's darkness as an affliction rather than part of him. She thinks we're good men with bad choices, because she thinks we're like her. We're not.”
Esme relaxed, melting into his embrace.
“And me?” She traced along his arm. “What am I to you, other than a forced wife?”
John smirked.
“You're going to make me say it, aren't you, love?” John chuckled lowly. “Fuck it. I fucking fell in love with you, you minx. Impossible not to. You're strong, and you're stubborn, and I swear to God you might kill me, but until then I'll fucking steal the stars if you want a bit of shine. I'll kill every man that tried to throw you in the ditch. I'll pack us all up in a tiny fucking wagon if you want a bit of air. You're stuck with me now, pet. What do you think of that?”
Esme sat up to face John and placed a hand on his jaw and bit her lip.
“I've always liked my men a bit bad,” she said. “Good men will do everything within law. Bad men know no law.”
John smiled.
“Like a bit of blood on your behalf, do you?” John pulled her onto his lap until she straddled him. “That get you going?”
“You get me going, John Shelby,” she murmured against his lips as his hands made their way up her thighs under her night dress. “Say it again.”
“Which part?” He asked, nipping at Esme's lip as she leaned back with a smile. “I'll bloody kill every man that's ever so much as looked at you.”
Esme pulled away more.
“I'll move us on your every whim,” John said as his face fell and she stood up. “I'll steal the stars or some shit. Wait, woman!”
John grabbed her hand and Esme giggled as he tried to pull her back down.
“What was it?” John growled. “I'm yours? You're my wife? Come back, you're not going anywhere.”
John scrambled to his feet and pulled her back to his chest. Esme looked up at him challengingly.
“What do I want to hear, Mr. Shelby?” She asked. “You won't kill everyone – little Isaiah was staring last week. You gave him a nudge is all.”
John laughed. “Fine, woman, I'll go off little Isaiah, that's what you want, then?”
Now it was John's turn to pull away, as if he was going to walk half naked down the street to Isaiah Jesus’ door.
“Oy, I bet he's trying to sleep off the whiskey by now, it'll be an easy ask.”
“John,” Esme laughed, grabbing his hand and pulling him back to her. “Is saying ‘I love you’ again so hard?”
“Is that all you want, love?” John smirked before he turned from her. “I'll fucking scream it. OY EVERYONE–”
“Dammit, John, if you wake the kids–” Esme hissed as she covered his mouth with her hand and started to laugh.
John really picked her up and spun her, forehead to forehead.
“I fucking love you,” he whispered. “I love you, Esme.”