Читать книгу The Marine's Embrace - Beth Andrews - Страница 9
ОглавлениеHER PILLOW SMELLED of him.
Caught in that wonderful, hazy time between asleep and fully awake, Fay Lindemuth sighed and pressed her face against the soft fabric. Inhaled the familiar, tantalizing scent of her husband’s aftershave. Hugging it close, she wanted nothing more than to hold this perfect moment in her memory forever. To draw it out, make it last as long as possible.
But these perfect moments didn’t last. Not for her.
So she had to make the most of it. Happiness, so long sought and even longer fought for, suffused her. She used to dream of having Shane back in her life. They were soul mates, destined to be together, bound by the vows they’d made to each other and the two sons they’d created.
For the past three years, circumstances and their own choices had kept them apart. But never for long. He always came back to her.
He always left her again.
And in those times, when the heartbreak and loneliness threatened to overwhelm her, she turned to her dreams for comfort, to feel close to Shane. It was the only time she was free of pain.
Oh, she was careful. She didn’t nap during the day, didn’t sleep in until noon or go to bed before 10:00 p.m.—no matter how badly she wanted to. She refused to let the promise of oblivion lure her into backsliding. Into forgetting the progress she’d made.
She was better. Everyone said so.
Maybe, one day, she’d believe it herself.
And this was a step in the right direction. A step closer toward being whole once again. She had Shane back. Everything was how it used to be. How it was meant to be.
Smiling, she reached for her husband...
Only to encounter emptiness.
Her eyes flew open, her fingers curling into the cool sheet as panic reared its ugly head. Whispered to her that he was gone. That she was alone. That she’d always be alone.
Lies, she assured herself, but her fingers went numb with cold, her chest ached. She had her two precious boys and her parents. She had Neil, her older brother. She had Maddie, who, besides being Fay’s best friend, was also Neil’s girlfriend and the mother of his fourteen-year-old daughter, Breanne. And she had Shane. For good this time.
He’d promised.
Sitting up, she pulled the sheet over her bare breasts. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, but once they did, she noticed movement by the dresser. Was that a rustling sound?
Someone was in the room with her.
Shane hadn’t left her.
Leaning across the bed, she reached for the lamp, the ring she wore on a delicate chain around her neck sliding out from under the loosened sheet. She stopped. The rustling could have been the wind blowing through the trees. The movement a shift of shadows.
After all, she did have a bad habit of letting her imagination get the best of her. Of believing only what she wanted, no matter how solid the proof against her fantasies were.
Face your fears.
That’s the advice Dr. Porter always gave during their weekly sessions. The psychiatrist loved spouting platitudes about how Fay was capable of controlling her emotions. Of handling any situation. Strong enough to get through disappointment or heartache. Strong enough to survive.
Which was laughable, but it made him—and her family—feel better, so she went along.
Pretend to be strong and eventually you’ll be strong. Act as if—as if you’re confident. Clever. In control. Brave.
Act as if, she repeated silently to herself, her fingers tightening on the lamp’s switch. Act as if...act as if...
She turned the light on and sagged against the headboard.
Shane was still here.
Thank you, God.
He glanced over his shoulder at her, and she smiled, but he turned back to finish tugging on his jeans.
Her smile fading, she told herself not to read into things. He’d never been big on mornings, had always preferred keeping to himself for the first few hours of the day. Plus, she probably looked awful, the eye shadow and mascara she’d carefully applied last night streaked and smudged, her hair a tangled mess.
Shane liked pretty things. Had always hated when she didn’t do her hair or makeup. Said he preferred her all sparkly and shiny.
Act as if...act as if...
She wiped her fingers under her eyes, noted the eyeliner and mascara on her fingertips, before smoothing the sheet and tucking it under her arms. She allowed herself a moment to just take in the sight of her husband. He was so handsome, tall with a lean, wiry build.
And he was all hers.
“Good morning,” she whispered, conscious of their sons sleeping in the room next door. She didn’t want to wake them this early.
She wanted a few more minutes alone with her husband. So they could talk. Make plans. Starting with their living arrangements. Since she was manager of Bradford House, the bed-and-breakfast Neil owned, she and the boys were able to live in the third-floor apartment rent free, but she doubted Shane would want to stay here permanently.
Doubted Neil would let him.
They just had a few things to work out. Then they’d wake the boys together, tell them the good news—that they were going to be a family again.
It would be perfect. Just like she’d always dreamed.
Shane sat on the bed next to her, and she leaned forward, reached for him, but he bent over and put on one of his work boots.
Fay frowned. That wasn’t right. He was supposed to pull her into his arms. Kiss her. Tell her how much he loved her. Reassure her he was finally coming home for good.
“Are you...are you leaving?” she asked.
He yanked on the second boot, his head down as he tied the laces. “Yeah.”
“Did I do something wrong?” She hated how thin and reedy her voice sounded. How pathetic.
Hated how small and stupid she felt for saying anything at all. For worrying.
He shot her a glance, his hazel eyes narrowed, irritation tightening his expression. “I have a job interview.”
He’d told her all about the interview for a position with a heating and cooling contractor in Pittsburgh. It was why he’d come back to their hometown of Shady Grove, Pennsylvania, just forty miles outside the city. Well, the job plus her and the boys, of course.
“But it’s not even five thirty,” she said, shifting onto her knees. She rubbed his bare shoulders, trailed her fingers through the soft strands of his dark blond hair. He’d grown it out this past year, the ends now brushing his collar. She preferred it shorter. Not quite so shaggy. Or young looking.
Contrite at the traitorous thought, she kissed the back of his neck. It was only hair. He could wear it however he liked. “You don’t really have to leave right now, do you?” she asked.
She could wake the boys, fix them all a quick breakfast. Elijah and Mitchell had been asleep when Shane arrived late last night, and she was sure they’d want to see him.
Even if a change in plans meant her having to deal with a couple of cranky little boys the rest of the day.
Shaking his head, Shane stood. “Sorry, babe, but I need to prepare for this interview. You want me to get the job, right?”
She sat back on her heels, hands in her lap, duly chastised by his words, trying not to let his gruff tone bother her. Everyone said she was too sensitive. Always taking things others said too personally.
“Of course I want you to get the job. And you will.”
He was smart and had lots of experience, having worked the past two years for a company that installed heating and air-conditioning units in large office buildings, schools, hospitals and prisons. But that job had meant traveling across not only Pennsylvania but also into Maryland and New Jersey. Taking him away from her and the boys.
And while others might think Shane had been running from them, running from his responsibilities and the promises he’d made, she knew the truth. He’d been lost.
She could relate.
Which was why she could also forgive.
After untangling herself from the sheets, she got to her feet and crossed to him. He was checking his phone, so she wrapped her arms around his waist from behind and laid her cheek against his shoulder blade, hoping the feel of her naked body would entice him to at least turn around. “Come back after the interview. You can see the boys and we’ll celebrate you getting the job.”
“Not sure I can,” he said, stepping forward, forcing her to let go. He pulled on his shirt then checked his reflection in the dresser mirror, smoothing his hair before facing her. “I’m already down to half a tank of gas and I don’t know how long it’ll be before my last paycheck catches up to me.”
“I have money,” she assured him quickly, reaching for her robe on the end of the bed. “In my purse in the living roo—”
“I’ll get it.” He stepped toward her and she lifted her arms in relief—only to lower them when he brushed past her to pick up his wallet from the nightstand. “I’ll call you.”
He left, without a goodbye kiss or a backward glance. Without the words she needed to hear—that he loved her.
That he needed her.
Like she needed him.
He just...walked away. Walked out on her like he had so many times before.
Feeling more exposed than she could ever remember, she started shivering violently. From the chill in the air, she was sure. The chill and her nudity. But when she put on her robe, the tremors continued. She sat on the corner of the bed and rocked back and forth. Back and forth.
Her eyes stung, but she fought the tears. She wouldn’t cry. Not today. Today was a good day. A turning point in her life.
Today she got back everything she’d lost.
She wouldn’t speculate about what Shane hadn’t said or why he’d acted so distant. He was stressed, focused on acing the interview so he could come home for good, that was all.
But...oh, God...what if it wasn’t? She leaped to her feet, began pacing as she chewed on her pinkie nail. What if he was mad at her? She’d been clingy. Needy. What if...what if she’d said something she shouldn’t have? What if she’d upset him or...or disappointed him in some way? What if he’d found her lacking last night?
No, everything was fine. She was fine.
Except she didn’t feel fine. She felt anxious, as if her skin was too tight. Wound up and terrified, her heart pounding, her stomach churning.
She had to talk to him. Apologize for whatever she’d done. Promise to do better, be more adventurous in bed, give him more space. To give him whatever he needed. Whatever he wanted.
She burst out into the short hallway, peeked in on the boys—still asleep, thank God—then hurried down the stairs, her fingers trailing over the banister, the wood steps cool beneath her bare feet.
Hurry, hurry, hurry, she chanted silently. She had to get to him in time, had to apologize for overreacting.
She hit the second floor and slowed. Tried to quiet her breathing. Only two of the guest rooms were occupied and their doors were shut, the entire floor silent. She rounded the corner and took the back stairway down to the kitchen. Why did she have to upset Shane? She was so stupid. She should have been more understanding. Should have kept quiet and just let him go with a smile and a kiss.
She’d make it up to him. First with her apology and then, when he came back tonight, with her body. She’d go downtown that afternoon, pick up some slinky lingerie. Reaching the kitchen, she raced across the tile floor to the back door and whipped it open.
“He’s gone,” a deep, male voice said from behind her.
She whirled around, her hand at her throat. “Damien,” she breathed, noticing Bradford House’s chef at the six-burner stove on the other side of the room. It was a testament to her focus on getting to Shane that she hadn’t seen Damien. Huge, bald and heavily tattooed, the man had presence.
Not to mention his yellow do-rag and matching T-shirt were bright enough to rival the rising sun.
She glanced out at the small parking lot, but Shane’s truck was nowhere to be seen. She was too late. She’d pushed him away.
Again.
The darkness inside her head grew, pressed against her skull, thick and insistent, tempting her to give in to it. A sense of sadness, of hopelessness overcame her so swiftly, so sharply, it took her breath. She wanted to collapse right there on the cold floor, lay her head on her knees and weep.
But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She no longer gave in to the thoughts whispering in her mind, telling her she was useless, that no one loved her. They were horrible, terrifying lies, and she refused to listen to them.
Most of the time.
Swallowing the despair rising in her throat, she shut the door, knowing Damien watched her, ready to catch her if she fell. Ready to tell Neil if she slid into one of her moods—as her mother had deemed them when Fay had barely been ten and would slip into quietness, curl into herself.
When she’d all but disappear.
“You okay?” Damien asked.
She hung her head for a moment then inhaled deeply. Forced a light laugh as she faced him. “Yes. You just...surprised me.”
“I’m sorry.”
His gentle tone and the sympathy in his dark eyes told her he was sorry for a lot more than nearly giving her a heart attack. He was sorry for her. Because she couldn’t hold on to the man she loved. Because she was weak. Damaged.
Curling her fingers into her palms, she pulled her shoulders back and pasted a smile on her face. “It was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention.”
Everything was her fault. Her fault Shane left. Her fault her family treated her with kid gloves. Her fault she couldn’t get rid of the dark feelings. Couldn’t live in the light. Couldn’t be whole.
Suddenly exhausted, her legs heavy, her body aching, she shuffled toward the stairs, wanting only to go back to bed. To sleep and sleep and sleep.
Small steps count.
She frowned. How did Dr. Porter’s voice always know when to pop into her head? It was disconcerting, to say the least.
Small steps count, the voice repeated stubbornly. Take enough of them and you get where you’re going. Win enough small victories and you’ll eventually win the war.
Well, the man did make sense. And while she wasn’t sure she’d ever be completely cured, she could get better. Dr. Porter told her all the time that she was smart enough, strong enough to take her life in a new direction. She just needed to work harder at living up to his confidence in her. To making it true.
And she’d start today. Right now.
It took willpower—surely more than it should have—but she turned to the right instead of heading upstairs, then skirted around the huge center island and crossed over to the coffeepot next to the industrial-sized stainless steel fridge.
“Honey,” Damien said softly, “what are you doing?”
Winning the battle.
“Getting a cup of coffee.” She poured some into a mug, added a small amount of cream and sipped it before grabbing a napkin and helping herself to one of the cranberry–white chocolate scones cooling on a wire rack.
Even small victories deserved to be celebrated.
“No, I mean what are you doing with Shane?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, all faux serenity and innocence, popping a bite of scone into her mouth.
Damien frowned, which, for some reason, brought out his dimples. “You’re not fooling me. I know a walk of shame when I see one.”
It was then she realized that she was still in her robe and hadn’t even bothered to wash her face or brush her hair.
Heat washed up her neck and into her cheeks. With her fair skin, there was no way Damien could miss her blush. Hoping she could ride it out—at least until she wasn’t glowing red—she ducked her head, pretended great interest in pouring more coffee into her already almost-full cup, adding a drop of cream and stirring.
Damien inhaled deeply then heaved a long, drawn-out sigh—as if sucking in patience before huffing out the weariness that came along with dealing with her.
Her mother often did the same thing. It was a wonder they didn’t hyperventilate.
“Ignoring me won’t work,” he said as he took eggs out of the fridge. “Neither will pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“I’m not ignoring anything.” But it took a moment before she was able to meet his eyes. “And I’m not on a walk of shame—I have nothing to be ashamed of.”
She and Shane were husband and wife.
Sort of.
Even if they weren’t technically married at the moment, being with him could never be wrong.
Damien shook his head. “He left you. He divorced you.”
Though his voice wasn’t unkind, the words still had the power to make her head snap back.
“Thank you,” she managed, but had to stop and clear her throat before continuing. “But I don’t need to be reminded of those facts.”
If she did, she’d only have to ask Maddie. Lord knew her best friend had never held back when it came to listing Fay’s mistakes or telling her how she should live her life. She loved to remind Fay what Shane had done.
As if Fay didn’t remember the pain each and every day.
“Then why did you sleep with him?” Damien asked, taking a large ceramic bowl down from an open shelf.
She broke off a corner of the scone, raised it to her mouth, only to set it down again. “Things are different now. Between me and Shane. He’s changed.”
Damien cracked an egg into the bowl, then another. “If he’s so different, why did I catch him sneaking out—”
“He wasn’t sneaking out.” But she couldn’t help but think of how she’d discovered him getting dressed in the dark, as if he was going to leave without waking her. Without saying goodbye. Like a one-night stand eager to escape.
“It’s barely daylight,” Damien said, adding another egg to the bowl. “And you were running after him.” He nodded sharply as if he’d just cracked the case along with his eggs. He grabbed a large whisk from the crock next to the stove and pointed it at her. “He snuck out.”
“We said our goodbyes upstairs. And the only reason he left so early is because he has a job interview.”
“Before 6:00 a.m.?”
At her friend’s incredulous look, Fay stared into her coffee, wishing she could somehow dive in there and swim away from this conversation. “He had to go back to his hotel. Shower and change and...and prepare for it.”
Another sigh, this one of the you-poor-thing variety. “Honey, he crept out of here like a thief. You should’ve seen the look on his face when he came down and realized he wasn’t alone.”
“I’m sure he was just surprised to find anyone awake so early. Anyway, we’re getting back together,” she continued, though why the words came out so quickly, why she sounded so tentative, she wasn’t sure.
She licked her lips. Linked her hands together at her waist. It was only a matter of time before people knew she was seeing Shane again. They’d need to understand that Shane was back in her life for good.
“Shane and I are back together.”
There. That was better. Direct and to the point. A statement of fact and not some wishy-washy hope.
Damien stared at her, narrow eyed, mouth tight. “What?”
“He wants us back—me and the boys. He wants us to be a family again.”
“Uh-huh. I see. And did he say this before or after you had sex?”
“I don’t see why that matters.”
“Before? Or after?”
She squirmed. Forcing her body to remain motionless, she said, “Before.”
Damien looked at her as if she was some brainless idiot. “Don’t you see? He just said that to get what he wanted.”
“It wasn’t like that.” Damien hadn’t been there last night. He didn’t see how Shane looked at her. “He meant it this time.”
“I know you want to believe that, but he’s using you. It’s the same thing every time. He calls in the middle of the night—”
“It wasn’t that late.”
“No? What time was it?”
Well, she’d set herself up for that one. “A little before midnight. He missed me and didn’t want to wait until morning to see me.”
“He didn’t think to call you earlier? To let you know he was coming to town?”
She blinked rapidly. “He...he probably wanted to surprise me.”
“He wanted what he always wants,” Damien muttered.
“He wanted to see me,” she insisted, hugging her arms around herself.
She wouldn’t let Damien or anyone else tarnish what had happened between her and Shane last night. Wouldn’t let them take away her happiness. Not when she was already terrified of it slipping away.
“It’s the same thing, time after time. Shane just happens to be in town—a spur-of-the-moment trip—and calls in the middle of the night, telling you how much he misses you, how much he wants to see you. He shows up, a little or a lot drunk, says what you want to hear, gets you in bed then takes off before the sun comes up.”
“He wasn’t drunk.” Yes, maybe she’d tasted beer when Shane kissed her, but his movements had been steady, his gaze clear. And last night wasn’t like those other times. Last night was different.
It had to be.
Damien set the whisk down and rounded the island to take both her hands in his large ones. Squeezed gently. “You can’t keep sleeping with him. You’re going to get hurt.”
She tugged free of his hold. Told herself he was only trying to help her. That he didn’t mean to be cruel. But she was tired of giving everyone the benefit of the doubt when they were all so quick to doubt her intelligence, to judge her decisions.
“You don’t understand.” No one did. They couldn’t comprehend what the past three years had been like for her. How hard she’d had to pretend that she was fine without Shane in her life.
“I understand he’s a user and a liar and that he cheated on you—left you for a nineteen-year-old.”
“He made a mistake,” she said hoarsely. “One he regrets. I’ve forgiven him.”
She clutched the ring hanging from the chain around her neck. Her wedding ring. She had to wear it under her clothes like some secret, like a personal sin. But soon, soon she’d put it back on her finger for the world to see. Then they’d all know she wasn’t some fool, hoping and wishing for a fantasy to come true. They’d all see how wrong they were about Shane.
How wrong they were about her.
Damien shook his head sadly. “I know you think you need him, but you don’t. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you start to believe in yourself and put yourself first, the better off you’ll be.”
Fay’s bottom lip trembled. She bit down on it. Hard. There was nothing more to say and certainly nothing more she wanted to hear, so she swept past him and went up the stairs. As much as she’d like to believe she did so as calmly and as regally as a queen, by the time she reached her apartment she was sweating and out of breath, having raced up the two flights like a teenage girl in the throes of a major pity party.
In her bedroom, she shut the door and leaned back against it. Damien was wrong. They were all wrong. She did need Shane.
She didn’t know who she was without him.
