by Nicola Marsh
A marriage in danger of falling apart, thanks to me.
I try to explain again, taking the circuitous route. “Remember that day last year when I went to a health retreat in Milwaukee for the night?”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t go.”
His forehead creases in confusion again. “Where were you?”
“In the hospital.”
The groove between his brows deepens. “Why?”
I have to say the words. I have to force them past my lips. I have to trust my husband with the truth, knowing it may end us but powerless to keep living a lie.
“We got pregnant.” I use ‘we’ because this is about us, even if I took the decision to terminate out of his hands. “I had concerns because of my past drug and alcohol use when I was… you know, doing all that stuff I told you about, so I had fetal testing done. Abnormalities were detected and the obstetrician advised me to terminate—”
“You had an abortion and you didn’t tell me?” He leaps to his feet and stares at me like I’m an abhorrent freak. His lips are pinched tight, his eyes wide with shock and he’s flexing his fingers, clenching and unclenching repeatedly, like he’s lost all feeling. The shimmer of tears in his eyes reflects mine as he stares at me with something akin to loathing.
I get it, because I hate me too. He’ll never know how much I wanted to confide in him before I went through the procedure that tore my heart in two. He’ll never understand how utterly bereft I felt waking up in the hospital afterward, shattered and empty, like the doctors had scooped out more than my tiny growing baby. And by the way he’s glaring at me, with sorrow and regret and anger, he’ll never see me the same way again.
“I don’t understand,” he murmurs, his voice quivering, as a lone tear trickles down his cheek.
That tear breaks something inside me; whatever’s left to be broken. Sobs well in my throat, clawing for escape, but all I want to do is go to Trent, comfort him. I move toward him but he takes a step back, like he can’t bear to be near me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He shakes his head, the agony in his tone making me wrap my arms around my middle. “I should’ve had a say…”
Maybe he’s right but I stand by my decision. It ripped my heart out but I made the tough call, like I always have. Prostituting myself to care for Mom, targeting Trent to care for me, terminating our baby to care for both of us. None of those things made me feel good about myself but I did what I had to do to survive.
I know confessing isn’t going to change anything. My guilt will be ever-present, gnawing away at my self-esteem like always. I can’t change what I did in the past to pay Mom’s medical bills, and I can’t take back the abortion, but if Trent knows everything about me then I have some chance of redemption.
“It tore me apart, having to abort the baby you wanted so much, but I couldn’t face telling you about the abnormalities and having you go through the same heartache—”
“How bloody thoughtful.” His sarcastic retort echoes through the apartment that’s the only real home I’ve ever known. “How do I know if any of this is true? You don’t want a kid, you’ve made that perfectly obvious, so how can I believe you?”
Grief contorts his face as he sinks to his knees, his shoulders slumped, his head lowered, a broken man. I did this. Me. I want to curl up in a ball and die, the pain is that excruciating, like a cleaver hacking into my heart.
“I have the medical records if you want to see—”
“You killed our baby.” He lifts his head slowly to stare at me and the hatred in his eyes snatches my breath.
The tears I’m battling fall then, sliding down my cheeks, pooling in the crevices of my mouth, and dripping off my chin. I have as much chance of stopping them as saving my marriage: absolutely none.
“I know you’ll never understand this, but I’m going to try to explain anyway. I’ve never felt good enough in your family. I’m tolerated, not accepted. They demand perfection and I couldn’t stand the thought of bringing a flawed child into that kind of environment.” I shake my head and tears fly.
Swiping a hand across my eyes, I blink so I can see him. His hatred hasn’t waned. His eyes glitter with it. He despises me but I can’t stop now. I have to try to make him understand. “I’m a weak person and I’m terrified of having a child because of what I saw growing up. I know a child of ours won’t face the same hardships, but I can’t shake that fear. It’s ingrained. A deep-seated part of me.”
I press a hand to my chest, imploring him to listen. “Because of that fear it’s going to be hard enough for me to cope with mothering a healthy child. So when the doctor told me the devastating news, I had no option.”
He’s staring at me in wide-eyed horror but the rigidity of his neck muscles has eased and I’m hoping his anger along with it. “We always have options, Shamira. Yours was to tell me what was going on so we could’ve decided together. You and me. The dream team, remember?”
Of course I remember. He’d called us that the night he proposed, the night I thought I’d finally left the horrors of my past behind and moved into a stable future.
And we have been the dream team, in perfect sync in all aspects of our lives, bar one. His desire to have a child and my inherent fear I’ll fail at motherhood means it’s going to take us a long time to get past this, if ever.
“It wouldn’t have mattered what you said.” I lay my hands out, palms up, like I have nothing left to hide. “I wouldn’t have brought that damaged child into the world.”
So now he knows all of it. I’m spent. My bones are jelly-like and I flop back into the cushions, feeling like I’ll never be able to move again. I can’t look at him. I can’t see what I’ve done to the man I love. So I focus on his feet. He’s not moving and after what seems like an eternity, he shifts toward me.
“I should’ve been there for you.” He speaks so softly I’m sure I’ve misheard, because it sounds like he’s not blaming me anymore and compassion has replaced fury in his tone. “You should’ve given me the option.”
I can’t defend myself any longer. There’s nothing left to say. I could’ve confided in him when I learned the devastating news of our unborn child’s abnormalities but I hadn’t and I can’t change that now.
“I could kill you for this,” he mutters, and my gaze flies to his, the bitter words at odds with his audible pity a few moments before.
“Maybe you already tried?”
Even though it’s the wrong thing to say if I’m trying to defuse the situation I can’t help it. I need to know if the man I’ve always trusted implicitly has turned on me because I don’t fit the image of his perfect wife. Who knows, maybe he’s more like his family, particularly his judgmental mother, than I give him credit for?
His eyes narrow, not diminishing his contempt one bit. “You think I tampered with your drink?”
“I don’t know what to think. But you were pretty mad after I told you about my past. Maybe you wanted to teach me a lesson—”
“Do you really think I’m capable of hurting you?”
He sinks to his haunches, bracing his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands. His shoulders shake and I realize he’s crying. I can’t bear it. I go to him. I sit on the floor next to him and he raises his head. His visible anguish guts me, like someone has kicked me in the belly.
“I’m sorry.” I lay a hand on his knee, grateful when he doesn’t shove me away. “For everything.”
He stares at me through reddened eyes, his tear-streaked cheeks softening the anger tightening his features. “I would never hurt you.”
He straightens to a standing position, staring down at me. “I wish you could say the same.”
He stalks toward the door, opens it and casts one last look over his shoulder. It’s indecipherable and my heart aches for what I’ve done to us. This family has made me paranoid and sensitive and in that moment, I hate being a Parker. I wish I could say something, anything, to make him stay but when he s
lams the door behind him, I sag, like my chest has caved in on itself.
I don’t move from the floor for ten minutes, twenty, maybe an hour. I doubt we’ll come back from this. But the relief is liberating.
My husband now knows everything about me.
And if I believe him, I still don’t know who tried to poison me.
It’s like the bad old days when I didn’t know who to trust, when my gut instincts were often way off and perps took advantage of my naivety. Not anymore. This time, my eyes are wide open and I have nothing left to hide.
If whoever has it in for me tries again, I’ll be ready.
39
Ria
I’m almost at May’s front door when I hear raised voices coming from the back. Grayson and Justin, arguing. I shouldn’t eavesdrop, it’s not right. But I find myself following the side path around the house regardless. Sensor lights lead the way but if the men notice they don’t stop. It’s only as I near the back garden I realize they’re not outside; they’re in the conservatory with the French doors open, hence their loud voices travel. I stop at the back corner of the house and listen.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Justin says, his voice barely above a growl.
Grayson laughs and I picture him leaning against something like he hasn’t got a care in the world. He’s always had a way about him, casual and laid-back, like nothing fazes him. I used to find it endearing, until I found out the hard way he’s so cavalier he left me a single mother without a backward glance.
“Why not? I have as much right to be here as you do, brother.”
“I’m not talking about this house and you bloody know it.” There’s a pause, where I imagine Grayson’s smug smile, goading Justin. “Ria doesn’t need you back in Chicago screwing up her life again.”
“How do you know what Ria needs?”
I hear the defensiveness in Grayson’s voice but I also detect something else, an underlying protectiveness he doesn’t have a right to, not anymore. I don’t owe Grayson anything but in that moment I’m glad he doesn’t know about my messed up attraction to Justin or that damn kiss.
“Because unlike you, I’ve been around for her.” Justin’s tone is silky and I mentally will him not to say anything about us.
Thankfully, he remains silent but Grayson has picked up on that hint of innuendo in his brother’s voice. “I bet you have, you sleazy prick. You’ve always been the same, had to have everything you wanted.” He lowers his voice to a hostile hiss. “Keep your hands off my wife.”
“Ex-wife,” Justin drawls and I hold my breath. I have to do something before he blurts it’s too late and it’s already happened.
I round the corner of the house and bound up the steps to the conservatory as Justin says, “What if—”
“Hey.” I inject fake cheeriness into my voice, hoping my too readable face doesn’t give away my guilt that not only has Justin had his hands all over me, he’d also had his tongue in my mouth. “How are you both?”
They stare at me with matching surprised expressions, like I’m the last person they expect to see. “I was about to ring the bell but heard you two talking so I came around the back.”
“It’s good to see you,” Justin says, enveloping me in a hug. I shouldn’t feel anything but I do, my body giving a betraying flicker of something. I know he’s only doing it to rile Grayson and that annoys me so I shrug out of his embrace quickly.
“Ria called me earlier and said she’d be dropping in to chat, so if you don’t mind leaving us alone?” Grayson’s proprietary eyes glitter as he stares Justin down, his unexpected fierceness a side of him I’ve never seen. “Nice seeing you, big brother.”
He makes it sound like he’d rather pet a rattlesnake and Justin gets the message. But I know him. He won’t resist one last dig before he leaves.
“Are you sure you’re okay if I leave?” Justin touches my arm and his hand lingers, his fingertips deliberately skating across my skin in a caress that hints at impropriety.
The action isn’t lost on Grayson as I see his hands ball into fists but he doesn’t move from his relaxed position against a high stool.
“I’m fine.” I step away and Justin’s hand falls, but his assessing stare sweeps over me, like he can’t fathom why I’d want to be in the same room as Grayson, let alone talk to him.
I glare at him, willing him to get the message to leave us alone, and after a weird tense standoff that lasts a few seconds he shrugs and moves toward the door.
He ignores Grayson completely as he offers me an oddly intimate smile. “Call me if you need me.”
Increasingly uncomfortable, I manage a terse nod, relieved when he leaves and Grayson closes the French doors before turning to me with raised eyebrows.
“Someone’s got the hots for you.” His upper lip curls in a slight sneer. “Is that why he left Ashlin? You two getting it on?”
“Don’t be crass.” I head to the kitchen to get a drink so he won’t see the betraying blush heating my cheeks. I fill a glass with water from the tap and sip slowly, buying some time for my giveaway blush to ease before I turn back to face him.
“He’s definitely got a thing for you.” He follows me into the kitchen, the tread of his footsteps so familiar that I stop swallowing in case I choke. “I know I’ve got no right to tell you what to do these days, or offer advice, but stay away from Justin.”
“Jealous?”
“Maybe.” He shrugs but it’s far from nonchalant, with his shoulder muscles bunching into knots. “I almost forgot how narcissistic he is. He has to have everything he wants, no matter the cost. Even when we were growing up he had to beat Trent and me at athletics, he had to score the most home runs at baseball and he hated that we threw more three pointers on the court than he did.”
He takes a few steps closer, bringing him within touching distance. I can feel the heat radiating off him and grit my teeth against the urge to lean into him. “But this isn’t about Justin,” he says, as he rests his hands on my shoulders and I stiffen. “I care about you. I always have.”
The sincerity in his steady gaze floors me and I’m so unnerved I shrug him off and my hand shakes, sloshing water over the top of the glass. I place it carefully on the bench top, wishing I hadn’t when I’m tempted to reach out and trace the contours of his mouth like I used to. The urge is strong, the glint of reminiscing powerful in his eyes, that I curl my fingers into my palm and jam the resultant fist into my jacket pocket.
I need to wrestle back control of this situation and scorn is guaranteed to do it, because he always hated it. I roll my eyes in an exaggerated sweep. “Yeah, you care so much about me you left.”
Frustration clouds his clear gaze, that unique blue so damn mesmerizing. “I’ve already explained why.”
“Yeah, you stumbled onto something you shouldn’t have and ended up being threatened, I get it.”
If my sarcasm irks, he doesn’t show it and his silence is as unsettling as his stare and its effect on me.
“Actually, that’s why I called. I need to talk to you about that threat from the past and if it’s followed you into the present.”
He frowns and it does little to detract from his good looks. “What?”
“I think everything might be connected. What happened to you then and what’s happening now. What if the same person who threatened you then is coming after the Parker family now?”
“This is getting out of control,” he mutters under his breath, spinning away from me and stalking to the island bench where his laptop is charging.
Something in his tone alerts me that he knows more than he’s letting on.
“What do you mean?”
He beckons me closer and flips open the lid of his laptop. “I’ll show you.”
I’ve made the right decision confiding in him but I can’t shake the feeling I won’t like what he has to say. The prospect of finally getting some answers is encouraging though, so I perch on a bar stool next to him and watch as he enters the cy
ber world with far more dexterity than Lars ever has.
“Wow, you really know your way around.” I lean closer, watching his fingers fly over the keyboard. Sadness pierces my admiration: I always knew my husband was gifted with computers and if he’d stuck around we could’ve been a dynamite duo. He could’ve helped me with research and made my professional life a heck of a lot easier. Instead, I have no clue what he’s been doing for the last five years.
“I love cyberspace, you know that.”
“And by your deftness around the web you’re better than ever.”
He flashes me a bashful smile and I resist the urge to lean closer.
He moves around with ease, then does something that leaves me flabbergasted.
He hacks into the account of that sender, the one whose emails has turned my world upside down, twice.
“You found out who’s behind this?”
“Not quite, but it’s a start.”
I’m flabbergasted he’s done this with ease. “Whoever’s behind this account is amazing at what they do because Lars couldn’t get anywhere near them. How did you do it?”
“Advanced IP searches. Scouring the dark web for connections. That kind of thing.”
He’s being deliberately evasive and I call him on it.
“To know your way around the dark web, what exactly have you been doing since you left?”
“Odd jobs mainly, in remote towns, paid in cash so my location was untraceable.” He shrugs, like emulating a ghost means nothing. “But I’ve also spent every spare second in Internet cafés trying to discover who drove me out of Chicago and threatened my family.”
He eyeballs me and by the flare of pain I know he’s talking about Shelley and me, not the Parkers.
“Did you find anything?”
He shakes his head, frustration pinching his mouth. “The initial threat came from a bogus email rerouted around the world many times over. I tried every trick I know and couldn’t trace it.”
