The dog breeder entered his mind. Her bloodied cut up stomach, her dead baby lying on her chest.
No. Nothing would ever be the same. But he’d vowed to love Dimples in good times or in bad, in sickness or in health.
And she had a sickness. Whether he could help her cure it or not, remained to be seen.
Chapter 13
OVER THE SOUND of the pounding rain, a car door slammed. Dante finished pouring the pasta sauce on top of the ricotta, mozzarella and parmesan stuffed shells, then sprinkled the cheese he’d set aside over the dish. After double-checking the temperature on the oven, he placed the casserole on the center rack, then washed his hands.
Since he’d heard the car door several minutes ago and the rain was coming down hard, but still with no sign of Jessica, he tossed the dish towel on the counter and headed for the front door. Through the beads of water on the glass he saw her hefting a box from the back of her SUV.
He rushed out to help her. “What’s all of this?” he asked, taking the box from her and glancing at the two others still in the back end of her vehicle.
She picked up a box and ran up the walkway to the house. “The rest of my stuff,” she called over her shoulder.
Her stuff? Hopeful, but wary, he dropped the box in the foyer, then went back to the car for the last one. Jessica was right behind him, but stopped, opened the back passenger door and pulled out a bunch of clothes still on their hangers.
His hope intensified, but once they were back in the house, he couldn’t bring himself to ask the simple question.
Are you home for good?
He didn’t want to be disappointed and let the wrong answer ruin the evening he had planned for them.
“Holy crap, there was more at the apartment than I thought,” she said, taking off her wet jacket, then unclipping the custom fit, body band gun holster he’d bought her for her birthday a couple of years ago. Perspiration darkened her light blue shirt where the holster bands had fit snug. Droplets of water ran from her hair and made her face shiny. She wiped at her cheeks, then slipped out of her shoes. “Ah, that’s better. And I’m so glad you turned on the AC this morning. I was hoping the rain would help with the humidity, but I don’t think we’re going to be so lucky.”
Running a hand through his damp hair, he looked away from her and to the boxes and clothes. “Dinner’s in the oven and won’t be ready for about ninety minutes.”
“Perfect. I’m going to take a quick shower.” She took the clothes with her and went upstairs.
As he watched her ass disappear around the corner, he wondered what the hell just happened. The obvious—she brought more of her things back to the house. When thunder rumbled, he glanced out the front window. The wind blew stronger. The rain came down harder. Although it was only around six, the grey skies made the hour seem later. Tomorrow was supposed to be sunny, with zero percent chance of rain. Why wouldn’t she wait until then to unload her things? Why did he care?
Because he hated knowing her apartment existed and that she could, at any moment, leave him again. From the moment she’d signed the lease, he’d resented her and that damned apartment. He couldn’t stand that she lived in a shithole. Even more, he couldn’t stand that she’d refused to stay with him and try to make their marriage work. Before she’d moved out, he’d suggested counseling. He’d offered to sleep in the guest room. Both suggestions hadn’t appealed to him, but he had been willing to do either or both to prove that he wasn’t ready to give up on them.
He kicked off his wet sandals and, heading back into the kitchen to make the salad, told himself not to make a big deal out of a few boxes and clothes. She hadn’t, so why should he? He’d continue with his plans for the evening, serve her another of her favorite dinners, give her the surprise he’d promised, then later, take her upstairs to their room and make love. After he used a paper towel to dry his face, he started on the salad. As he sliced peppers, he wondered if maybe he was thinking with his dick. If he brought up her officially moving back in, and she, once again, gave him an excuse to keep the apartment, they might argue. If that happened, sex wouldn’t. Sex wasn’t the only thing he wanted from her, though. Although a huge bonus, he’d loved having her in the house again. Loved waking up to her, loved that their bathroom now smelled like her hair products and lotions.
Finished with the peppers, he moved on to the cucumbers. Jessica was not a morning person, and he loved the grumpy sleepy faces she’d make as she crawled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed having coffee with her in the morning, or coming home to her in the evening. Cooking had become a pleasure again. Since she’d been gone, he rarely prepared big meals. Without her to share them with, why bother?
What he needed was to stay out of his head. Enjoy the evening. Find his good energy.
But those fucking boxes kept taunting him.
He finished with the cucumbers, then tossed the salad together in a medium-sized bowl. When he turned to store it in the fridge until it was time to eat, he nearly dropped the bowl.
“Are you in stealth mode? I didn’t hear you come into the kitchen.”
Jessica moved away from their large kitchen table, waving one of his t-shirts. “Maybe.”
“How long have you been standing there?” he asked, setting the bowl in the fridge and pulling out a bottle of wine.
“Long enough to wonder what has my badass Navy SEAL so distracted he didn’t even hear me coming into the room.”
“What’s with the shirt?” he asked, instead of acknowledging that her and her damned boxes were what had him distracted. A fight over her apartment wasn’t worth it.
“Unless you planned on entering a wet t-shirt contest, I thought you’d like a dry one.” Her gaze drifted from his bare feet, over his chest, until she met his eyes. “Or, you could go without a shirt altogether.” She looked at the timer on the stove. “We do have another hour before dinner.”
He’d originally planned on spending that hour having a couple of glasses of wine, talking, maybe give her the gift he’d bought the other day. Now she was suggesting sex. He was good with that, only those boxes were making it difficult to think about—
“This is ridiculous,” he said.
Her forehead wrinkled. “If you don’t want to fool around, we can—”
“I meant, I’m being ridiculous. Of course I want to fool around. When have you ever known me to turn you down?”
“So what are you being ridiculous about?”
“Your boxes and clothes,” he admitted. Screw it. He needed to man up and face whatever answer she might give him. “Why are they here?”
“Because I can’t keep my things in an apartment I’m no longer renting.”
He grinned. Relief lessened the tension lining his shoulders and neck. Now aware of how wet his shirt was, he whipped it over his head. “Can you toss me that?” he asked, nodding to the dry shirt she held.
“Sure,” she said with a raised brow, then walked over and threw the shirt in his face. “I’ll be upstairs. Call me when dinner is ready.”
Before she could turn the corner, he grabbed her by the arm. “What the hell was that all about?”
“For an investigator, you’re clueless.”
“Then clue me in on what I did wrong.”
“I just told you I broke my lease and you didn’t even acknowledge it.”
“Since I had to ask about your things, I assumed if you wanted to talk about it, you would.” When she tried to pull away, he hauled her closer. “That apartment has been pissing me off from the moment you moved into it. We’ve argued over you moving out dozens of times, I saw no point in starting another one now. But, since you’re fired up anyway and it doesn’t look like we’ll be fooling around, we might as well get at it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You want to argue?”
“No. I want answers. Why’d you cancel your lease?”
“Sorry, I thought you’d be happy about it. I’m sure my land
lord will gladly hand over the keys if—”
“Former landlord. I don’t want you to leave.”
“Good, because I don’t want to, either.” She let out a deep sigh and her warm breath licked at his bare chest. “I guess I shouldn’t have acted the way I did just now.” She met his gaze. “I should have told you earlier that I planned to cancel my lease, but I wanted it to be a surprise.”
He touched her cheek. “It’s a wonderful surprise. I love that you’re back.”
“You mean you love that I can’t run again.”
True. He hated that she could, at any time, up and leave, and hole up in the apartment. “Jess, I don’t want you to ever feel like you need to run, or that I’m trying to keep you here. After this past week, I thought…maybe I’m wrong, but I think we’re in a good place.”
“We are.”
“Then why are we doing this now? You came home with the rest of your things, didn’t say a word about your apartment, suggested we fool around, and even when I tell you I’m glad you’re back, I still feel like you’re fighting me.”
She looked away.
“I don’t want you to keep a separate apartment, but if that’s what you need, then—”
“No. That’s not what I need.” She slid her hands along his chest until she gripped his shoulders. “I thought I could just bring my stuff home and avoid talking about the apartment and what it represents. But that’s not fair to you.”
The regret in her eyes had the tension returning to his shoulders. “What do you mean by represents?”
“Did you notice what wasn’t in the apartment?”
“Besides real silverware and plates?” he asked, suspecting where she was heading. At this point he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what direction she was heading. The truth might hurt.
She gave him a sad smile. “Yes, besides those.”
“Look, I know you had nothing personal at the apartment. No pictures or anything that could remind you of Sophia or us. And that’s okay. We all handle our grief—”
“Please don’t start talking about the grieving process,” she said, and tightened her grip on his shoulders. “And I did have one picture. On my nightstand. It was the last thing I looked at before I went to bed and the first thing I woke up to.”
“Sophia.”
She nodded and drew in a shaky breath. “I couldn’t keep a picture of me and you. It hurt too much. And I didn’t need one of just you because all I had to do was look at our daughter. It’s amazing how much she looks like you.”
“She has your smile and nose, and the shape of your eyes.”
“I know. Until today, until I really looked at her picture— I didn’t see it before. And I owe you an apology.”
“You don’t,” he said, hugging her closer. “You’re back. There’s no need to apologize. I get why you left. I didn’t like it, but I get it.”
“I don’t think you do.”
She pulled away. Sensing whatever weighed on her needed to be said, with reluctance, he let her go. She walked around the kitchen table and stopped at the watercolor of him and Sophia. “I was so angry at you. I resented you for getting on me about my search for her. I resented that you could move on, that you could stay at our house surrounded by memories I wanted to forget.”
If only she understood how painful it had been for him to be here alone. That the memories she’d wanted to forget had kept him up late into the night. That they’d made him ache, question whether or not God existed.
“I resented you, period.” When she glanced over her shoulder, and he caught the tears streaming down her face, his chest constricted. “In my head,” she continued, “I sometimes referred to you as my human memento, because every time I saw you, I was reminded of what I no longer have. And that’s the main reason I left.”
“You left because of me.”
Sniffing, she swiped at her face. “I would look at you and see her, but what’s selfish and horrible on my part is that I didn’t see you. Your grief was second to mine. I know you suffered. I could see it in your eyes, but I chose to ignore it and selfishly focused on me. I kept telling myself that I was doing the right thing. That Dante just didn’t get the pain a mother goes through after losing a child.”
“You handled Sophia’s disappearance the best way you knew how,” he said, wishing they could end this conversation. It hurt knowing she hadn’t been able to stand being around him. That she hadn’t seen him—her husband, her friend, the father of their child.
“I don’t think I did. Last week, when we argued and you called yourself a sperm donor…that hit me hard.” She shook her head. “I was unfair to you. You’re right. You were there through the entire pregnancy. I’ll never forget the smile on your face the first time you felt her kick, or the tears in your eyes when you held her minutes after she was born.”
He pressed his index finger and thumb to his closed eyes and remembered those moments. They’d been some of the best in his life.
“You’re my best friend,” she said. “The one person I could always talk to. When I left, I had no one. Now I’m wondering who you had.”
Like Jessica, he had no one. “I managed.”
“I suppose better than me. You were always stronger.”
Although it surprised him that she’d resented him for more than trying to put an end to her obsessing over her search for Sophia, none of what she’d said made him angry. With the way her apology over how she’d handled her grief now bordered on self-pity—that pissed him off. Their daughter was gone, and living in self-absorbed misery wasn’t going to bring her back. “Are you finished?” he asked, needing to take a step back before he said something he’d likely regret.
So she couldn’t be around him because he was her human memento. Knowing his face had brought her pain and unwanted memories sucked and hurt, and had his stomach in knots. It also started to fill him with his own resentment. Why did she have to wait until now to tell him all of this?
“You’re mad at me, and I get it,” she said, moving away from the painting. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to tell you any of this or not, and kept telling myself no good would come from confessing how I’ve felt.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because I love you and I don’t want you to ever doubt that.”
“I don’t.” He looked toward the large kitchen windows when the room momentarily lit up from a quick flash of lightning. “And I’m not mad.”
“I think you are.”
“Think what you want,” he snapped. “Look, I’m not going to lie. Hearing you couldn’t be around me—”
She quickly approached him. “I wanted to, though. That’s what you need to understand. I never stopped loving you. I wanted to be strong like you, but I couldn’t.”
“Would you stop feeling sorry for yourself?”
Her eyes widened with hurt and shock. “It’s kind of hard not to feel sorry for myself. I lost my daughter and my husband.”
“You didn’t lose me. You walked away. And please quit referring to Sophia as our daughter, or as she or her,” he said, his irritation growing. “Christ, Jess, why can’t you say her name?”
Her tears were killing him. What he needed to do was shut the fuck up, and accept everything she’d said and move forward. They were in a good place, and if he didn’t end this conversation, that could all change. There could be more resentment, more wrong words said, that could never be undone.
“Never mind.” He took a step back. “You said what you need to, and I appreciate the apology. I’m going to check on dinner.”
She gripped his arm. “You’re such a liar.”
“I think we should stop before we say something we’re both going to regret,” he said, his temper building.
“I’m already regretting. I should have kept what I was feeling to myself, and only thought about it on the days I decided to have a pity party.” She let go of him and moved backward. “I thought I could tell you anything,” she continued, her eye
s imploring and holding so much damned faith, guilt twisted him from the inside out. “I did and do feel sorry for myself. And I won’t apologize for that. But you’re right. I walked away from you. I told you my reasons, not because I wanted to twist the knife, but because I wanted to be honest with you and myself.” She took another step. “I’m done with this conversation.”
“Where are you going?”
“Obviously not back to my apartment,” she said, and rushed from the room.
Fuck that. She might not be able to hole up in her apartment, but he refused to let her hide from him again. He might be angry, but he loved his wife. This confession of hers had taken balls, and he needed to dig deep and accept truths that hurt like hell.
Catching her in the foyer, he snagged her hand and spun her around. “Before you shut me out again, answer this. When you look at me now, what do you see?”
“The man I love and hurt,” she said with a catch to her breath. “I see our— I see Sophia and the good memories.” Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks. “What do you see when you look at me?”
He stared into her eyes, hating the uncertainty in them. Hating that he was the reason she looked so damned sad. “The woman I love and hurt.”
She let out a quiet sob and shook her head. “You never hurt me.”
“I just did. I’m sorry for the way I reacted,” he said, his anger turning to self-loathing and his respect for Jessica quadrupling. “It took a lot of guts to tell me how you were feeling. And I feel guilty for—”
She yanked her hand away, then shoved him. “What do you have to feel guilty about? Why can’t you just let me have a fucking moment and quit turning every argument back to you?” She shoved him again. “I’m so sick and tired of how you twist things around.”
“How the hell did I twist anything around?” he shouted, finished with her bullshit accusations. “When has it ever been about me? That’s right. Never. You know what I hear from people? How’s Jessica? How’s she dealing with her loss? You know what they ask about me? Not a fucking thing. And don’t you dare give me ‘that’s because you’re stronger than me’ bullshit. I grieved alone. Not knowing where our baby girl is festers in the pit of my stomach and makes me so goddamned sick inside. If I could afford to quit my job and spend every waking moment looking for her, I would.”
Ultimate Fear (Book 2 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series) Page 26
