My Husband's Secret

by Kiersten Modglin

  He winced as I touched it. “Naomi and I got into a fight.”

  “She did this to you?” I asked in horror, rubbing my hands carefully through his hair as I tried to find the wound. When I brushed my hands over a particularly stiff patch of hair, the blood began to ooze again.

  “She told me she wanted me to come back, that she’d made a mistake telling me to leave, but I told her I was leaving her.” His eyes met mine in the mirror over the sink. “For you. I don’t want to try with her anymore. It’s you I want.”

  I sucked in a breath, breaking eye contact to tend to the wound. “Luke, I can’t—we have to get you to the hospital. You need stitches, a CT.”

  He shook his head, pulling away from me. “I don’t want to get her into trouble. She was upset. With her issues…sometimes she can’t control her temper.”

  I pressed my lips together, staring at the beautiful, selfless man in front of me. “She can’t get away with this, Luke. She could’ve killed you.”

  “I don’t want to hurt her any more than I have. I’m breaking her heart, ruining her life. I probably deserved this. And I’m fine, honestly. I just need you to sew it up.” He parted his hair with his fingers, giving me a cleaner view of the gash at the back of his skull. “So we can get going.”

  “Going? Where are we going?”

  He gave a lopsided grin. “To start our new lives.”

  My chest constricted. “We’re leaving today? You still want to do this?”

  He scoffed. “Now more than ever.”

  “But is it safe to leave her with Becca? Should we wait until you can get custody?”

  His expression darkened. “I can’t wait, Clara. I have to get away from here. Away from her. I-I don’t feel safe here.”

  A lump formed in my throat at the words, and I stared at him, watching as he removed one hand from the back of his head. The blood trickled through his stained fingers, the other making crimson fingerprints as he opened my drawers, rifling through them. When he found what he was looking for, he held it up. The black leather housed a suture kit I’d bought and never used.

  “I need your help, Doctor,” he said, the joke there in his voice, masked behind the pain.

  I sighed, taking the kit from him. “Sit down.” I gestured toward the toilet, and he put the lid down, taking a seat. I turned on the faucet, scrubbing my shaking hands. I’d done stitches a million times, but never on someone I loved. I scrubbed them with the soap until my fingers were raw, cleaning under my short fingernails, down the length of my forearm, and between my fingers. I lifted my hands like I was prepared for surgery. “Can you turn the water off?” He nodded and stood, while I turned my attention to the open suture kit on the side of the counter, pulling on the gloves. I spun around when I heard a loud buzz, my jaw dropping open. “What did you do?”

  He stood in front of me, his beard trimmer in hand, a chunk of dark hair behind him on the floor. “You weren’t going to be able to see the wound otherwise.”

  I shook my head, tutting under my breath. “I could’ve seen it fine. You didn’t need to shave your head.”

  “It’s just hair,” he said, raising one shoulder in a shrug. “It’ll grow back. It’s what we tell our patients.” With that, he laid the trimmer down and took a seat back on the toilet.

  I tore open the blue pack of nylon sutures and laid them next to the needle holder. “I don’t have anything to numb you.”

  He inhaled sharply through his teeth as I swiped the prep pad across the wound. “I can handle it.”

  I worked in silence, weaving the needle through his skin, more aware of my technique than ever before. He stayed eerily still, his hands grasping his knees and eyes squeezed closed, until I’d performed the last suture. I stared at my work with pride as I covered it in gauze. “There. How are you feeling?”

  “Like someone’s been sewing my skin,” he said with a chuckle before standing. He leaned down and kissed my lips briefly. His skin smelled of cigarette smoke and, when he pulled away, I noticed his pupils were more dilated than usual. “Thank you. I promise I’ll pay you back if we’re ever in a reverse situation.”

  “Let’s hope we aren’t.”

  He gave a sly smile. “Let’s hope we aren’t,” he repeated, making his way to the sink and washing his hands.

  “Have you been smoking?” I followed him across the room.

  “Of course not, why would you ask that?”

  “You smell like it,” I said firmly. “You don’t smoke, Luke.”

  He sighed. “I stopped by my mom’s apartment before I came here. To get something stronger for the pain.”

  I stared at him, so many questions swirling through my mind I wasn’t sure which to ask first. “Your mom? You mean…you took drugs?”

  “Relax. Just a few hydrocodone. Something to knock the edge off.”

  “That was really stupid, you know that? What if you’d gotten caught? You could lose your license.” I paused, waiting for him to answer, but he didn’t, studying his hands as he scrubbed. “Why would your mom have pain pills?”

  “She’s always got something…” He trailed off, and I pursed my lips, reality setting in. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out. The letter M lit up his screen, and he hit ignore, sliding it back in his pocket and grumbling, “Speak of the devil.”

  Chills lined my skin as it all sank in. “That was your mom calling? I was right, wasn’t I? About your mom being an addict? I had it right the first time.”

  He sighed. “I forgot I’d told you, and once I was going on about Naomi’s parents, I had to keep lying. I’m an idiot, and I’m sorry.”

  I sighed through my nose. “Yeah, you are. Luke, you told me your mom was dangerous. You hadn’t spoken to her in years.”

  “Yeah, that part wasn’t a lie. I hadn’t in a long time. She’s come back within the last few years. She’s in a rough spot, and she’s needed my help. She’s trying to get clean, and I’m in a place where I can help her. What kind of son would I be if I said no?”

  I ran a hand through my hair as I tried to take in all that he was saying. “I know you’re trying to do the right thing, but it doesn’t sound like she’s trying to get clean if she had pills on hand to give you.” He frowned, and I went on, “I just don’t want you to get hurt…”

  “I know—”

  “You shouldn’t be going around her when she’s using, and you certainly shouldn’t be taking drugs from her—”

  “I know,” he said more firmly. “You asked me not to lie to you anymore, and I’m not. Isn’t that a good thing?”

  I pressed my lips together. “Yes, I guess so.”

  “Good. And I won’t be seeing her anymore. I just went by to tell her I was leaving.”

  “You wha—”

  “Now,” he interrupted when he was done drying his hands, “get your bag packed. I’ll be back in a few hours, and we’ll hit the road.”

  “Hang on. Where do you think you’re going?” I asked, putting a hand to his arm. “You’ve just had a major head injury. You need to rest. I should be monitoring you for a few hours.”

  He laughed, brushing off my touch. “I’m fine, honestly. I’ve had worse, trust me. I’m a bleeder, always have been. I just have a few things to take care of before we hit the road.”

  “You can’t drive in your condition!”

  “I drove over here, didn’t I? I only ran over two puppies.” He snorted, patting my head. “I’m fine. Swear.” He turned away dismissively, preparing to leave the bathroom, but I moved in front of him with one hand on my hip.

  “What do you have to take care of that’s so important? At least let me drive you.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, “I have no intentions of dying before I get to make you my wife.”

  My chest swelled, head pounding at the words. “What are you talking about?”

  He twisted his mouth. “You’ve gone and made me ruin the surprise now.”

  “You said you didn’t want to
get married.”

  “Because I already was… Soon enough that won’t be an issue. I was going to pick up your ring before the trip.” He paused, his smile slight. “Is that okay with you?”

  I couldn’t deny the happiness radiating from me. It was all I’d ever wanted. I leapt forward, throwing my arms around him. “Oh, Luke…”

  “Watch the head,” he said, jerking down as my hands swung around his neck. He laughed and kissed me back, his hands on my waist. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too…” I told him, watching in a dream-like stupor as he walked past me, with one last look back, out of the bedroom and down the hall. A few moments later, I heard the door shut, snapping me out of my trance.

  Oh, no.

  Proposal or no, I couldn’t let him drive away. Not in his condition. Not with a head wound and on whatever he’d taken. I grabbed my clothes from the edge of the bed, throwing them over my head as quickly as I could manage. Then, I grabbed the keys and rushed out the door, not bothering to lock it behind me. I didn’t have time.

  I had to save a life.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Alaina

  He opened the door and entered my apartment in one fluid movement. I was on the couch in sweats and a T-shirt, my hair slicked back from my face with a cloth headband.

  When he entered, I tried to sit up, but fell back down, feigning weakness.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.” He looked me over. “What’s wrong?” When he moved closer, I realized there was blood on the collar of his scrubs. “What happened?”

  “I should ask you the same thing,” I said, lifting a hand to point at his shirt. “You’re bleeding.”

  He spun around, where there was a patch of hair missing and a large, white square bandage taped over the wound. “Was. I’m fine now. Bit of an accident at work with a distraught patient.”

  “Someone attacked you?” I asked, sniffling and making my voice sound weaker.

  “I’m fine.” He sank into the couch next to me. “Big guy didn’t know who he was messing with. He hit me with a bedpan, I hit him with six milligrams of Lorazepam. We’re even.”

  I feigned a forced smile, then let it slide away and, thankfully, he noticed. “What’s wrong?”

  I shook as I answered, using all my strength to call tears to the surface. “I… I lost th-the baby…” I watched his face closely, looking for a hint of the shock that should’ve been there. Shock at a minimum, though I would’ve preferred devastation. Much as I suspected, there was none.

  “Oh, Alaina…” he said, pulling me toward him. I jerked back unintentionally, and he stared at me. There was the shock.

  “Sorry, I’m sore.” I ran a hand over my belly.

  He nodded. “Of course. I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “Just…stay with me,” I whispered, curling up into the fetal position. I was doing a great job, if I did say so myself. “I don’t want to be alone.”

  “Do you want me to get you anything? For the pain?” he asked. “I can get some Tylenol or ibuprofen…or something stronger.” He raised a brow and pulled a small bag of white pills from his pocket. “They gave me these at the hospital for the pain. You may need them more than I do.” I thought back to the small pill he’d claimed he’d left for my pain. The small, round, white pill with one letter and three numbers. From my research, I knew it was the second pill I’d need to take to complete my abortion. I assumed he’d crushed the first into the drink he’d left on my nightstand.

  “No thanks. I’ve taken some already. I took the pill you left in the drawer for my headache, but it didn’t do anything. You said it should’ve, right?”

  He swallowed, unwavering in his sincerity. “Yes, that’s right. It should’ve, but everyone’s pain tolerances are different.” He put a hand on my leg. “Are you…bleeding yet?”

  I nodded. “It started last night.”

  He looked away from me, to the wall across from us. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, his tone so convincing it was scary.

  “It’s not your fault,” I cried, rubbing a hand under my nose to keep a straight face, because we both knew it was. “It must’ve been the panic attack. I called the emergency hotline at the clinic last night. They said stress can do that in the first trimester.”

  He nodded, looking relieved to have a cause. “It’s incredibly common.” I stood up from the couch, hobbling down the hall. “Where are you going?” he asked, and I heard the couch shift with his weight as he stood to follow me.

  “I need a drink.” I reached the kitchen first, opening the fridge and grabbing the bottle of wine and the two already-full glasses from the top shelf before he caught up with me. I set them on the counter and pretended to pour them as he entered. The clear glass, grape juice, was mine. The blue glass, actual wine laced with a hefty dose of allergy medicine—the kind that made me extra drowsy—was his.

  I lifted his glass, warming it with my hands before passing it to him. “Drink with me?”

  He stared at me apprehensively. “I don’t think I should. I can’t stay long.”

  “You promised to stay,” I argued, forcing a few new tears.

  “I’ll stay for as long as I can, but I’m on call. If I get a call for surgery, I have to go in.”

  “One little drink won’t hurt,” I told him. “You drove plastered the other night. A glass of wine won’t get you buzzed. You know I hate drinking alone…” My chin quivered. “Please. I need this, Lukey.”

  He sighed, giving in, and took the glass. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” He put an arm around my shoulders and took a drink of his wine.

  I bent down, slinking out of his grip and holding my stomach with my free hand.

  “What is it?”

  “Just a cramp,” I assured him, easing back up. “I shouldn’t be on my feet for too long.” Together, we made our way back into the living room. By the time we reached the couch, his glass was nearly empty.

  He sat down first, and I sank into the couch next to him, watching as he stared off into space. “You okay?” I asked, taking a gulp of my juice. I was careful to stay far enough away that I didn’t think he’d be able to smell the non-alcoholic grapes on my breath.

  “Mhm,” he mused, his eyes already drooping. It was entirely too early for the drink to have worked. It should’ve been a few hours before he began to feel sleepy. Had I accidentally overdosed him? I sat up straighter.

  “You don’t look so good,” I said, touching his shoulder.

  He shook his head, snapping out of the glazed look he’d been wearing. “Sorry. Just a long night…and my head isn’t helping.” He downed the rest of his wine. “Or this.”

  “Maybe you should rest here for a while. Call in and tell them you can’t come back. If you’re hurt, surely they don’t want you operating on anyone.”

  He yawned. “I can’t do that. They did a CT at the hospital and everything’s normal. Besides, it’s you I’m worried about.”

  “I’m going to be okay,” I vowed, meaning every word. He looked at me, his gaze somehow distant but concerned at the same time.

  “I thought you’d be upset.”

  “I am, but there’s nothing I can do, right? I’m trying to move on. To do better. Make better choices.”

  “Choices?”

  I nodded, taking another drink of my juice. He reached for the glass, his motions sluggish. I pulled it away from him. “Go pour yourself more. This is mine.”

  He shook his head. Something was wrong, and it wasn’t the medicine. There was no way what I’d given him had been enough to cause this reaction so quickly. I only wanted to get him to sleep, to give myself enough time to come up with a plan to have him admit what he’d done. To go to the police with the truth. I didn’t want to kill him.

  “How many of those pills have you taken?” I asked, staring at the pocket he’d pulled the bag from earlier.

  He ignored the question. “What choices will you be making better?�
�

  “Every choice I’ve made for the past two years,” I said simply, taking another drink. He reached for the glass this time, one hand over mine. His grip tightened until I released with a shriek of pain. He put the glass to his lips and tilted it up. I swallowed, panic latching onto my bones and swirling through my veins as I watched him down the last of my drink. His lips curled, tongue running over his teeth as he narrowed his eyes at me.

  “Meaning me?”

  “What?” I tried to steady my breath.

  “Meaning m—” He stopped, cocking his head to the side. “What was that?”

  “What?” I asked again, scooting back from him and attempting to stand up.

  “You weren’t drinking wine.” He looked at the glass, raising it to his nose. “Why did you lie?”

  I pushed myself further back until my body was firmly against the arm of the couch. “I don’t know—”

  “Don’t lie to me!” he thundered.

  I whimpered then cleared my throat, regaining my composure. I wouldn’t let him intimidate me. I stood from the couch, moving opposite him across the coffee table. “What? You mean you’re the only one who can do that around here?”

  “What the hell does that mean?” he asked, taking a step as he staggered then steadied himself on the arm of the couch.

  “You tried to make me have an abortion!”

  “I never lied about that!”

  “About the pills? You forced one on me!” I looked to the space in between the couch cushions where my phone was set to record, hoping we were talking loudly enough.

  His indignant expression changed. “You knew?”

  “I’m not an idiot. I know what Tylenol looks like. And, with a little research, I found out what misoprostol looks like, too. Before I dumped it down the drain.”

  He growled and stepped toward me, his body swaying as if he were on a tightrope. “You knew all along? This has all been an act?”

  “How could you do it, Lucas? You weren’t even going to give me a choice? You were just going to kill our baby?”