Love Everlasting (Isle of Hope series Book 2) (31 page)

Chapter Forty-Three

Shannon glanced at the clock, then stared at the ceiling of her bedroom, wondering if she would even fall asleep tonight. It was well past two in the morning, but the conversation with Cat and Lacey had heightened her awareness to the fact that she was desperately in love with Sam Cunningham—or Dr. Love to the Memorial nurses, she reminded herself—and needed to tell him the truth.
Which
meant she was also incredibly vulnerable to being crushed a second time.

Her eyelids lumbered closed like they were made of lead, but not before a pool of tears brimmed, alerting her to the fact that this gnawing indigestion in her gut had flared into full-blown nausea. Because frankly, she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to go through it again …

When you are weak, I am strong …

The sweet whisper of God’s Word opened her eyes once more, but this time it was to the hope that she was no longer alone in the battle.

The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.

“Thank you,” she said softly, so very grateful for God. He had fought for her with Eric—for her very life as well as her soul—and she had no doubt that the strength seeping into her bones right now was His, not hers. More tears pricked, but these were tears of joy over a God Who had called her out of the darkness into His marvelous light. She had been on the brink of death in so many ways, but God had shown her through the pain that she—Shannon Terese O’Bryen, the shy and quiet twin that nobody noticed—was His “very own possession,” no matter how far she had strayed from His hand.

And, oh, how she had! She’d been raised on a solid faith and yet, just like her father, she had fallen, exchanging the love of God for the love of man, a human frailty of epidemic proportion. But even that God had turned around for good when He’d brought her to the pinnacle of faith, revealing to her soul the only truth she could really cling to … and the only truth that really mattered.

I am God, and there is no other …

“My soul finds rest in God alone,” she quoted softly, and knew to the core of her being that it was true. She’d already proven she couldn’t rest in her own strength or goodness because it had failed her so miserably before. As much as she loved her family and friends, they could not provide the true rest she craved for her soul. And even if Sam did love her with the everlasting love for which she so longed, it would never still her, steady her, save her like the unfailing love of God.

“I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have drawn you with loving-kindness. Again I will build you up, and you will be rebuilt.”

Rebuilt.

Which meant that no matter what happened in her life now or in the future, in her relationship with Sam or anyone else, the Lover of her Soul would not forsake her like man was so prone to do.

At the thought, peace flooded, and her limbs slowly sank into the rest she needed. Eyelids edging toward sleep, she prayed a final Scripture, the words soft and warm on her lips. “Let the morning bring me word of Your unfailing love, Oh Lord, for I put my trust in You. Show me the way I should go, for unto You I lift up my soul.”

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Shannon startled in the bed, her silenced cell phone vibrating her stomach as much as her nightstand. Her heart turned over when she saw it was Sam, and lunging for the phone, she answered, barely able to hear her own breathy voice for the pounding of her pulse in her brain. “Sam?”

“Ain-chell Eyes …”

Her stomach bottomed out as her heart stumbled in her chest, the slur in his words painful proof that he’d broken his promise to himself to never get drunk again. “Sam—what’s wrong?”

“Come on, Teash, does somethin’ hafta be wrong for me to see my bes’ girl?”

Alarm prickled her skin. The thought of Sam driving drunk catapulted her from the bed. “Where are you?” she whispered, the sound harsh in a house where everyone else was sleeping.

“Right outside, babe, so come on out. And, Shan …” The husky chuckle that usually fluttered her stomach now roiled it instead. “Don’t bother to put on a robe.”

Hands quivering, she ripped her pajama bottoms off and put on a fresh pair of shorts, barely able to latch the hook of her bra beneath the T-shirt she wore. Snatching her purse off the dresser, she slipped on her Sperrys and silently opened the door, holding her breath as she eased it closed before tiptoeing down the stairs. With the utmost stealth, she locked the front door behind her and hurried to where Sam’s Vette was parked in the street.

“Give me the keys,” she said in a terse tone she seldom used, Sam’s recklessness unhinging a deeply buried temper few knew she had.

“Hey, babe.” His eyes were mere slits as he stumbled out of the car, swaying conspicuously when she stepped back from his reach. The lazy smile on his face dissolved into hurt. “Come on, Shan, I need you …”

“You need me all right,” she said in a near hiss, “to drive your sorry butt home.” With pickpocket speed, she plucked the keyless entry remote from his trousers and slipped it into the pocket of her shorts.

His suggestive chuckle reeked of alcohol. “I knew you’d come around eventually, Ain-chell Eyes. Most women do.”

“Yeah?” She smacked his arm away, pushing and prodding him to the passenger side of the car none too gently. “Well, I’m not most women.”

He skidded to a halt like he wanted to respond, but she just yanked on his shirt that much harder, dragging him all the way.

“Hey, you’re gonna rip my favorite Armani,” he groused.

“Better than your jugular, Doc.” She jerked the passenger door open and shoved him in on top of his precious suit jacket that was folded neatly on the seat, not a bit sorry when he bumped his head on the roof.

Slamming the door, she almost smiled when she saw him grapple with pulling his jacket out from beneath his hard-muscled bulk. But, not quite. His mood was considerably testier when she got in on the driver’s side. “For crying out loud, Shan, have a li’l respec’ for my things, will ya?” he muttered, refolding the jacket just so before laying it over the console.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes as she started the car, figuring she’d have to give him one thing—he was the neatest drunk she ever saw. “I have respect for your things, Sam.” She turned the stereo down, not missing the irony of Keith Urban’s song, “Stupid Boy,” blaring through the car as she eased it down the street. “It’s their owner I’m not too sure about right now.” She slid him a peeved look, her tone a clear reprimand. “Especially somebody stupid enough to drink and drive, so you’ll excuse me if I’m not very happy with you right now.”

“Yeah?” His voice rose in volume, making the slur all the more noticeable. “Well, I got news for ya, babe, that goes both ways—” His words strangled into a groan as he began to fumble with the handle of his door. With split-second precision, Shannon squealed to a stop on the side of the road and flung her door open, rushing to the other side to yank him out of the car. The moment his feet hit the pavement, it was his dinner that went “both ways”—from his precious Armani shirt right on down to his beloved Cole Haan brogues, baptizing them with the foulest vomit she’d ever seen or smelled.

“I don’ feel so good,” he mumbled, looking for all his strapping six-foot-one height like a sick little boy battling the flu.

“I imagine not,” she said with quiet sigh, her heart softening despite herself. “Not with a bottle of poison in your gut.”

“Chivas,” he corrected. “Some of the fines’ scotch in the world—aged twelve years.”

“Yes, well your liver just aged twelve years, too, bucko, not to mention your shoes.”

Swaying on his feet, he looked down and emitted a rusty groan, giving her pause when she thought he was going to spew some more. “Noooooo … not my Cole Haans …”

“Yeah, never mind the liver,” she muttered, leaving him to bemoan the fate of his shoes while she rifled through both her purse and the glove compartment for tissues or towels. She came up empty, so she quickly scanned the yards on Bluff Drive, spotting a sprawling bed of giant hostas. Plucking several leaves off the bottom of a plant, she returned to where Sam sagged over the hood of his car, arms braced as if to hold himself up.

Without a word, she squatted to clean off first his shoes and then his slacks the best she could before rising to attend to his shirt.

“Thanks,” he whispered. His voice was hoarse as he took the hosta leaves from her hand to finish the job, his shame evident in how he avoided her gaze.

Against her better judgment, she gave his arm a tender squeeze, then left to hunt for a tissue in her purse again, finding only a sad, crumpled one smeared with lipstick. “Here,” she said in a gentle tone, carefully wiping any excess from his face and shirt before handing him a mint. “Hopefully the worst is over and we can get you home to bed.”

He nodded and tumbled back into the car, deathly quiet while he settled back against the headrest with eyes closed. For all she knew he slept all the way to his townhouse, never uttering a word, and she was glad. He was in no condition for serious conversation right now, and there was a ton of that needed before she’d resume this relationship again. The nausea in her gut took over, exacerbated by the stench of vomit that permeated despite the open windows. She couldn’t afford to marry a man who drank to excess, especially one who’d promised he’d given it up. He’d had dinner with Jack and Chase, so she knew little or no drinking was involved. But he’d mentioned meeting up with some old fraternity brothers after, so they must have twisted his arm. Even so, could she trust a man who could break a promise so easily?

“Ours is a forever love, Shan, I promise …”

The memory of Eric’s words struck hard, echoing in her brain along with something Sam once said.

“Promises are nothing more than a puff of air. But my word is my unbreakable bond, as honest and pure as I can ever hope to be.”

Putting her blinker on to turn into his complex, she chanced a peek at his profile, suddenly realizing he wasn’t asleep at all. Yes, his eyes were closed and his head was back, but his stubbled jaw was far too steeled for a man in repose, clearly indicating he was pretending to be asleep when he wasn’t. Goosebumps pebbled her arms as she pulled into his parking spot, wondering if there was anything else he was pretending about.

“I won’t hurt you, I give you my word,” he’d once told her. A cold chill iced her skin, matching the sleet suddenly slithering her veins.

Had that just been pretense too?

Chapter Forty-Four

A towel wrapped around his waist, Sam stared through bleary eyes, his mind foggier than the mirror despite twenty minutes in a hot shower. Grabbing a washcloth, he wiped the steam away, wishing he could wipe away this night from his memory as effectively.

“She was a home-wrecker, man. Had an affair with one of the top professors, busting up his marriage.”

Fresh fury surged through his veins along with fresh pain. How had he done it again? How had he fallen in love with another Amber?

His shoulders went slack as he leaned against the sink, his breathing as erratic as the thoughts ping-ponging in his brain. He sucked in a shaky breath. No, she wasn’t another Amber, not even close. Amber never would have cleaned him up and driven him home. Nor would she be rattling around in his kitchen right now, making him breakfast, judging from the bacon smell that made him want to puke all over again. He glanced at the now half-empty cup of coffee she’d set on the bathroom counter while he’d been showering around the corner, and he had no doubt whatsoever that Shannon O’Bryen was one of the kindest, most gentle human beings he’d ever met.

But, she wasn’t innocent and pure as he’d supposed. His mouth tamped in a thin line as he put toothpaste on his toothbrush, scouring till his gums were as raw as his heart.

Not by a long shot.

And for some reason that rankled more than anything else. Because he’d thought he found an angel. A pearl among women. When all along she was no better than anyone else. Her purity was nothing more than façade, as surface as all those trappings she often accused him of. Which galled him all the more when he’d taken such great pains to treat her with respect and admiration, cherishing her for the priceless treasure she was.

Because you love her. Not because you thought she was pure.

Moisture burned at the back of his eyes as he sagged over the sink, biceps bulging while he braced stiff arms to the granite surface. He did love her, he knew it deep down in his soul, but his image of her was tarnished, which could very well tarnish their relationship as well. Because right now all he felt was white-hot anger that he’d been duped, sold a bill of goods as tainted as her so-called purity.

A swear word hissed through his teeth as he ripped the towel from his body. He balled it up and hurled it across the room, too inebriated—and too embittered—to even consider forgiving her what she had done. Maybe tomorrow when the booze wasn’t clouding his brain, but not tonight. His jaw hardened as he jerked a fresh T-shirt over his head, teetering precariously while he donned a clean pair of pajama bottoms. No, tonight, the alcohol told him she was no different than the dozens of women he’d brought to his bed, each and every one hoping for a piece of his heart. Well, only one woman possessed it, but she’d wounded it through her deceit, and with the Chivas in his bloodstream as toxic as his thoughts, he intended to make her pay.

Slapping the light switch off, he paused for several seconds with his hand to the wall, dizzier than he’d ever been in his life. But then he’d drank more tonight than he ever had in his life, making his drunk the night of the fundraiser look like a tea party. He waited for the dizziness to subside, then finally stumbled into his darkened bedroom. Hurling the covers and sheets aside, he tumbled into bed and closed his eyes, nausea threatening when the room began to spin. He quickly jerked his eyes open, rolling onto his back with a groan.

“Sam?”

He fought the softening of his heart at the gentle sound of her voice and the accelerated thump of his pulse as she slowly approached. The calming scent of vanilla invaded his senses like a drug when she sat on the edge of the bed, fusing with the alcohol to heighten months and months of pent-up desire. “Are you hungry? I made you an omelet.”

“Yeah, I’m starving,” he whispered, hooking her waist to roll her over his body and pin her to the center of the bed, “but not for food, babe.”

“Sam, stop it!” Shock edged her voice as she tried to squirm out of his arms, but he only held on tighter, silencing her with a kiss that unleashed a groan deep in his throat. “I need you, Shan,” he whispered, voice hoarse as he tried to kiss her again.

“Sam, no!” She pummeled his chest, and his anger suddenly swelled, the thought of her and that professor pulling the pin in his grenade.

“What’s the matter, Shan?” he said, eyes itching hot as acid coated his tone. “You only put out if a guy’s married?”

Her limbs froze, her face as stricken as her body, and in that moment, the pool of pain in her eyes felt like he’d plunged a knife into his own heart instead of in hers.

His rib cage constricted, regret choking his air. “Shan, I’m sorry—”

Crack!
She all but unhinged his jaw with the blur of a palm to his cheek, clocking him so hard, he had stars in his eyes.

Before he could even move, she scrambled off the bed to flee, the trail of her broken sobs shattering him like he’d just shattered her. “Shannon, wait, please!”

But she didn’t. He heard the slam of the front door when he tried to follow, too dizzy to make his way down the stairs.

“Dear God, what have I done?” he whispered, crumpling over the banister at the top of the steps.

But he already knew.

He had single-handedly destroyed the truest love he’d ever known.

A groan scraped through his lips as he slowly slumped to the floor with his head in his hands, confirming once and for all what he’d been told all of his life.

He didn’t deserve love at all.