Ultimate Fear (Book 2 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series) (35 page)

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 landlord 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 eyes 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.”

“Then why did you try and stop me when I was living here? Why did you constantly harass me about how unhealthy it was, that I was obsessed?”

He held her by her upper arms and gave her a slight shake. “Because it
is
unhealthy and you
are
obsessed. You couldn’t even be around me because I reminded you too much of Sophia. How’s that for unhealthy?”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” She shoved her arms between his and pushed outward, but he tightened his hold. “Let go of me.”

“We’re not finished.”

“I am. This was a mistake.”

“Telling me how you’ve felt all of these years or moving back in with me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe both.” She stilled and looked to the boxes on the foyer floor. “Please let me go.”

Fear gripped him by the balls. He couldn’t lose her again. The things she’d said had hurt. But her words had been from the heart and were meant to heal old wounds, not create new ones. “I can’t.” He crushed his lips to hers. When she didn’t respond, he gripped her hair and tugged. She gasped and he took advantage. Curled his tongue around hers, kissed her with all of the love, hurt and pain that had been locked inside.

She pushed at his chest, yet deepened the kiss. When her tears wet his face, he had a quick check of reality and tore his mouth away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have forced myself on you—”

Looping her arms around his neck, she silenced him with a hot, open-mouthed kiss. Need he hadn’t expected ignited his lust. He couldn’t live without her. He’d tried, but had ended up going through the motions of life on autopilot. Wake up, work, go to bed. Repeat. Without Jessica, there’d been no joy, nothing to look forward to, no one to turn to when he’d needed a friend. With her mouth on his, her tears cleansing his soul and washing away the past three and a half years, he knew in his gut that if she left him again, moving on autopilot wouldn’t work any longer. He’d laughed and loved and had experienced more joy in one week than he had in years. All because Jessica was with him again.

“I hate fighting with you,” he murmured between kisses, then dragged his lips along her neck and pressed her back against the carpeted steps.