Page 143 of The Wrong Husband

I shake my head. "In the confusion, the person who called me didn’t make the connection between Drew and me. Neither did the supervisor on duty. But then, we weren’t that open about our relationship, either. I didn’t want our colleagues to know about us. Drew was senior to me. I worried I’d be called out for getting preferential treatment." I raise a shoulder. "So, I got into work and went into the trauma bay, just as he went into cardiac arrest."

"Jesus Christ." He wraps his arm about me and pulls me into him. I rest my head against his chest, hearing his heart thump, hearing his breathing, feeling the solidness of him, and greedily taking every bit of strength he can offer.

Again, I’m thinking only of myself, but I can’t stop myself from leaning on him. I need him. I do. I rub my cheek against his shirt.

"I… I was the one to defibrillate him. I—" I swallow. "I tried my best to revive him. I did. I kept trying. I didn’t give up. Not even after he flatlined and it was clear he wasn’t coming back. I wouldn’t—couldn’t stop. I had to keep trying. Finally, they had to pull me off of him. At which point, I went into a rage and tried to break free to go back to him. They…they had to carry me out of there and sedate me."

"Fucking hell, Fever. You’re breaking my heart." He scoops me up in his arms, walks out into the living room, and sits down on my couch with me in his lap. He holds me closely in his arms,like I’m something precious and delicate and I… I don’t deserve it. I don’t.

The tears trickle down my cheeks. First slowly, then like the rainclouds have burst and it’s a monsoon deluge. All the emotions I’ve closeted inside of myself come to the surface and boil over. I’m not sure how long I cry, but he holds me through it. When the tears finally slow, I slump against him, eyes closed, adrenaline fading, leaving me weak and shaky.

"I’m sorry." I clear my throat, then wince when it hurts.

"Don’t apologize. Never apologize for your feelings." He rises to his feet and takes me into the kitchen.

He places me on the counter next to the sink, keeping a hold on to me as if he’s scared that if he lets go, I’ll collapse. Which I might, to be honest.

It’s his touch that gives me the courage to keep my head up and stay upright. He fills a glass with water from the sink and hands it to me. I take a sip, then drain it when I find I’m parched.

He sets it aside, then tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Better?"

I nod mutely, staring at the strip of skin on his chest revealed between the lapels of his shirt. I take in the strands of hair on his chest—I know how they feel against my skin.

"Hey, you have nothing to be ashamed of."

I swallow, still unable to meet his gaze. For some reason, I feel so very shy. And embarrassed. "I’m sorry." I find myself repeating that word because, really… I do owe him an apology, regardless of his insisting otherwise.

He opens his mouth to, no doubt, protest, but I place my finger over his lips. "No, let me say it. Please?" I finally raise my eyes to his, and whatever he sees there has him nodding.

I jerk my chin.

"I knew what happened with Drew was a shock. What compounded it was that I hadn’t told my family or anyone at work about him."

"Why?" His forehead wrinkles.

"He was older than me, and my superior at the ER. Not my direct boss, but his evaluations would have made a difference on my promotions. I was embarrassed… Maybe—" I hunch my shoulders. "No, that’s not right." I look away and gather myself. "It wasn’t just that… It was the fact that, deep inside, I knew we weren’t quite right. But I wasn’t brave enough to face it. I stayed in the relationship, hoping it would run its course and peter out. Only, I hadn’t counted on him moving in with me and then wanting to marry me?—"

Connor’s jaw hardens, but he stays silent.

"The morning, he proposed to me, I knew things had gone too far. I had to…tell him that I couldn’t go on like that. That we were over. I guess, it was a surprise to him—guess I’m a better actress than I realized—because apparently, he thought everything was fine with us. But I knew it wasn’t. I knew we were spending most of our time apart. Both of us working too hard, barely meeting, even on weekends. We drifted apart and had nothing in common. And then—I suspected he was having an affair at work."

He stiffens, then seems to bring himself under control. "And was he?"

I swallow around the thickness in my throat and nod. "He never had feelings for me. I was simply the woman who paid for all his living expenses. I was his free ride. He took advantage of me, and I let him. I let him convince me that I wasn’t good enough to be in a relationship with anyone else. I’m such a cliché.

"You’re not," he says in a fierce voice. "You’re strong. And brave. And courageous. And you’ve faced everything life hasthrown at you. Look at you. Facing up to everything that happened and telling me about it. That takes guts."

I chuckle because this man… He’s always on my side. In my corner. He has my back. And me—I’m still trying to tease out the real reason I couldn’t tell him about Drew.

“My friends knew about him, and I told them we’d split up, but they don’t know just how haunted by my actions… How haunted by him, I was.”

I shift in my seat.

“If I’d had any guts, I would’ve come clean to you when you first proposed. I should’ve told you about Drew.”

His knuckles notch under my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“You’re telling me now,” he says, quiet but firm.