Page 62 of The Wrong Husband (The Davenports #6)

Phoenix

I watch as Drew wheels his suitcase with his clothes and personal effects into the living room. I’m huddled on the chair at the breakfast counter watching him take a last look around the space.

It’s clear that he has a fondness for my home and is gutted to leave. But I won’t lie. I’m glad he’s moving out.

When I walked in here after meeting my mother, it was to find Drew packing. He told me he’d found a place and was leaving. I was so relieved.

These last few weeks have been the best and the worst of my life.

I found my true love. I found Connor. And it gave me the strength to let go of my past. To allow the guilt which has engulfed me for so long to melt away.

He heads for the bookcase, pulls out a few of the books which are his, and slides them into his backpack. He heaves it over his shoulder, then returns to his suitcase.

I am seated with my back to the main door, so I can hear him wheel his suitcase to the door. Hear it creak open. Then there’s a pause.

My heart somersaults in my throat. Will he stop? Will he say he changed his mind? I grip the edge of the breakfast counter.

I hear the brush of his shoe as he steps over the threshold. The door snicks shut behind him. He’s gone.

Finally.

I slump back and close my eyes. It’s over. That part of my life is behind me. I run my fingers over my wedding ring. I’m ready to start my married life with a fresh slate. With a clear conscience.

I’m ready to tell Connor everything about Drew.

Then the door opens again. My pulse rate ratchets up, I look straight forward. Frozen. Unable to move. Footsteps approach. They sound like… Connor. Then his dark smoky scent reaches me. Something inside me unwinds. Connor! He’s here.

My stomach ties itself in knots. Nervousness grips me. Yet, I can’t stop my heart from leaping in my chest.

I clutch my hands together, fingers aching with the force of it. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. No one has ever looked at me the way Connor does. Like I’m it. Like I’m his. Like he sees me—all of me—and still wants more.

Terror. Relief. Love. Shame. Desire. The storm of emotion rising inside me makes my head spin. Oh God. Oh God. Now is the time to tell him everything. I lock my fingers together so tightly, they hurt.

The way I’m attracted to him surpasses anything else I've felt in my life. I’ll never have what I have with Connor with anyone else.

The way he looks at me like I’m the only person in the world.

His tenderness, his understanding for me, how he cares for me.

The way his touch brings my body to life.

The way he knows exactly what I want. How he orders me to bend, knowing it turns me on in a way that guarantees an earthshaking orgasm.

The kind only he can draw from me. All of it tells me, Connor’s the one for me.

I hope I haven’t spoiled any chance of a real relationship with him because I was such a coward.

I hear his footsteps come closer, then there’s a soft touch on my shoulders. "Oh, baby"—his voice is anguished—"you didn't need to hide anything from me."

There’s no anger in his tone. No judgment. Just a gentle invitation to lean on him.

I draw in a shuddering breath, lower my hands and turn around to face him.

He cups my cheek. "You don’t have to explain anything. Though if you did, it would help me understand what you’re going through."

I look up into his blue eyes, which have turned almost indigo.

In their depths is patience but also, a question mark.

Then, as if he’s unable to stop himself, he raises his gaze to look at something beyond me.

I flinch. I know he’s looking at a man’s shirt draped on the chair opposite me at the counter. "Is that—" He swallows. "Is that?—"

I nod. "It’s Drew’s," I say softly.

Understanding flashes in his eyes, then his expression grows sad. "Have you had that there since?—"

"—the day Drew left the house, never to return."

My throat feels like it’s lined with glass.

My voice feels like it’s being dragged out of a corner of my body where I’ve hidden so much.

"We…we had a fight. I told him I didn’t love him.

That I never was in love with him. That it was all a mistake.

That he should have never moved in with me.

He was very upset. We exchanged words. He walked out of the house.

I shouldn’t have let him cycle to work that day.

"I could tell he wasn’t in the right frame of mind.

But I was pissed off with him, and with myself.

I should have told him earlier. I never should have allowed him to move in with me.

But I was a coward… I couldn’t find the courage to tell him that we weren’t right for each other.

The next thing I know, my phone rings, asking me to come into work right away.

There was a spate of accidents, and they were overrun in the ER. "

"No one told you about…what had happened to him?"

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.