Page 63 of The Wrong Husband (The Davenports #6)
"You’re not," he says in a fierce voice. "You’re strong. And brave. And courageous. And you’ve faced everything life has thrown 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.
“After the accident… When Drew was killed, word got out. About his affair with one of the residents. About me.”
His expression shifts—shock giving way to fury.
“Fuck, Fever… That’s soul destroying.”
I press my forehead into his chest. I can’t bear the weight in his gaze.
“Maybe. But it doesn’t excuse the fact that I never asked for help.
I blamed myself for the accident. Still do.
He’d just proposed, and I’d turned him down.
He was upset. Distracted. And on his bike when he met with the accident…
” I exhale shakily. “I told myself it was my fault he didn’t see the car coming. ”
“You can’t do that,” he says, his voice rough. “You didn’t kill him, Phe.”
“Logically, I know that. But logic doesn’t stop the guilt. I’ve replayed it so many times—telling him earlier, ending it cleanly, not letting it drag on. If I’d been braver, maybe none of it would’ve happened.”
I look up at him, my eyes burning.
“I couldn’t let go. Not of the guilt. Not of him.” My voice cracks.
“His clothes are still in the closet—exactly where he left them. His toothbrush is in the holder. His books are still lined up beside mine, like nothing ever happened.”
I swallow hard, but the knot in my throat won’t budge.
“I kept it all. Every damn thing. As if I deserved to live inside the wreckage. Like I needed to suffer through the reminders—needed to feel the weight of what I did. What I didn’t do.”
My chest tightens.
“I barely sleep here. I can’t stand this house. Every corner echoes with the choices I didn’t make. Every drawer’s a coffin stuffed with everything I buried—grief, shame, regret. Me.”
"God, baby, it’s making me so fucking angry that you didn’t ask me for help."
"I wasn’t…in a position to ask anyone. I subconsciously was punishing myself.
" When he stiffens, I hug him closer. "Not that you’re just anyone. You’re very important to me, Connor.
I knew if I told you, you’d understand, that you’d get me the help I needed…
But I had to work my way up to it. But meeting you started me on the path of coming to grips with what had happened and moving on with my life… "
I search his beloved features.
"I wanted to move on with you. I knew you were my salvation.
That your touch was what I needed to help me get over what had happened.
That how you took charge was what I needed to give myself up completely to you.
To find a pocket of not having to think or make decisions and leave it up to you.
I knew allowing you to dominate me was the only way to heal myself and find myself again. "
He cups my face with such tenderness, the calluses of his fingers rubbing up against my skin and igniting little sparks of heat in their wake.
His eye color deepens until it’s almost black, except for the flashes of silver in them.
Incredible. I feel like I’m drowning in them, like I can give myself up to him completely, and find myself again…
And I want to do that. I need to do that.
As if he senses that yearning in me, he wraps my hair around his fingers and tugs.
He exerts enough force that I gasp. That I have to lean my head back and bare my throat to him. He’s my husband, the man who knows how to play my body with expertise, so he can make me give him the exact response he wants.
Tendrils of pain spark at my hair follicles, then radiate down my spine, and straight to my pussy. "Connor, I?—"
There’s a knock on the main door. “Connor, Phoenix, you guys, okay?”
I startle and begin to pull away, but Connor doesn’t let me. “That’s Brody. When I found out you’d left without telling me… I knew something was wrong. It probably showed on my face; Brody insisted on driving me here."
"We’re good," Connor calls out.
"Right, I’ll make myself scarce,” he replies.
That Connor—the man who has biotech discoveries which literally save lives to his credit; the undercover agent who’s undertaken missions for his country—was blindsided, enough to not be in any state to drive—wow! It makes me realize how much my actions upset him.
"I am so sorry." I reach up to cup his firm jaw. "Sorry I didn’t tell you everything about Drew. Sorry I didn’t tell you how I needed help to get over what happened between us. Sorry I left without telling you. Sorry that?—"
"Hush." He lowers his head and brushes his lips over mine, effectively shutting me up. "You don’t need to apologize to me. You were coming to terms with your own ghosts."
"Literally,” a tear squeezes out the corner of my eye.
"But you had the courage to tell me—with your actions—about what was happening. Your leaving without telling me was a call for help. I went to the hospital first, and that’s where I found out what had happened to him."
"Oh." I glance away, revisited by images of walking into the trauma bay and finding him fighting for life, then the desperate fight to save him, and ultimately, the despair. The helplessness. The guilt.
More than anything, I remember being angry with myself for not having called off my relationship with Drew earlier. I’d been a coward, and I was paying the price. Then, I felt embarrassed about having these thoughts just after he died. It was scary and confusing.
I was so perturbed by Drew’s death, it became clear to everyone that I’d been involved with him.
I came clean about our relationship to the senior consultant at the hospital. And then, I learned about Drew’s affair. That shattered any chance of my being able to move on from the incident unscathed.
I blamed myself for him cheating. We’d drifted apart.
We’d spent all our time at work. Of course, he was going to cheat on me.
On and on, the thoughts circled in my head.
It made me tired just thinking about it.
No wonder, I’d been close to a nervous breakdown.
No wonder, I had tried to punish myself for what had happened.
No wonder, I hadn’t been able to bring myself to face the fact that Drew was dead.
"That must have come as a surprise to you," I finally offer.
"It was, but also, maybe, it wasn’t."
I angle my head.
"It felt like you wanted me to find out about Drew."
I absorb what he said, then nod slowly. "I did want you to find out about Drew. I guess, I was ready. I suppose, I rushed out, knowing you’d come after me.
I didn’t go to the hospital because I hoped you’d get there and find out about Drew; then, I wouldn’t have to tell you.
Honestly, I don’t know. Seeing my Ma hit me like a punch to the chest.
“Talking to her made me realize, I could have confided in her about Drew. She would have understood. I wasted so many months drowning in guilt and embarrassment, convincing myself she’d judge me or be disappointed.
If I’d just opened my mouth earlier—back when things first started going wrong with Drew—I could have spared myself so much anguish.
I know it's not my fault, but maybe he'd still be alive.”
I glance sideways at my phone on the counter. There are no messages from Drew.
That knot of tension at the base of my neck fades.
He won’t interrupt me again.
He won’t make me feel guilty for moving on. A flush of happiness blooms in my chest. I really am free of him.
My heart soars. I can finally belong to Connor, body and soul, the way I never could be before this moment.
He rubs away the moisture on my cheek, “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about Arthur’s machinations and that your parents might be there.”
I push my forehead into his chest. "No more apologies, remember?”