The Darkest Hour (KGI #1)(71)

“Rachel?” he called as soon as he got inside. “Baby, where are you?”

He burst into the living room to see Rachel sitting on the couch, her face pale and drawn, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying. Sean sat beside her, and relief flashed over his face when he looked up to see Ethan. He stood and moved forward to meet Ethan.

Ethan’s stomach dropped as he locked onto Rachel. He walked past Sean, ignoring everything but the look on Rachel’s face. She looked . . . lost.

Sean stepped back to the couch and briefly leaned down where Rachel could hear him.

“Remember your promise. And tell Ethan everything. It’ll be okay, I swear it.”

She nodded but looked away, as if trying to hold on to her rapidly deteriorating composure.

Sean touched Ethan on the shoulder and then walked across the living room to where Sam and Garrett now stood. Ethan turned long enough to see Sean motion Ethan’s brothers outside, and then he and Rachel were left alone.

Something in Rachel’s expression kept him from going to her and taking her in his arms. There was something dark and terrible in her eyes, and for the first time since she’d come home, he felt real, tangible fear. Of what he wasn’t sure.

Oh, there were plenty of things he was afraid of. But he could put a name to those. He was scared shitless she’d remember what a dick he’d been, that he’d asked for a divorce, that he’d made terrible accusations and that he’d done everything in his power to drive her away.

But this. This was different and that fear paralyzed him.

“Rachel.”

Her name came out a croak, and he cleared his throat, shamed that he couldn’t be stronger for her.

“Sean says I should be better about leaning on my family,” she said, surprising him. “That I shouldn’t be ashamed to ask for help or to tell you when things are . . . bad.”

Ethan sat down beside her, still afraid to touch her. There was such a wounded look in her eyes. Had she remembered things about their past? Their marriage? What an utter bastard he was?

“He’s right. That’s what we’re here for. We love you.”

She smiled tremulously. “I told him he should have arrested me.”

Ethan stiffened from head to toe. “What the hell?”

“I was such a mess after meeting the therapist,” she said, her voice thready with emotion. “I don’t know what I expected. Well, I do, but it was stupid and unrealistic. I wanted her to wave a magic wand and fix me. I felt so helpless and angry. God, I was so angry. I thought I might explode with it. And then I left and I needed . . . I wanted a needle so bad it was all I could focus on.”

She looked away, her eyes going down as they crowded with shame. “I almost asked a kid if he knew how to get drugs, Ethan. A kid. Dear God, what have I become? I was a teacher. And I was willing to ruin a kid’s life by dragging him into my addiction. I was willing to ruin my life, what’s left of it.”

Sudden rage suffused her face, turning it red as her eyes sparked.

“God, I sound so pathetic. Damn it, Ethan, I’m tired of sounding so pitiful. ‘What’s left of my life.’ Enough. Enough, enough, enough,” she chanted. “I’m so lucky. I have a second chance and I tried to screw it up. How unforgiveable is that? I have a husband and a great family who loves me, and I was willing to throw all of that away because some woman asking me questions made me feel helpless and inferior.”

She stood, agitated, her hands curling into tight fists at her sides.

“Well, I’m done with that,” she said fiercely. “Do you hear me, Ethan? I’m done. This need inside me is killing me, but I won’t let it. Do you hear me? I won’t let it. I might be crazy, but I’m not going to let you or my family down. I’m not going to let myself down.”

Her shoulders heaved, and by God, she was magnificent. Her eyes were puffy and swollen, red-tinged, and her breaths came out in short, erratic rasps, but it was the most animated, the strongest he’d seen her since she’d come back to him.

“Come here,” he whispered, barely able to get the words out around the huge knot in his throat.

Never in his life had he been more unworthy of her. If he had courage, he’d tell her everything. He’d tell her the bald truth and beg her forgiveness. Beg her for the chance to make things right.

But all he could do was fold her into his arms and hold her so tight. She shook against him, and he realized it was rage rolling through her veins. Not tears.

It was funny. He knew what to do with the fragile, tearful Rachel. He could hold her, comfort her, let her lean on him when she didn’t have the strength to stand on her own. But with her angry and resolved, he was clueless. So all he could do was hold tight.

“Never be afraid to tell me anything,” he whispered against her hair. “No matter how ashamed you might feel. I’ll never judge you, Rachel. I love you.”

His words echoed in his ears. Harsh. Everything he told her was true and it made him the worst hypocrite. What he expected from her he was himself unwilling to give. The truth.

He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair. He was on borrowed time. She’d remember. It wasn’t a matter of if but when. Every day more came back. Little snippets. Memories that pushed to the surface. How much longer could he hope to keep the truth from her?