Fleeting Moments(26)

“Hard lesson to learn.”

I swallow.

Keep it together, Lucy.

“You lost your baby,” he says softly. “Do you think you resent him for that?”

I flinch.

That thought hasn’t crossed my mind, not even for a second, but hearing him mention it lights a fire in my chest, an angry fire that I didn’t even know was there because yes, I do resent him. He should have been there with me. If he was, I might have never been so frightened.

The second I have that thought I feel instant guilt and shove it out. I would have lost the baby no matter what. It wasn’t his fault.

I’m a mess.

“Yes and no,” I whisper.

“You okay?”

I keep my eyes facing the window, my entire body fighting against the tears that so desperately want to burst forth. “Fine,” I croak.

“Lucy, look at me.”

“I can’t, Heath.”

“Honey,” he says, his voice softer now, gentler. “Look at me.”

I look to him, and the second my eyes fall on his face, the tears explode and run down my cheeks. He moves quickly, pulling me onto his lap, tucking my tiny body into his, wrapping his arms around me. Comfort explodes in me, and I hate that I’m relying so heavily on him to give it to me. I hate that, because when he leaves in the morning, I’m going to be left feeling empty and I don’t think I can’t handle it again.

“You don’t have to keep being strong,” he murmurs against my hair.

“I lost my baby,” I sob. “I wanted it so much and I lost it. I lost my husband. I lost everything.”

“It’ll get better. I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but your husband probably just needs time and—”

“I don’t want him to come back.”

Heath’s body tenses against mine. “You don’t mean that, Lucy.”

“I do,” I cry, pulling away and looking into his eyes. “It scares me because I’m afraid the feeling of not wanting him is just a temporary reaction, but right here, right now, in this moment—I don’t want him back. I just . . . don’t.”

“You’re hurting. You’ve had your life turned upside-down. Give it time. Don’t make any serious decisions until you’re sure of what you want—trust me on that.”

“I don’t want him back,” I whisper before I can stop myself. “I don’t, because I don’t need him. I need you.”

He closes his eyes for a brief second. “You think you need me, but, honey, you don’t. I’m just a comfort you’re relating to a time of terror. Now you’re hurting and I’m like a pain reliever. I give you comfort. I make you feel okay. It’s nothing more than that.”

“It is more than that,” I croak. “Don’t act like you don’t feel it.”

“Lucy,” he says, his voice holding a quiet warning. “You’re married.”

“Not anymore,” I say desperately, hating myself for needing him so much.

“Honey,” he murmurs.

“Just admit it. Tell me you feel whatever this is between us, too.”

His looks away for a second, and I reach up before thinking and take his jaw in my hand, turning his face back to mine. Then I lean closer and press my lips against his. He makes a sound deep in his chest and his hand tightens on my waist, and for a second, I think he’s going to kiss me back. His mouth parts, my tongue grazes his, and heat explodes between us.

But he pulls back.

“I don’t feel it,” he says, placing me on the couch. “I can’t do this. You’re married, and I’m not that man. I’ve never been that man. You think you want this, Lucy. But you don’t. I have to go.”

I sit on the couch, shame filling my chest, stretching out to every nerve ending. I can’t move. I’m horrified.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “Really f*cking sorry.”

Then he’s taking his bag and leaving.

Again.





CHAPTER 11


My feet drag as I walk to my front door, hearing the voices trailing out from inside. Gerard is here, and so is his sister, Heather. I don’t know if I can handle them. I’m tired, I’m confused, and after last night, I don’t know where my head is at. My hair is a mess, my clothes are daggy, and I feel like utter crap. Still, I walk into that house and face whatever they’re going to thrust at me, because that’s what I have to do.

Mostly, I have to do the right thing.

“He’s upstairs.”

I flinch at the harsh sound of Heather’s voice and turn to see her standing in the kitchen, a box in front of her, pulling coffee mugs out of our cupboards. Those are mine, dammit. Her eyes pierce mine, the same shade as Gerard’s. Her hair is down, cut in a short, straight style. It rests on her shoulders, but it makes her look like a stuck-up snob. Wait—she is.

“Great,” I mutter, turning in the direction of the stairs.

“He deserves better, you know.”

My body freezes, and I turn to face her. “Listen, I know you don’t like me, Heather, and believe me the feeling is mutual, but this isn’t my fault. I didn’t ask to see what I saw that day or to be involved in it. I had no choice.”