Gone (Deadly Secrets #2)(60)

His heart squeezed so tight, as if it were wringing all the lies and half-truths from inside him as he thought back to that night. Seeing her through his camera lens in the crowd. Being mesmerized by her beauty and self-confidence. Knowing he needed to be a part of that. Somehow. In any way he could.

“I didn’t want to just get by anymore,” he said. “I wanted to live. To let go of the past. To start fresh with you. So I cut way back. I told myself I could be a social drinker. We could go out with friends and I wouldn’t have to get loaded to have a good time. And I did have a good time. Anytime I was with you was the best time. But I was always thinking about having another drink. About stopping at the liquor store on the way home. About giving in to the urge and just letting go.”

“You never told me you thought about that.”

“I couldn’t. No addict can. It’s admitting your biggest weakness. I don’t think even I knew how bad it was until we lost Emma.”

She closed her eyes, and the pain he saw across her features hit him hard, right beneath the breastbone, right in his heart, which was already twisted into a knot. He squeezed her hands and forced himself to go on.

“I lost it then. I didn’t know how to deal with it all. I couldn’t look at you. I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened or how it was all my fault—”

“What happened to Emma was not your fault.” Her eyes shot open, and this time when they focused on his, they weren’t sad or heartbroken; they were determined. As determined as he’d ever seen them. “It could have happened to me. It could have happened to your mother if she’d been watching Emma that day. Whoever took her had been waiting and watching for the right moment when we looked awa—”

“I know that.” God, he loved how she jumped to defend him. She’d done that before, when she’d had every reason to hate him, but he’d been so focused on his own pain and self-loathing then that he’d pushed her away. He didn’t want to do that anymore. He brushed a shaky finger down her soft cheek. “I know that now. But then . . . then I couldn’t face it. It hurt too much. So I did what I’d always done when things got to be too much. I had a drink. And another. And another, until I was numb to everything—the pain, the guilt. Especially you.”

She looked down at his shirtfront, and he knew she was remembering all those nights he’d stumbled in drunk when she’d stayed up worried because she hadn’t known where he was. All the times she’d needed to lean on him and he hadn’t been there for her. The arguments, the tears, all the heartache he’d put her through. And the way he’d walked away from her when he should have stayed and fought for her. For them.

His fingers shook as he brought her hands to his lips and kissed them. Lowering them so they rested on his chest, right over his heart, he forced himself to get it all out. “I know Ethan told you about the night he found me passed out on my kitchen table. That was a wake-up call for me. Not because I’d hit bottom or whatever, but because I saw what I was doing to my family. And through them, I saw what I’d done to you.”

He tightened his hands around hers, felt their warmth beneath his fingers, and knew he could do this no matter what she had to say when he was finished. “I hated myself for what I did to you. For how I treated you. And there hasn’t been a single day that I haven’t wanted to find you and tell you how sorry I am. But I couldn’t because I . . .” He searched for the right word. Knew there was only one. “Because I was scared. Scared that you’d slam the door in my face or walk away. Scared it would push me right back to the edge even though I deserved that kind of response from you. Scared, mostly, because I don’t know if I hit the very bottom that night or if there’s something worse out there waiting for me. All I know is that I don’t want to go there. I never want to go there again. I want you. I want us.” The tears he’d been fighting back through his whole admission filled his eyes. “I want everything back that I fucked up so badly because I’m weak.”

“Oh, Alec.” A tear slipped over her lash and slid down her bruised cheek. “You’re not weak.” She brushed her soft fingertips over the stubble on his jaw, her voice just as thick and raspy as his. “You’re stubborn. You’re hotheaded at times. And when you want something, there’s no stopping you. But you’re not weak.”

He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, reveling in her comfort even as his own tears slipped free.

“A weak child couldn’t have survived the upbringing you did. A weak teenager wouldn’t have had the strength to testify against his father about all the horrible things that man made him do. And a weak adult could never stand here and tell me all the things you just did. I just wish you’d told me sooner. I wish . . .”

When her voice hitched, he opened his eyes and looked down at her. At the tears shimmering in her eyes, at the emotions playing over her face.

“I wish we hadn’t spent the last three years apart,” she whispered. “Because I would have been there with you through it all. I promised to love you through better or worse. Those weren’t just words for me. I meant them. I still mean them. I love you, Alec. I’ve always loved yo—”

Every emotion he’d kept locked inside for so damn long burst free. He let go of her hand still resting on his chest, framed her face, and captured her mouth with his. She groaned against him, held on to his arms, kissed him back until he was breathless. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. He needed her to know he felt the same. Needed to show her. Needed to be with her now. Right now.