Into the Storm (Signal Bend #3)(69)

He caught it in both hands before it hit him. “NO. FUCKING. WAY!” He pulled sharply and then pushed away, sending her to the floor in a heap. He had the suitcase, and he threw it away, across the room, where it crashed into the mirror over her antique vanity, sending shards of glass raining down. Then he bent down and grabbed her arms, pulling her up. His face right in hers, he shouted, “You are going to FUCKING

TALK TO ME!” With every syllable, he gave her a hard shake.

Her panic was so complete and consuming that she was almost senseless with it. She couldn’t think. She could barely see, her vision tunneling to a pinpoint, surrounded by swirling patterns of blazing red fear. All she could hear was the fear, and Show shouting, beads of spittle landing in his beard.

She found her voice. “I CAN’T! I CAN’T I CAN’T I CAN’T! I HAVE TO GO! LET ME GO! PLEASE

LET ME GO!” She fought. She fought as hard as she could, kicking and screaming. She couldn’t think of anything else to do. She couldn’t think at all.

He dropped down on top of her, flattening her under his weight until she was all but immobile and could barely breathe. She was sobbing—when had she started to cry?—and she needed more air, but he stayed down on top of her, her hands in his iron grip. Still, she fought, futile though it was, until her limbs would no longer obey her.

“Calm down, Shannon. Calm down. We need to talk.” His voice was low again, and softer now, gentle.

“Shhh, hon. Shhhh.” He kissed her cheek, and she sobbed harder. He kissed the other cheek. “I love you, Shannon. Talk to me.”

“I can’t. Don’t make me. Please don’t make me. I can’t. Not you. I can’t tell you.”

“You can. You can tell me anything.” He lifted off of her, turning to sit at her side, but she was too exhausted now to take the opportunity. She lay there and sobbed, knowing that everything was coming to an end.

Sliding his arm under her back, he lifted her and pulled her onto his lap. His rage was apparently gone —or, at least, had taken a back seat to this tender care. But if she told him, the rage would be back.

“Why do you think you can’t tell me, hon?” He held her head to his chest. He was holding her like a child. But it soothed her—and scared her, because it wouldn’t last.

“You’ll hate me. You’ll turn away.”

He pushed her away, holding her face in his hands. “I won’t. Jesus, Shannon. You know me better than that. I don’t leave.”

It was the worst thing he could have said, probably. She pushed at his chest, desperate again to get free.

“That’s why! You won’t understand! How could you understand?”

He caught her hands in one fist and immobilized her again. “Shannon. I’m sitting here on this floor with you, dealing with the fact that you kept a secret so big the thought of telling it is making you f*cking crazy, and trying to get my head around you trying to run the f*ck away from me. You were packing. After everything. I’m so hurt and pissed I can’t even think about it. If I can sit here and still try to work this out with you, what the f*ck do you think you could say that would make me leave? What could be worse?”

She didn’t know what to say. The panic in her head had receded enough that she could hear the sense in his words. But it was worse. It was. It was the worst thing she’d ever done. She was terrified; the thought of Show judging her felt like acid in her head. But she owed him the chance to do it.

“I love you,” he said. “You said you love me. That true?”

Feeling tears rolling up her throat again, she swallowed and nodded.

“Say it, then.”

“I love you.”

He looked deep into her eyes, which felt bleary and swollen. Then he nodded. “Then let’s talk.”

God. She couldn’t. When she’d told Keith, because he’d noticed that she was being followed and had identified the private investigator tailing her, she’d been nervous and sick. But not like this. She hadn’t felt this horrid, paralyzing fear.

As her silence went on, Show shifted with impatience. “Shannon. I’m not giving you a f*cking choice.

You are talking, or we are staying in this apartment until we rot.” Still holding her, he got his legs under and came to standing, groaning heavily. “Fuck, that hurt.”

He carried her into the sitting room and sat down on her sofa, keeping her on his lap, still with his arms around her. He wasn’t kidding; he was not letting her go. “I’ll start. She your daughter?”

The fear pounding in her heart, she nodded and forced words from her mouth. “Maybe. Probably. I suppose it’s not a coincidence.”

“You don’t know. You gave her up.” It wasn’t a question.

She nodded again.

“Tell me, hon. It’s time to tell it all.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, and she closed her eyes and savored the love in the touch. Despite his assurances, she didn’t see how he would stay, how he would still love her. Her own parents had not. Her brothers.

It was true that if she’d left, hauling her suitcase and its haphazard contents to her car and driving away, putting Signal Bend at her back as she’d done Tulsa, and Karville before it, she’d have lost Show anyway.

But losing him this way, bared to him completely and exposed to his disgust or his dismissal, would be so very much worse. One was something she’d have chosen. The other was something she’d be subjected to.