Chapter Twenty-Two
Now
Terrified, now I’m absolutely certain I’m about to lose my husband. I sink to my knees, my hands upraised to him. Tears and fear choke my throat, making it almost impossible for me to peel the words free.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, because I’m afraid I’ll scream at my stupidity, my idiocy.
At my damned selfish, broken soul.
I wrap my fingers around his. “I love you so much, baby, and I’m so sorry.Pleaselet me make this right. Please don’t leave me.”
That I can’t read him in this moment, that there is what feels like a lead curtain in his blue gaze, separating us by miles instead of millimeters, makes my balls want to shrivel like raisins and curl up inside me.
At least he doesn’t pull his hands free.
Yet he doesn’t reply, leaving me swinging in the breeze and desperate not to let the uncomfortable silence settle between us for fear it’ll be a forever silence.
Desperation erases any vestiges of pride still remaining within me. “I’ll resign my office. I’ll leave DC and promise never to see him again. Whatever you need me to do, baby, I’ll do it. I swear!”
Even as saying those words guts me. Because I’m not even sure I can keep that promise.
I’m going to break a promise to someone, no matter what I do. I’ve already broken promises to Daniel, and now I may be breaking them to Ward, too.
And still, he studies me. This isn’t my boy, my sweet husband.
This is Daniel Jason Walker, Congressman Marlowe Effings’ viciously efficient chief of staff, the man with stainless steel balls and a demeanor to match.
I barely know this man.
In another world, there’s a damned good chance this man and I wouldn’t get along at all.
His voice almost gets lost in my growing grief. “Shh.” But he doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away.
Doesn’t take my hands, either. I’m still clinging to him, drowning in the surf of my raging emotional sea. I feel sick to my stomach, like I’m going to puke and never stop. He’s going to leave me, divorce me.
Hate me. Despise me, even, and rightfully so.
I’m going to spend the rest of my life hating myself because I was so stupid and fucked a goddamned ghost that I never should have resurrected.
I could’ve lived the rest of my life pretending Ward wasn’t the man who ripped my soul into a thousand pieces and scattered it to the winds. I could have ducked and dodged any questions Daniel asked me if he noticed something wrong.
Or I could have even defaulted to not wanting to talk about it and ordering him not to ask me again.
I could havenotdragged Ward into my hideaway and fucked his brains out and reclaimed him that first day.
Those and countless other actions great and small I could have not taken, and my life would be no worse for it now.
Rather, my husband would be no worse for it. I would be silently dying inside, no doubt constantly assailed by memories I’d struggled to tightly bind and hide deep within my past, but at least Daniel wouldn’t be suffering.
My husband would be happy and smiling, instead of me kneeling at the feet of this almost-stranger.
Before I can process it, his right fist shoots out and grabs my hair, wrenching my head back and pulling a startled cry from me. He leans close, blue-hot flames burning in his gaze.
“All these years, you’ve never stopped loving him. Callahan’s always been a third man in our bed, hasn’t he?”
He’s gripping me too tightly for me to nod. “Yes,” I gasp. “I’m so sorry, baby—”
He slaps me across the right cheek with his left hand, not as hard as I’m sure he could, but it’s not the gentle, playful cheek pats he gets from me during a scene, either. It’s a stinging, angry impact that stuns me into silence.
