Page 39 of Surrender

That doesn’t sound right. “Are you trying to convince me or you that you’re fine?”

“I’m trying…” She clears her throat. Her hair falls down her back as she tips her head for a drink. “I’m trying not to sound as guilty as I feel inside.”

“Why would you feel guilty?” I keep my expression blank.

“Because being married to Devon was the biggest regret of my life. I feel terrible that he’s gone, but I also feel a little bit like I’ve been set free. And that makes me a horrible person.”

Her words pummel into me like a round of fists in a boxing match.

“Whitney.” I wait until her attention returns to me. Those honey-colored eyes brim with the guilt she just confessed. I soften my tone considerably. “I need you to spell it out for me, babe.”

“He was involved in some secret side business. I don’t know if it was drugs or what, but strange men who had nothing to do with his accounting firm came around all the time. Sometimes they’d approach me for money when Devon wasn’t home, and he’d instruct me to give it to them. They’d sit at the curb and watch the house. I was afraid to be alone, but I was also afraid to leave, worried they’d break in while I was gone and be waiting for me inside when I got back.”

I grit my teeth together and attempt to relax my fists. “Did anything ever happen to you?”

She shakes her head, and my pulse eases. “No. They didn’t touch us.”

“Did anyone approach you after he died?”

“No. I guess I assumed that whatever business they had going with him died along with him.”

“I’m so sorry. Sorry I asked, and sorry you went through not only that fear but also losing your husband.”

She laughs a sarcastic, pain-filled sound. “I think I spent so much time mourning the relationship while he was still alive that I was all tapped out of grief by the end.”

Before I can stop myself, I reach over and touch her arm gently with a few fingertips. “Lay it on me.”

Her head jerks back, and her brow furrows. The grief temporarily chased away. “What?”

“I’d say we have about twelve hours left, give or take, before I get out of here and you return to whatever it is you plan to do now that you’re back in town. So lay it on me.” I hold my arms out to the sides. “For the next however many hours, I am your impartial listener. Get it off your chest.”

“It’s embarrassing,” she says in an incredibly small voice.

“Fuck that. It’s only embarrassing if you let it embarrass you. Otherwise, it’s just your past. We’ve all got one, and almost none of them are pretty.”

The depth of her inhale causes her shoulders to rise. “He was so selfish.”

“What else?”

“He called me crazy all the time, and he hated confrontation.”

“Go on.”

“He’d get so defensive if I asked him for help. I don’t think he ever changed Bennett’s diaper. Not once.” Whitney clenches her jaw and looks away. Her slender fingers dent the pillow in her hands. “He didn’t clean or shop or cook.”

Suddenly, she leans forward and tosses the pillow away from her lap. Her eyes shine in the glow of the fire. I can’t help but clock the foot of space between us.

“I took care of everything, and he made it seem like it was my problem.”

I lock eyes with her, fighting against the pull of those honeyed depths. “And who took care of you?”

She licks those lips, a deep pink to match her flushed cheeks, and her eyes flicker to my mouth. “What?”

“You have needs too. Who took care of you?”

“I—” Her breath fans across my face, the remnants of beer and something uniquely her. Fuck, what I wouldn’t give for a taste.

“You did.” I move an inch closer. My hands itch to thread through her hair and show her what she’s been missing. “You took care of yourself, and that’s not right. I’m sorry you had to do that.”

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