When It Hooks You (It #1) (26 page)

Instead of building each other up to be the best versions of ourselves, we tore each other down. It wasn’t a healthy relationship for either of us. Poetically, my wedding ring went missing during our travels, and I never had an inclination to replace it. Any glimmer of hope I might’ve had for our marriage had disintegrated. I was tired, and I was done playing the game.

In the weeks following our return home, I did some heavy thinking, unsure of how to proceed. Then one night—it was three years ago—we were out at a formal charity function. I watched her from across the room as she mingled and laughed with other guests. I was struck by the notion that somewhere in that crowded room was a man who could love her in a way I couldn’t. The thought didn’t cause so much as a spark of jealousy. It only led to sadness, a deep regret that she, that both of us, were denied the chance to find a genuine partnership because we’d taken vows too soon.

On the way home from the party, I foolishly shared my new insight. She responded hotly, accusing me of having my eye on someone else. I realized too late how many cocktails she’d consumed. She continued on in a violent rant, unleashing all her many grievances against me. My retorts were far from charitable, and the argument escalated, driving Susan to near hysteria.

I should have pulled over, let her calm down, but she was screaming to be let out of the car. I didn’t want to have to chase her down the side of the highway, so I kept on, trying to talk her down. She tore off her seatbelt, reached out, and jerked the wheel toward the shoulder of the road. I reacted, overcorrecting, and we swerved into oncoming traffic. We were hit—glass shattered, and the world spun out of control until we stopped dead at the bottom of a ditch. I ended up with a few broken bones but nothing serious. Because she wasn’t wearing her seatbelt, Susan was hurt much worse. She never regained consciousness after the accident.

Her family and I held onto hope for several weeks, but it became apparent she’d suffered severe brain injuries. Even if she’d woken, doctors weren’t hopeful she’d regain significant cognitive function. I wouldn’t have wanted to be kept alive if it were me in that bed, and I didn’t think she would either. But the guilt of having been the person who put her there wouldn’t allow me to make that choice for her. I turned the onus of the decision making over to her parents, who naturally wanted to keep their daughter breathing for as long as humanly possible.

I went through a torrent of emotions—guilt, sorrow, even anger that Susan couldn’t have let me go and spared all of us this misery. The darkest part of me was certain she cackled underneath that serene exterior, victorious in holding me trapped. Long nights by her bedside and silent discussion with our Maker at last brought me some sense of peace. I didn’t hate Susan, as I’d feared I had. I’d made vows to her, and I intended to keep them for as long as her soul resided on this earth.

Work was my haven, the only area in which I felt I could exert any amount of control. My life became an emotionless effort devoted to duty. My chance association with Luis and Elina, during which the first seeds of our joint cacao venture were planted, was the first time I allowed myself to again feel anything resembling happiness.

Then I met you.

I should have left things as they were after you bought me that martini. I should have resisted the temptation to message you from the street during my next visit. I can’t explain how it happened, but you became a bright, shining beacon in my darkness. I allowed you to play in my thoughts during the weeks between seeing you. When once again face-to-face, I lost all reason. I quite simply couldn’t resist being with you. I’d never felt so strongly so quickly about anyone.

I convinced myself it would be all right because of the rules you had in place. There could be nothing wrong with us forming a friendship. If I’d been completely honest with myself, I’d have known this wouldn’t—couldn’t—stop there. Your draw was too strong. But being honest would’ve entailed walking away and keeping our interactions to brief encounters at your desk. That wasn’t something I had the strength to do.

How foolish to think that laying out my parameters for an “uncluttered” relationship would stop us from becoming so much more. One taste of your sweet mouth was all it took for me to lose my mind completely. Even then, I told myself I had it under control. With the end of our liaison predetermined, I refused to see that there’d be any danger in allowing one final, perfect evening of happiness. I thought doing so would give my heart a chance to keep from drying up during the indefinite stretch of solitude that lay before me.

At that point it was plain to see you were also forming an attachment. I’d learned by then that you were a determined, independent-thinking woman. I felt certain those qualities would make you resilient when it came time to say goodbye. It was concern over my own resilience that led me to look into my options for ending my marriage. It was the first time I’d considered it since the accident. The fact was, however, I was still married and had no right to drag you into my disaster.

When you dropped me off at the airport, I had another opportunity to preserve whatever was good between us. Instead I grasped at the chance to cling to you just a little bit longer. If I could rewind back to that moment, I can’t honestly say I’d do anything differently. Though it ended up hurting us both, I treasure our time together in Guatemala.

By the time of our trip, I understood the complexities of obtaining a divorce under the circumstances. It would require the cooperation of her parents. I planned to discuss it with them after you and I returned from Central America. I hadn’t realized my impulses would again take over, leading me to make promises to you I wasn’t sure I could keep.

I wish I would’ve explained everything to you that final morning at the treehouse. But I thought it best to wait until I had a clear path and timeframe. When I returned to the States and told her parents of my desire to pursue a divorce, they were surprised, but they’re compassionate people and agreed to support me. I was relieved and knew it was time to tell you everything. I didn’t want to do it during my brief layover at O’Hare. I wanted to be right there while you digested it all so I could absorb every nuance of your reaction and answer all of your questions face to face. I would’ve told you the next time we were together, I swear.

When you asked me about my family in Maryland, I froze. All the justifications for keeping my secret had piled around me like a fortress. A single flash of betrayal through your eyes sent every one of those rationalizations crashing. I saw how very wrong I’d been to keep any of this from you. My marriage was such an ugly thing. I didn’t want it to mar the beauty of us. But it was a part of me, the albatross around my neck. I had no right to attach it to you. Any words I could’ve said then would’ve been anemic in the face of your understandable fury.

My words remain feeble and my heart continues to bleed.

Susan’s passing was a blessing to all of us, most of all her. There was nothing but nothingness left for her in this world. I trust she’s in a better place and wish everything good for her. In my freedom, I somehow find myself more battered than ever before. I’m profoundly sorry to have ruined the chance at anything I could have ever had with you. I hope each day has brought you healing and that this letter provides you with some small measure of understanding.

Sincerely and forever grateful to have known you,

Adam

Trish read the letter three times straight through before she became aware that she was sweating. She shrugged off her thick coat and got up to blow her nose. Then she read it again. After staring at the papers for a long while, she resolved to take that walk, after all—and make it more rigorous than she’d initially intended. Somehow being purely angry had been easier than allowing in these new feelings of empathy.

If only he’d told her earlier what he was going through, things could’ve been different. Or could they have? She didn’t know. The only thing she was certain of was that she needed to get outside into the biting air. It was the only way to ward off her urge to go to him—by phone, or plane, or whatever it took. It killed her to know he’d suffered so much and was now all alone and miserable. Yet his current state was his own fault. If he’d been honest with Trish from the beginning…then…she didn’t know.

Not being certain things could’ve worked out between them frustrated her even more. She folded the papers into the envelope and went to her dresser. Opening the small, top drawer, she glanced down at the Tiffany heart necklace from Kurt. So much for her plan to keep her heart impenetrable. She dropped the letter next to the pendant.

“Looks like I’m going to accumulate quite the collection from boyfriends past,” she murmured, staring into the drawer. It sounded strange to refer to Adam as a boyfriend. He’d felt like so much more than that. Yet he’d never really been hers at all.

Chapter 22

“Y
OU
T
HREW
T
HE
D
ATE
?” Lyssa asked. She was in town visiting for a few days. Trish had picked her up at the airport that morning and brought her back to her apartment. While they walked to a nearby pub to meet Cliff for lunch, Trish filled her friend in on what had happened the night before.

“I didn’t throw the date. My boots were killing me, and I wanted to sit down.”

“Why did you wear those boots when you knew you’d be on your feet all night?”

“They looked good with my skirt.”

“And when sweet, young Levi invited you up to his place to rub your feet, why did you turn him down?”

“Because my feet were sweaty from the dancing.”

“You know his actual intention was to rub other parts of you.”

“Also sweaty.”

“Gross.”

“Exactly.”

“You were more than happy to let him rub sweaty parts of you before—” Lyssa stopped abruptly.

“Before Adam? It’s okay. You can say his name.”

It had been two months since Trish had received his letter. After reading it through a fifth time, she’d forced the clenched grip around her nerves to loosen. She let go of her anger. How could she feel anything but compassion for him after learning the whole story? Yet finding out the truth had shined a bright light on how very little she actually knew him. The details of his life had hardly seemed important when she was busy becoming enamored with the mysterious, elegant man who could make her heart thump with just a look.

Not wanting to drag down her friend’s brief visit by rehashing melancholy sentiments, Trish was determined to keep conversation positive and light. “Levi’s still fun to look at,” she said, “I guess I’m just not into dating younger guys, anymore.”

“You didn’t let Kevin the chiropractor rub you, either, and he’s pushing forty. Plus he has licensed hands.”

“And really disturbing choices for dinner conversation. Why do my recent failures on the dating scene bother you so much?”

“Because it’s not normal for you. Until you get something interesting going with someone else, you’re going to stay stuck on
him
.”

“I’m not stuck on Adam.”

“Then why aren’t you giving any other guy a chance?”

“Aftershocks, I guess.” Lyssa was right—throughout Trish’s dating history, one luscious pair of lips had always been easily replaced by another. Yet Adam’s mouth seemed to have ruined her appetite for any others. Temporarily. “I’ll get over him. But you realize your pestering won’t get me there any faster, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.” Lyssa sighed. “I’m excited to see Cliff again. Seems like you two have gotten close.”

Trish smiled. “Cliff’s great. He’s pretty much become my Lyssa with a dick.”

Lyssa laughed. “You still don’t think there’s any chance of you and him…”

“Never say never,” Trish said. “But after our disastrous attempt to get physical, you can put us in the ‘highly unlikely’ category. Speaking of the dashing, young attorney, there he is.” She waved through the large glass window at the front of the pub. Cliff waved back from the tall, round table he’d secured for them.

The moment the girls came through the doorway, he broke into a huge grin. “Miss Lyss.” He slipped off of his chair to wrap her in a hug. “Boston must agree with you. You look fantastic.”

“Thanks,” Lyssa said, pulling back and eyeing him up and down. “You’re lookin’ pretty spiffy yourself. Thanks for taking such good care of our girl while I’m away.”

Cliff gave Trish a wink and resumed his seat. “She’s had an interesting year.”

“She certainly has.” Lyssa cast a sidelong pity-glance at Trish. After the girls took their seats, Cliff and Lyssa batted questions back and forth to catch each other up on their respective lives since college. When the waitress came to take their orders, they hadn’t even cracked open their menus yet.

“Sorry,” Cliff said. “We’ll get right on that.”

After several moments of contemplating food choices, Lyssa asked, “Did you know she’s been purposely sabotaging dates?”

Trish opened her mouth to defend herself, but Cliff turned to her and cut her off. “Another one? You haven’t had a decent date since what’s-his-nuts broke your heart.”

“It’s not my fault there aren’t any good men left in Chicago.”

“Hey!” Cliff said.

“Sorry, Cliffy. You know what I mean.” Trish rubbed her hand up and down the ball of his bicep. “Have you been working out with James?”

“Maybe.”

The waitress returned, and they placed their orders. When it was just the three of them again, Lyssa and said, “It’s possible I’ve been looking at this the wrong way. Maybe you don’t need to open your heart to another guy to get out of your funk. Maybe what you need to do is open your heart back up to Adam.”

“What?” Trish and Cliff gasped at the same time—loudly enough that several of the pub’s other patrons turned toward them.