which rolled into his pill addiction, and the downfall of the best life.
Sam had always been a devoted man and wanted to be the provider. He wanted Tara to have the freedom to do anything she wanted. He’d urged her to explore her love of art. He’d grown up an only child with a widowed mother who worked too hard to provide for her son. He’d said he never wanted his wife to feel that kind of pressure.
Damn it. She wished he’d never shown her how perfect their lives could be. Part of her wished she’d never married him. Harsh thoughts, but she’d experienced the beauty of marriage with Sam...then he ripped it all away.
Tara wasn’t sure she’d ever recover from the pain.
Pushing the past out of her thoughts, Tara focused on the here and now. She desperately needed a shower and a change of clothes.
Even though Sam had brought her yoga pants and a sweatshirt, sleeping in the vinyl chair that posed as a pullout bed had left Tara feeling not so clean or rested.
Needing to take five minutes to regroup and gather her thoughts about everything swirling around in her mind, Tara mounted the steps to her master suite. She and Sam had renovated it when they’d married, turning one of the bedrooms into a giant adjoining bath.
But as soon as she crossed the threshold to her room, she froze. A large, black, menacing suitcase sat on her bed. She knew that suitcase; she’d bought that extra suitcase for their beach trip that never came to fruition.
Dread curled low in her belly.
He wouldn’t.
Tara knew exactly what she’d find in the luggage he’d parked on her side of the mattress. As she crossed to her king-sized bed, she attempted to take in deep, slow breaths, but nothing calmed her nerves.
With a shaky hand she reached for the zipper. She flipped the top and stared at perfectly folded jeans, tees, underwear, running shoes...
Sam’s things. They even smelled like him. That familiar woodsy scent wafted up and assaulted her senses, making her stomach clench with...what? She couldn’t even label her emotions at this point—there were simply too many.
Blowing out a sigh, Tara closed her eyes and dropped her head between her shoulders. This was not happening. It couldn’t be happening. No way was Sam staying here. He could come and go as often as he wanted. She’d certainly never denied him any involvement with Marley. On that they had always agreed. But he would not be staying in her home while Marley recovered.
Surely he wasn’t using Marley’s condition to try to come back? He hadn’t signed the divorce papers, so did that mean he thought there was a chance? He hadn’t made a move on her since coming out of rehab; he hadn’t tried to push his way into their lives. In all honesty, he’d been the perfect gentleman. She hadn’t known what to expect. They’d been so passionate early in their relationship so now things always seemed odd...strained.
Tara bounded down the stairs and headed toward the kitchen. Sam stood at the island with a bowl, eggs and bread. Marley was on her knees on a stool beside him. This had been their thing. Sam had always been a phenomenal cook—that was one of the many ways he’d captured her heart. But when he started incorporating Marley into the prep work and she eventually graduated to using the stove with assistance, Tara had utterly melted.
Even though Marley had been a toddler when she’d started helping, she’d actually mastered measuring and mixing.
“Hey,” he said, smiling across the room at her. “We’re making French toast. Interested?”
“He said no ice cream for breakfast.” Marley pouted as she cracked an egg into the bowl.
Tara offered her daughter a smile but shook her head. “Actually, I need to speak to your daddy for a minute.”
Sam’s eyes snapped to hers, but his own smile didn’t diminish. How could this look so right, so painstakingly familiar, yet every bit of this morning be so devastatingly wrong? She couldn’t handle him in their kitchen, like this was old times, let alone stay for...however long he’d intended. His suitcase had been crammed full. They’d bought the house together when they’d married, but he’d given it to her in the divorce. Still, this was their space and memories flooded her now that he was back.
Sam grabbed a dish towel and wiped his hands as he circled the island. “Just crack the eggs and I’ll be right back so we can start dipping the bread.”
Marley began humming as she cracked another egg. Tara pulled in a deep breath, telling herself not to explode because yelling or getting upset would get them nowhere. Still, she had to make Sam understand he simply couldn’t stay. She had to remain firm on this for her sanity. Falling into their pattern of her enabling his actions would only lead to disaster and leave her where she’d crawled her way out of.
But she was still enabling, wasn’t she? Just like she’d covered for him when he’d been using. Pretenses...they were an ugly thing to try to keep up.
Tara went up the stairs and into the bedroom, well aware he was directly behind her.
“What the hell is this?” she asked, pointing to the bed.
With a casual shrug, he crossed his arms over his massive chest. “My suitcase.”
She willed herself to find patience. “Why is it on my bed?”
Casual as you please, Sam leaned against the door frame. “I’m staying.”
“No, you’re not.”
He couldn’t. She’d barely gotten used to this house without him. Having him here would be too cruel and dealing with Marley on top of that...she simply didn’t think she could handle all the emotions at once.
The irony that she counseled people yet couldn’t even get her own life in order was not lost on her.
Sam pushed off the frame and took one slow step at a time until he’d closed the space between them. Tara concentrated on her breathing; it was better than focusing on those gray eyes that seemed to look right into her soul.
“The doctor said Marley lost the last year of her life,” he reminded her in a low tone that had Tara shivering. “He said to make her life stress-free and as normal as possible. In her mind, we’re married and we all live here. Do you want to explain to her why I don’t? She doesn’t know about the separation.”
Tara gritted her teeth as she sank onto the bed next to the threatening suitcase. She hadn’t thought of that part. She’d been too worried about how to help Marley remember to even think about the time frame her mind was trapped in. And perhaps she’d selfishly feared how she’d ever let Sam back into her home, into her bed, without losing her mind or her heart all over again.
Sam squatted in front of her, placing his hands on her knees. Tara tried to shift, but he held firm.
He hadn’t touched her, not like this, in well over a year. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t missed those strong hands on her. How could she be torn in so many different directions and still keep pushing forward through life? She had no idea what she was doing and how she was holding things together.
“This isn’t about us right now,” he told her. “As much as I want to make everything up to you and make you see
