had no family to speak of,” he told her. “Ruth grew up in foster care and as soon as she graduated, she was on her own.”
“If you hadn’t seen her for three years, it’s especially odd she’d ask us to take care of him. There has to be a connection—”
“There is,” he said, clutching his mug with both hands. “But to explain it, I have something to confess.”
Once again, warning bells clanged. “Okay,” she said slowly.
“Ruth and I—that weekend we were together at the reunion …” he drew a deep breath as if bracing himself “… I did a stupid thing. Several stupid things, in fact. I was angry that you weren’t satisfied with our relationship as it was—”
“Just living together,” she interjected for clarification.
He nodded. “I was hurt that after all those years of being a couple, you wouldn’t be satisfied or happy until I put a ring on your finger.”
“Oh, Cole,” she said, disappointed that he hadn’t fully understood why she’d pressed him to take their relationship to the next level. “It wasn’t about flashing a gold band or a huge diamond. It was what the ring represented—a commitment to spend the rest of our lives together.”
“I realized that. Later. But during that first week we were apart, while I was angry and hurt and feeling everything in between, I went to my reunion and …” he took another deep breath “… drank a few too many margaritas. A lot too many.” He paused.
She was surprised to learn that Cole—a man who couldn’t even be classified as a moderate drinker—had over-imbibed. While she wasn’t condoning his action, she figured most people had done so at one time or another. His actions weren’t smart or ideal, but drinking too much on one occasion wasn’t an unforgivable offense, in her opinion, even if at the time he’d been old enough to know better.
“And?” she coaxed.
“When I saw Ruth again—we confided a lot in each other during our teen years—we talked. We both unloaded on each other and she helped me admit a few hard truths—”
“Do you mean to say that your friend Ruth convinced you to propose?” She’d always believed that he’d come to that conclusion on his own. It was disappointing to imagine that he’d been persuaded to marry her not because he loved her but because of a relative stranger’s advice.
“Ruth didn’t convince me to do anything,” he insisted. “She pointed out what I already knew but couldn’t quite admit—that I loved you and couldn’t imagine my life without you—which was why I was so angry and hurt and miserable. And if I loved you, then I had to face my fears and propose.”
Fears? He’d been afraid?
“Wait a minute.” She held up her hands to forestall him so she could sort through his confession. “You’d always said that you wouldn’t marry until you were ready, but now I learn that you were scared? Why didn’t you explain? We could have discussed this.”
“If you’ll recall, we’d tried, but the conversation deteriorated and you walked out.”
She wanted to protest that he could have stopped her, or that he could have called, or he could have done any number of things, but placing blame at this date was silly.
“Okay,” she said evenly, “both of us could have done things differently, but truly, Cole, what were you afraid of?”
“That I couldn’t be the husband you wanted or needed. That our relationship would change. We were doing great just living together and I had this … this fear … that marriage might ruin what we had.”
“How was that possible?” she asked, incredulous. “We’d been living together for two years and dated for a year prior to that. How did you think marriage would ruin—?”
“You forget that the last functional family relationship I was in ended when I was eight. What did I know about how a healthy marriage should be? By the time I started college, I didn’t know if the happy home I remembered was real or make-believe. Do you really wonder why I might be afraid our relationship would change, and not for the better? And when it did, both of us would be stuck in an untenable situation.”
She fell silent as she processed the information. “Okay, I can respect that, but you obviously faced your fears because you found me at my friend’s house and proposed.” It bothered her to think that he could discuss his fears with a woman he hadn’t seen in years instead of with her, but there was little she could do about it now. She only hoped he wouldn’t tell her that at the time asking her to marry him had simply been the lesser of two evils.
“Proposing—marrying you—was the best decision I ever made. Don’t ever forget that.”
His vehemence both surprised and alarmed her. “Okay,” she said warily. “But meanwhile you had your heart-to-heart with Ruth and because you two drowned your sorrows together, she wanted you to raise her child if something happened to her.”
He visibly winced and avoided her gaze. “Unfortunately, we did more than talk and drown our sorrows.”
The bottom dropped out of her stomach. “Oh, Cole. Please don’t tell me that you—That you and this high school friend …”
He nodded, his expression grave. “We slept together. We didn’t plan it, I swear. I didn’t even know she was going to be at the reunion. The combination of everything from my insecurities and alcohol level to Ruth needing her own listening ear all coalesced until events just … happened. I’ve never done anything like that before or since and I regretted it right away. You have to believe me.”
A part of her brain heard his near-desperation, but she was still too numbed by his newest revelation to grant him absolution.
“You should have told me,” she said as her whole body seemed to turn into ice. “We should have had this conversation as soon as you rolled back into town. About your doubts and your … and Ruth.”
“I couldn’t,” he admitted. “I was too embarrassed and ashamed. I didn’t go to my reunion intending to do anything but meet with old friends. After my lapse in judgment—” his voice was rueful “—I knew this news would be devastating and even though we technically weren’t a couple at the time it happened, I couldn’t risk my mistake potentially destroying our future.”
Would she have refused to marry him if she’d known he’d slept with another woman? Knowing how devastated she’d been at the time he’d stormed out after their argument, hearing that would have probably convinced her to count her blessings that he’d walked away.
At this point, however, she didn’t know for certain what she might have done. She might only have extended their engagement until she’d been fully persuaded that he hadn’t entertained second thoughts about marriage, but one truth remained undeniable. He’d taken away her opportunity to choose.
“I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am,” he added. “If I could turn back the clock and live that night over, I would.”
His remorse seemed genuine, but it did little to ease her sense of betrayal. “Sorry that it happened or sorry that you told me?”
