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 that I’m a different man, this is about Marley. She needs her mom and dad, and I will not fail her or you ever again.”
Tears burned Tara’s eyes. She wished like hell he meant those words, but she’d heard them before. Over and over he’d promised he wouldn’t fail her...but he always did.
“You can’t live here,” she whispered through the emotions.
Sam rose to stand above her, forcing her to tip her head up to meet his gaze. He propped his hands on his hips; the muscle in his jaw clenched.
“We’re going to be married and living together like one big happy family for Marley’s sake. So I’m not only living here,” he informed her. “We’re sleeping in the same bed.”
“Where’s Daisy?”
Marley’s question broke through the awkward tension filling the kitchen. Breakfast had been mostly Marley chattering and Sam and Tara dancing around each other without speaking.
Now
