Chapter 12
chapter
twelve
Izabel
I rushed to the foyer, barefoot and naked except for my ruined sweater and panties.
The devastation on Drake’s face triggered visceral emotions deep inside me.
Emotions I couldn’t name, but they compelled me to follow him.
They prevented me from letting him walk away like this. So broken. Like he’d already lost me.
My hand circled the doorknob but froze when I heard him roar.
A guttural, plaintive howl that shredded my insides, releasing the familiar emotions from my heart that I’d kept locked down since his return.
Yes, bounded by resentment and anger. Drake was right.
But was I so wrong? I understood our disconnect.
Of course I did. He’d had years knowing he’d return to me while I had years trying to move on from him.
We were on opposing ends of emotions and expectations.
My hand dropped from the knob, and I turned from the door, leaning against it. I’d never heard such agonizing sounds come out of my husband.
Eyes blurring, I slid to the floor as my pain streamed down my cheeks. Losing Drake, the days when I thought I couldn’t go on. The resolve that held me together during my three-month prenatal checkup only to have that ripped away from me when I lost our baby weeks later.
I clawed out of my grief, channeled all my energy and time into making other people’s lives better. Did I have the fortitude to be with a man like Drake again?
That was the root of my problem.
Fear.
My head throbbed with indecision. Plus, I hadn’t fully recovered from the tranquilizer effects, and this confrontation with Drake was draining.
Eyes drooping, I let myself go.
Someone was carrying me.
“Drake?” I mumbled.
“Sleep, baby.” A gravelly voice spoke to me. “I’ve got you.”
I snuggled into the safety of his embrace.
I awakened to the smell of coffee and unfamiliar surroundings.
Roman shades blocked the sunlight, but starbursts rimmed their edges.
A gold jacquard divan sat below the window ledge.
The walls were painted a dusky blue. Carefully, I peeked under the comforter, confused that I was in my nightshirt.
Then flashes of the night before hit me.
Drake ripping my sweater apart.
Drake kissing me senseless.
Drake burying his face between my thighs.
Heat shot up my face into the roots of my hair. I groaned into my pillow. “I am such a slut.”
One kiss. Dammit. One kiss and I ignited. My body was such a traitor and I surrendered to the strings of its master. Our physical chemistry was undeniable, undimmed by the years, it seemed, but was it enough to risk my heart again?
Tossing back the covers, I lowered my feet to the plush carpet and noticed an open duffel sitting by the divan.
Nothing had changed. Drake was bossy, as always, and took it upon himself to pack for me.
But we both knew how to pick our battles.
This was why we had such a successful marriage when divorce among our peers was at an all-time high.
A cylinder of rolled-up vellum paper sat on top of the bag.
They were the plans of our dream house, which I had crumpled and thrown in the trash the day I went on a date with Kyle.
White marks left permanent cracks in the design and reminded me of the state of my marriage.
Drake’s words last night about hanging on to my anger came echoing back.
If I let go, we could begin again just as I could draw a new house plan on a pristine sheet of vellum.
I looked around for my purse. It was nowhere in the room. Damn secret agent stuff. They didn’t want me calling anyone. I wouldn’t be surprised if my husband had done something to it so it wasn’t trackable.
I needed answers.
After taking care of my morning routine, thankful that Drake remembered how meticulous I was with my skin care products, I surveyed myself in the mirror.
My lids were puffy from crying but, somehow, our encounter last night had been cathartic.
Or maybe I was relieved that even though my heart and mind were confused, there was still a part of me that responded to Drake.
A part of me that still wanted to be his wife again.
I returned to the bedroom and looked through the bag for something to wear. I pulled out a pair of jeans and a hoodie. My chest twitched when I spotted my slip-on shoes.
There was little Drake had forgotten about me.
When I stepped out of the bedroom, I absorbed the familiar layout of the second floor.
A sweeping staircase separated the two wings of the house.
There was a room next to mine and one at the far end of the hallway.
The opposite wing had an upstairs parlor and two more rooms. This was similar to our dream house, except I made better use of the center stairway, which would open to the family room.
“Ugh,” I berated myself for reminiscing about a time that would only bring me heartache.
I could not, should not, relapse into the shell of the woman I’d been.
My anticipation of seeing a bare-chested Drake was not helping either.
But when I cleared the last step and turned into the kitchen, there was no sign of him.
Instead, a woman who appeared to be in her late fifties sat at the breakfast nook, sipping coffee as she casually swiped across her tablet.
“Uhm…good morning?” I couldn’t help the questioning tone that crept into my voice.
The woman glanced up and smiled serenely. “Morning, Izabel.”
Cautiously stepping into the breakfast nook, I swiped my hands at my sides before shoving them into my back pockets as I waited for the woman to say something.
“I’m Gina Carter,” the woman said as she rose and held out her hand.
Despite my reservation, I returned the courtesy. “Where’s Drake?”
“He’ll join us later.”
“Us?” This time I eyed the older woman suspiciously. “Who exactly are you?”
“A friend.”
Eyes further narrowing, I crossed my arms. “Try again.”
Gina noted my defensive movement with a faint smile. “I’m Drake’s therapist.”
A psychiatris t. I lowered my arms and spun away slightly, shaking my head in disbelief. “Unbelievable.”
When Gina didn’t respond, I faced her again. “How can Drake…how can you expect me to talk to you”—I snapped my fingers—“just like that.”
The older woman’s eyes reflected compassion and I bristled in consternation.
“We weren’t expecting you to agree?—”
“Do I look like I need an intervention?” I challenged. “It’s only been a few days.”
Gina sat back in her chair. “It’s more like Drake needs me to intervene. Apparently he’s doing a poor job at this reconciliation.”
“Understatement,” I mumbled under my breath. “And his answer is to have me open up to a complete stranger?”
“Sometimes a stranger is better to be a sounding board.”
I laughed derisively. “Except that’s not true for you, is it? You probably have preconceived notions of me already.”
“I understand your outrage.” The other woman nodded. “Do you trust Drake?”
I didn’t respond.
“I didn’t think so,” Gina said. “What about Hank?”
“What about him?”
“If he vouches for me, would you agree to speak to me?”
I blew out a resigned breath. “I don’t know who to trust anymore, even Hank, because he saw me spiraling, yet knew Drake was alive. No one. No one is really on my side.”
“I’m sorry, Izabel. I really am. But given the special nature of your situation with Drake, we can’t just bring in another mediator.”
“So you work for the CIA.”
“I’m retired,” Gina said. “But I used to work for the agency.”
The woman before me looked like a spinster aunt. An elegant spinster aunt.
Gina spread her hands in a glib gesture. “Unfortunately, marital strife is not my specialty, so I’ll try my best here.”
“I haven’t agreed to talk to you.”
The shrink smiled faintly before picking up her phone and swiping the screen. She put the phone on speaker.
After a few rings, Hank’s voice came on the line. “Our boy crash and burn?”
Gina laughed briefly. “You can say that.”
“I don’t need a shrink,” I declared.
“I agree, but you need someone to explain where Drake is coming from because I doubt he has the tact or words to express himself,” Hank said.
“I’ve seen you both go through hell…” He paused.
“You tried to move on, Izzy, but I know you. You still love Drake. And, sweetie, he loves you more than anything. You’re feeling betrayed, but don’t deny yourself the chance to see where this can go. ”
“Well, hell, I don’t know if I’m needed here,” Gina interjected with amusement.
“Sorry, Doc G.” Hank chuckled. “You get me, Izzy?”
“Goodness,” I exclaimed. “It’s only been four days?—”
He laughed. “It’s Maddox we’re talking about here.”
I had to smile. Yes, Drake wasn’t a very patient man, especially when it came to me.
Somehow, I wasn’t surprised at the speed my husband wanted to get back in my life.
My foremost reservation was the fear that I would never become the SEAL wife I used to be.
I no longer wanted the uncertainty and the sacrifice of being kept in the dark about what my husband was doing.
I’d paid that price. Still, the boundaries or our reconciliation could be up for discussion.
But Gina, as Drake’s therapist, could fill in the blanks and put in perspective what he could never open up about.
His vulnerability when he was injured and the guilt that must have consumed him when he faked his death and left me to grieve him.
I sighed in resignation. “Okay.” I looked at Gina. “But if I’m feeling manipulated, we’re done.”
“Told you she was a tough chick.”
“Yes, Maddox schooled me.”
“I’m getting coffee,” I grumbled. “Talk to you soon, Hank.” I headed for the coffee machine and wondered what I had agreed to. There was comfort knowing Hank was onboard with Gina getting involved, but it didn’t mean it had gotten rid of my reservations.