More of You (Confessions of the Heart 1)

His name was a blow all on its own.

Like she’d conjured his spirit into the dense, heavy space. Unease slicked across my skin. Tingling and hot.

What would he think if he knew I was here?

Her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips. “He was supposed to help me with all of this. We were supposed to be partners. And now . . . now . . .”

She blinked some more, exhaling in despair and resignation. “Maybe I should just sell it. Give it up. God knows I don’t have the money to fix it up anyway. And with everything that’s happening, I’m not sure I can handle all of this. I’m not sure I want to stay here alone.”

“Don’t say that, Faith. This place was your dream.”

I wanted to reach out and grab her by the shoulders.

Shake her.

Shout it.

Claim it.

Our dream.

Sadness poured from her as she stared at me, her head angled slightly to the side. “Some dreams change, don’t they?”

No. Never.

At least mine had been haunting me for all of forever.

Glancing away, I took in the immaculate kitchen. By my estimate, it was the only part of the house that had been fully renovated.

It boasted massive, top-of-the-line appliances and rustic, white stone countertops, a huge worker’s island in the middle with an old-style pot rack hanging low from overhead.

A bit country and a lot chic.

But I thought the centerpiece of it all was where we were, at the huge round dining table that sat at least twenty people, tucked in the curved bank of windows that took up the whole back wall.

It overlooked the back porch and expansive lawn that rolled down a sloping embankment toward a copse of trees.

Right toward that babbling creek.

After what just happened, I was half inclined to fill the fucker up with rocks and sand.

Blot it out.

I roughed a hand through my hair, knowing I was digging, pushing in a way I shouldn’t. But I didn’t know how to stop.

I’d hopped on a train that would lead me straight to my destruction. But fuck, I guessed I’d been heading there all along. The only thing that counted now was doing a little good until I got there.

“There’s no money left?” I hedged, voice gravel. But I already knew the answer to that, didn’t I?

Her eyes squeezed shut, and she warred with what to tell me. When that chocolate sea fluttered open, I swore they were going to drown me.

Take me in.

Hold me under.

“No, Jace. There’s no money left. I thought . . .”

Confusion wound through her, and she stared at the wall over my shoulder with her brow pinched. Like it might hold the answer she was searching for.

“I thought we had plenty, and then when . . .”

She twisted her fingers together on her lap. I had the urge to haul her onto mine.

Fuck.

She peeked down at me, embarrassment lighting her cheeks. “When I went to make arrangements for the funeral, there was nothing there. The accounts had gone dry. I had to borrow from my parents to even give him a service.”

She looked out through the glittering windows, her voice getting lost in the room, so quiet when she whispered, “When it first happened, I couldn’t help but keep thinkin’, if I just hadn’t have sent him that day. I’d forgotten the milk, and he had to go back. If I’d just done that one thing differently, if I hadn’t been in such a hurry earlier that day, he’d still be here.”

Was that what he had really deluded her into believing?

That he was the good guy?

That he was in the wrong place at the wrong time?

The victim of some mindless robbery?

If he had gone fifteen minutes earlier or later, he wouldn’t have stumbled down the wrong path?

Didn’t she know he’d gone running down that path a long time ago?

It didn’t matter what time he’d gone. Where he’d gone. They would have found him.

My guts clenched.

Shit.

I didn’t know what was worse, her going on thinking that or me telling her the truth.

Shame had taken hold of her when she looked back at me. “Now, I don’t have any idea what to believe. I’m so confused . . . so scared. It wasn’t as if we had a perfect marriage.”

I flinched.

Not sure I could handle her even talking about it.

Still, I stayed silent, allowing her to continue even though the picture of them together made me want to stab a hot poker into my eye.

“But I at least thought he cared about us enough that he wouldn’t do anything that would harm us.”

As if she bore the blame, she looked down. “But after everything? The things that have been happening around us? I can’t help but question who he really was. And I hate that . . . hate questioning a man who isn’t even here to defend himself. Who isn’t here to explain. And . . . and . . . the only thing I have left of him is waiting on his life insurance policy to come through.”