Twelve Days (26 page)

"I did," he said, feeling hopeful for the first time that he'd actually made her believe that.

"And I know I married you for the same reason. I will never understand or be able to explain all the things that happened to us later, but I think things can get better, Sam. I think we can put all the pieces back together. I have so much faith in you—"

"In me?"

"Yes. And in us."

Oh, damn.
Look what she was giving him. So much faith. He never dreamed... And he owed her. He owed her the truth about himself. "Rachel, you don't really know me. There are things I never told you."

"About when your parents died?"

He nodded. "Things I never wanted you or anyone else to know."

"Sam, it doesn't matter. It doesn't change who you are now. It all happened before we ever met. All those things are just what made you the man I've always known, the one I've always loved."

He thought about that. Really thought about it. By the time she'd met him, all of those things had already happened. She'd never known him the way he'd been before, had never known the little boy nobody wanted, who got passed from house to house seemingly at a whim. He'd never wanted her to know. He hated that boy, hated the weakness in him, the neediness, the sorrow.

All that had ever come out was the rage. By the time someone found Sam's paternal grandfather and convinced the man to take him in, Sam was capable of being every bit as nasty as his grandfather. He had been consumed with anger and stubborn pride and shame, illogical as that was.

"I can't imagine what you ever saw in me," he said.

"I saw you, Sam, and all those things you tried so hard to hide."

And in her, he had seen everything he'd ever wanted. She was the most beloved daughter of one of the oldest families in town, with two parents who obviously loved her, three sisters and a brother, all of whom indulged her terribly, plus a host of aunts, uncles, and cousins. Her roots were as deeply imbedded in this town as the massive hundred-year-old oak tree in the town square. Her place in the world had been absolutely assured. It was here, in that old house of her grandparents', surrounded by people who loved her.

"You should have hated me on sight," he said.

"Never. I could never hate you."

Somehow, she'd been practically the only one in town to see through that sullen look that was so often on his face. The one he hid that pitiful little boy he used to be behind. That and the I-don't-give-a-damn attitude.

"I would have thought you'd run from me as fast as you could," he said. Instead, she'd followed him around the way Zach did now, giving him those same shy smiles and that insane amount of trust Zach did. Why would either of them have ever trusted him? Or wanted to be with him?

"Sam, think about it. I've spent my whole life running after you."

And she had. She'd been as gentle and happy and hopeful as he was sad and angry and gruff. She'd always been so sure she could draw him into her life, into her family and make a place for him there, just as strong a place as she had. She just kept coming back, kept after him with a stubborn kindness and teenage admiration he hadn't been able to resist.

"I tried, Rachel," he confessed. "I tried so hard to resist you."

"I know," she said.

He'd never quite believed he was good enough for her. Her family saw that, even if she did not. But there was only so much a man could do when faced with a woman who represented everything he'd ever wanted, everything he'd never had. She'd accepted him just as he was, and saw him as he'd always wanted to be, believed in him somehow. And one day, he'd given himself just one oh-so-innocent taste of her, and she'd gone straight to his head.

There'd really been no going back then. Not for either of them.

He still wanted her every bit as much. Wanted all that kindness and happiness and sunshine. He wondered if there was any sunshine left inside of her, and thought maybe he was seeing it tonight for the first time in ages.

"I guess I'm still chasing you, Sam," she said. "I've missed you."

Like he had in the old days, he took a step back, thought about saying something to try to make light of the situation. To dismiss everything that had always been between them.

But this was Rachel, and it was gut-level honesty time.

They'd hurt each other so much over the years, and he'd decided, right before the children came, that he simply couldn't do it anymore. He was sick and tired of feeling like he'd failed her in every way possible and he'd given up hope that they'd ever be happy together. Too many bad things stood between them for that.

So now, here they were, about to get their hearts broken again if he was any judge of the situation. And he still wanted her every bit as much as he always had, probably more. Still needed her. Still wished for something he could give her, and still worried that someday she'd see the real him and not the man she'd always believed he could be.

"I can't do this halfway, Rachel. Not anymore."

She put her hands against his chest, fingers splayed wide, palms warm enough that he felt it through the fabric of his shirt. It seemed like it had been decades since she touched him.

"What do you mean, halfway?"

"It means I don't want to live the way we have been. I can't."

"I don't want to, either, Sam. I want so much more. I want to give you so much more. I think we can make a new start. Right now."

"With these children," he said.

"Maybe."

"We don't know what's going to happen—"

"We never really know. Maybe for a while we thought we did, but we were wrong. Whatever happens tomorrow or the next day or the next, I want to spend those days with you."

He closed his eyes, letting the words sink into him, letting her touch him, running her hands lightly up and down his chest, soothing him and heating him through and through and making him want to grab her and take her upstairs and kiss every inch of her. That used to make things better. At least for a while. While he could hold her close and feel as if he were truly a part of her and lie to himself that he'd never lose her.

"You don't really know me," he said.

"I don't know the little boy who lost his mother when he was so young. But I know the man. He's my husband. He has been for twelve years."

He waited, not saying anything, not able to.

"Sam, whatever it was, whatever happened, it's not going to change the way I feel about you."

"I never wanted you to see me that way," he said. "To look at me that way."

"What way?"

"The way you look at Zach. The way I do," he choked out.

"How do I look at him? Like I pity him?"

Sam nodded. "I never wanted your pity, Rachel."

"I don't recall ever offering it. Not to you or to him. I love Zach," she said. "I hate what's happened to him, and I wish I could take him in my arms and make everything all better for him. I think about those things when I see him. But mostly, I just think about how precious he is to me and how much I love him. I couldn't help myself any more with him than I could with you."

And still, he stood there.

"I've never been any good at hanging on to the people I love," he said.

"I am," she said, wrapping her arms around him. "I'm never going to walk away from you. I'm never going to leave you, and I'll never ask you to go."

And maybe she wouldn't. After all, she never had. Despite all they'd been through. That should have told him something about her and about the two of them. She wasn't going to give up on him, and there was a new strength and determination to her these days. There were times when she seemed determined to have him back, the way things had been before.

She was right here, too, and he was trying so hard to keep his hands off her. He'd been counting on it getting easier with each passing day, but the last few days, it had been anything but easy.

"Rachel." He stepped back, trying not to look at the hurt on her face.

He'd almost given up hope of her ever really wanting him again. But everything could change in a heartbeat. He could find the children's mother tomorrow, and then where would he and Rachel be? He couldn't go back to what they'd had before.

So when she came toward him again, he blurted out the only thing he could think of to keep her away, the worst thing. "I had a brother once."

"What?" she said.

"A brother. Four years younger than I am. You asked me to tell you the worst of it. I had a brother. I told you I have a hard time hanging on to the people I love..."

"What happened to him, Sam?"

"I lost him," he said.

"Lost?
How?"

"At one of the places we went to live. I think, the third place we went, after some time at our great aunt's and our other grandmother's. It was a couple having problems having a baby. They decided to take a chance on me and Robbie. He was only about a year old when our parents died, so he would have been about two and a half when we went to live in that house. I think right from the start, they wanted him. He was so much littler. He didn't have any memory of our parents. I think they liked that. I think they believed they could erase any memories he had of any other home but theirs, and I was the only thing standing in their way. I was... angry. I was so angry, Rachel. And Robbie... he was mine. I was supposed to take care of him. I was all he had left."

"And he was all you had left," she said.

Sam nodded. His heart hurt. It hurt so bad.

"Anyway, they wanted him, and they didn't want me. And in the end, they got him. I got into trouble at school one too many times, and before long I was seeing a counselor and labeled a troublemaker. They told everyone all kinds of stuff about me, and I was so mad by then. I knew what they were after. They adopted Robbie, and they gave me to social services. To a foster home. I didn't care about anything then. Not after they took my brother from me."

"You never saw him again?"

"Not until right after you and I lost our baby."

"You found him?"

"I had to know what happened to him. Losing the baby... I just had to know."

"And he was okay?"

"Sure. Had a great life. Had no idea who I was."

"Oh, Sam," she gasped.

He shrugged his nothing-can-hurt-me shrug. What a crock.

"You left it at that?" Rachel asked. "With him not knowing?"

"He didn't even recognize me. He introduced himself to me using their last name and asked if he was supposed to know me." Sam winced at the way that hurt, even now. "What was there to say to him? I told him I thought I knew him, asked him about his family. He was happy, Rachel. They'd never even told him about me or our parents. He was only about four when they got rid of me. I guess it's not that surprising he wouldn't remember."

"And you just let it go? You let him go?"

"Think about it. He missed all the crap. Losing his parents and getting passed around from place to place. I wouldn't give that back to him for anything in this world. As far as he knew, he just had two parents who'd always loved him and wanted him. The truth was that his so-called parents had been lying to him his whole life and had neatly disposed of me. Do you think he would have thanked me for telling him that? It would have destroyed his whole life, and I know what that feels like. I wouldn't do it to him."

"Oh, Sam," she said. It seemed that was all she could say.

He finally looked at her, not wanting to think about what he'd see in her eyes but unable to stop himself from looking. Pity? He couldn't say. Horror? That part he was sure of. Shock? No surprise there. Anger? He loved her for that, for her outrage on his behalf.

"He'd be an adult now," she said.

"Who would still be seeing his whole world fall apart if I told him the truth."

"Oh, Sam. I love you," she said, looking as fiercely protective of him as anyone had ever been. "And I want you. I want you here with me."

Sam actually smiled then. He took her chin in his hand and filled his lungs with the sweet scent of her, rubbed his cheek against the side of her face.

"I've missed you, Rachel. I don't want you to be hurt anymore."

And he was afraid he was going to hurt her. Maybe if he didn't find the kids' mother. Maybe if no one ever found her.... What a terrible thought. Sam was ashamed of himself for how badly he wanted that to happen, so the kids could stay here with him and his wife and maybe they would all be okay.

But until he knew, there was nothing to say at the moment.

"It's late," he said, pulling away from her. "You should go to bed."

She wavered back and forth on her feet for a moment, as if she'd taken a blow. And he felt like a heel once again. He thought she might argue with him once again. Or even worse, that he might touch her and simply not be able to let her go this time. But she didn't. Her gaze dropped to the floor, and without letting him see the look on her face again, she turned and headed for the stairs.

He stayed down there, trying to close his mind to everything and everyone. Trying to block out everything but what he had to do.

Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. He'd go to Shepherdsville, and he'd try to find out something about the kids' mother. And then...

He had no idea what was going to happen then.

Chapter 14