My Husband's Secret Read online

  My heart plummeted, chills running down my spine.

  Happy Birthday.

  Two words, one period. A seemingly simple message, but I knew it was far from simple. It had been a month since I’d talked to him, a month since we made a mistake I couldn’t take back despite how badly I wanted to. The guilt of what happened weighed heavily on me and there had been countless times I’d considered telling Lucas, but how could I ever explain it? He’d never forgive me.

  I deleted the text message, wishing I could delete what I’d done just as easily.

  Chapter Eight

  Clara

  “By the time we got in there, there was already so much damage from the blockage, the only option was a complete bowel resection, but the anastomosis went beautifully,” I said, taking a bite of the turkey wrap in front of me. “How did your biopsy go?”

  “The patient’s a mess,” he said, rubbing a hand over his chin. “But the surgery went well. We got a clean sample. Now we wait.”

  “Do you think it’s…” I could tell by the look on his face that I didn’t need to continue my sentence. The tests would only confirm what he and the rest of the surgical team already knew. The twenty-four-year-old science teacher had breast cancer, and her entire life was about to change.

  It could all change so fast. That’s what was so terrifying about our job. We tried so hard to protect, to save, to win, but it didn’t always happen. And even when you’d won, even when we saved you, once you’d been on that table, you were never truly the same. Whether cancer or cesarean, the scalpel’s scar tended to run deeper than the physical ones we left. As surgeons, the threat of our own mortality was constantly thrust in our faces. It could all be over just like that; everything could end.

  I swallowed, no longer hungry, and dusted off my hands. “Are you coming over tonight?”

  “I can’t,” he said simply, chewing on the last bit of crust from his pizza.

  “Why not?”

  He stood, dusting his hands off on his scrubs. “Today’s Naomi’s birthday. I promised her I’d cook dinner and watch Becca so she can relax.”

  I pursed my lips. “When am I going to get to meet this mysterious sister of yours? You know I’m great with kids.” Or, at least I would be, if I had a chance to be around them.

  “Soon,” he promised, tapping the table with his knuckles, though his eyes were distant. That was how he was with this subject, one that had been brought up so often over the years. Never definitive. “You know Naomi is still fragile, and I just, I don’t want to risk her health right now. Her doctors say she needs stability.”

  “I know,” I said. I didn’t want to push, even though the excuse fell flat. I believed Naomi must not like me, though I didn’t know why. For twelve years, I’d dated her brother and never once had we been allowed to meet. Wasn’t she curious about me? How much longer could he put it off? “I just…I want to help. I feel so useless here when you’re doing so much.”

  “You help me,” he confirmed. “You do, Clara. Just by being here…by being you.” He squeezed my hand briefly, then turned away. “See you later.”

  “Bye,” I called after him, tossing my napkin into the container on top of my lunch. I loved Luke, I really did, and I knew his heart was in the right place. There were few men I knew who would allow their sister to move in with them, let alone take care of both her and her daughter on top of maintaining a demanding full-time job. I didn’t want to push. I knew he was balancing so much, and the last thing I wanted to do was ask for anything more.

  I had my career too, something that meant so much to me. I could easily push aside any other worries. He loved me, I knew, and at least for now, we’d be together in whatever way he could make it work.

  As long as I had him, in whatever capacity he could give himself to me, I wouldn’t complain. We made that silent agreement years ago.

  Still, I planned to meet Naomi one way or another. I was going to show Luke that everything would be okay between us. I’d make sure Naomi loved me. He’d see.

  Chapter Nine

  Alaina

  Someone was standing behind me. I sensed it in an instant, pulling the headphones from my ears and spinning around with my paintbrush wielded like a sword. Lucas looked back at me, obviously amused.

  “Easy there, tiger,” he teased, his hands thrown up in surrender. I groaned, rolling my eyes and lowering my brush.

  “You scared me!”

  He chuckled under his breath. “You didn’t answer when I knocked. I assumed you were working and used the key.”

  I took off my apron and hung it on the side of the canvas stand, placing my paintbrush down. When I turned back to him, he was eyeing my painting as he pulled me into his arms for a quick kiss.

  “What is this one about?”

  “It’s not about anything,” I said with a sigh. “It’s just…a feeling. My feelings.”

  He leaned a cheek onto the top of my head, squeezing me tighter. “And what are your feelings?”

  I bit my tongue, not yet ready to talk about them. “Come with me. I finished up the one I’ve been working on this week, and I’ve been dying to show you.”

  He didn’t seem fazed by the sudden change of subject, and as I tugged his hand down the long hallway toward my bedroom, he followed. Lucas had always been supportive of my art, even when he didn’t completely understand it. He attended every one of my art shows and had even purchased a few pieces for himself. One day, when we had our own place together, he swore it would be filled with my art.

  I pushed open the bedroom door and flipped on the light, tugging the white cover off the canvas in the corner. We stepped around the paintings that were wrapped and ready to be sent off to a buyer, and I watched Lucas’ face change from amused to amazed.

  He stepped past me, his fingers lifting to the canvas, though he dared not touch it. He sucked in a sharp breath. “Wow…this is…wow.”

  He stared at the charcoal and watercolor portrait of himself, taking in the lines I’d been meticulous about. Every inch of his body, as it was burned into my mind, was now on the canvas and preserved forever.

  “Do you like it?” I asked when he’d been silent too long.

  He nodded. “It’s…me.”

  I laughed, shocked by his obvious words. “Yes, it’s you.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at me, an awe-filled expression on his face. “When did you do this?”

  “I’ve been working on it for a few weeks now, just here and there. I wanted it to be perfect.”

  “Are you…selling it?” He suddenly looked uncomfortable.

  “Not a chance. This one’s all mine.”

  He warmed instantly. “And when do I get one of you?” His fingers outstretched for my waist, and he pulled me toward him. I grinned.

  “So you do like it, then?”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful, Lukey,” I said, nudging my nose against his as he lowered his lips to mine. I closed my eyes, sinking into his kiss as his arms wrapped around me, his leg bumping mine as he led me backward three steps and onto the bed.

  He sank down on top of me, careful that his weight wasn’t on my belly as his hand crawled up to my breast. His other hand cupped my jaw, pulling me into his kiss even more. He was such a good kisser, so much better than the many guys I dated in college. It was one of my favorite things about dating a much older man. On top of his maturity, he was incredibly experienced, and he put all that experience to good use with me.

  He pulled away, staring down at me for a brief second. “You remembered every inch of me. Down to the freckles on my hip.”

  “You’re burned into my memory, Lucas Martin. Deal with it.” I beamed. “Artist brain is a very real thing.”

  “I guess I have some memorizing of my own to do.” His eyebrows bounced up with desire as he pulled my dress over my head, his heated gaze raking over my body.

  Remember me how I am now, I pleaded internally, neither of us oblivious
to the fact that my stomach would soon start to swell with the piece of us we’d managed to create. His hand cupped the place where my bump would grow as he lowered himself between my legs.

  “Absolutely beautiful,” he whispered, and I silently prayed he would always believe that was true.

  When we finished, we lay together, both breathing heavily, soaked in cool sweat and staring up at the dingy ceiling of my bedroom. He twisted a finger through a wisp of my hair, and I thought of how much I loved these moments.

  Why did he ever have to leave? Why couldn’t he stay with me all the time? I knew my apartment was a farther drive for him to work than he’d like, but I’d said over and over that I’d move in with him if he wanted me to. He thought we were moving too fast, but this baby had sped things up, no matter the original plan. The ring he chose, the one I kept in my top dresser drawer had sped things up. Why was he still keeping one foot on the brakes? I believed it had to be a commitment issue, which explained why he was nearing forty-five and still single.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. I turned my head to look at him.

  “Nothing, really,” I lied.

  “You’re lying.” He called me on it.

  My smile was small. “Just thinking about being with you. I wish it could be like this all the time.”

  His gaze became distant, like it so often did. He looked back up toward the ceiling. “I know. I do, too.” His jaw was tight as he said it. I could’ve easily called him out on his lie, too.

  “Am I doing something to scare you off?”

  He propped up on one elbow and stared at me like I was being ridiculous. “Of course not, Alaina. Why would you ask me that?”

  “Every time I bring up moving in together, you shut down.”

  “I’ve told you, your apartment is too far from my work.”

  I placed a hand on his chest. “And I’ve told you, I can do my job from anywhere. Let me move in with you. Let’s get a place together somewhere different. Just give me a big window somewhere in the house, and I’ll be satisfied. I just want you…”

  He rubbed a hand over his scalp. “It’s just not good timing right now. Work is too busy for me to think about moving, and my house is a total bachelor pad.”

  “I don’t mind—”

  “I said no, Alaina, okay?” His tone was harsh, and I knew the conversation was nearing its end. This was our stopping point. Our brick wall. I had no idea why I pushed him. No idea why I kept pushing him when it never ended anywhere different. This was where we always ended up. “I gave you a ring, didn’t I? I said I would marry you. I will take care of you. Is that not enough?”

  “Do you love me?” I asked, and sudden, betraying tears pooled in my eyes.

  His jaw dropped, his eyes narrowing at me. “Of course I love you, Alaina. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  There was a truth in his tone, real and palpable, and I knew he meant it. Still, it troubled me that he refused to take the next obvious step. “When, then? When will you move in with me? After we’re married?”

  “We won’t wait that long,” he promised, obviously thinking that would make me feel better.

  “That long? How long are you planning to wait to marry me? The baby will be here in just a few short months.”

  “Seven months,” he said quickly. “We still have seven months.”

  “They’ll fly by.”

  “Enough, Alaina. This is all…it’s a lot, okay? It’s a lot, and it’s overwhelming—”

  I pushed up from the bed, grabbing my dress and tossing it over my head. “You’re overwhelmed? Well, I’m incredibly sorry to have caused you any stress, Lucas. I can’t imagine how that feels because I just live my life here in Happyville without a care in the world.”

  He stood up, pulling on his pants from the floor. His shoulders were tense, and I knew he was mad. I did that. Despite my usual efforts to keep him happy—I knew how much his work stressed him out—the baby had put a timer on what we had. A countdown. No longer could we continue to take a leisurely stroll through our relationship; I couldn’t keep letting him stop in for an hour or two and then disappear from my life for days or weeks on end. I knew his life was busy—I wasn’t needy and would never pretend to be—but I did need this. If he was going to be in this child’s life, I needed him to step up before it arrived.

  “I know that’s not true, okay? I know you’re just as stressed as I am, but you have to give me time. You know how I work. I push people away and I need my space, I just—”

  “Take your space,” I said, handing him his shirt with force. “Take all the space you need. But when you come back, I need you to know what you want from me. If I’m just a booty call you happened to knock up—”

  “You know that’s not it!” He reached for me, but I stepped back, rage boiling in my belly as I’d never felt it before.

  “I know you’ve told me it’s not, but I know how you’re making me feel right now, too. We don’t have long. I will do this on my own if I have to, but what I won’t do, is do it with you having one foot out the door. You’re either in our lives or you’re out, Lucas. You have to decide, and you have to decide quickly. I can’t take much more of this.”

  He pulled his shirt over his head, his expression stony. “You know that I love you.”

  “But do you love us?” I gestured toward my belly. “Do you love me enough to want all that comes with this?”

  “I gave you a ring. I’m not sure what else you want from me.” His dark brows drew down in frustration.

  “I want it all, Lucas. And anything less than that couldn’t possibly be enough.” With that, I walked past him, fighting back tears as I pulled open the door. “You should go. I have a project due, and I need to get back to work.”

  I wanted him to fight, to argue, to say there was no way he would leave like this and pull me into his arms to let me know I was all he’d ever want or need.

  Instead, he sighed, then left without a word or second glance.

  Chapter Ten

  Naomi

  When he arrived home, I knew it was going to be a rough afternoon. Already, he was groaning and angry, his movements tense and tight as he moved through the house. The birthday cake Becca helped me make was cooling on the counter as I ran the needle and thread through her pink sweater, attaching the tutu to its hem.

  He came into the room before I turned around, hoping to alleviate his bad mood with a smile and chocolate. I ignored his anger.

  “Welcome home.” I held up the wings in a sort-of salute. “You’ll never guess what your daughter wants to be for Halloween this year.”

  He laughed, but it was dismissive, and I wasn’t sure if he was really listening to me. He headed to the counter and grabbed a glass, filling it with water and took a drink. “Nice,” he said, not really responding to what I’d said.

  I refused to ask how his day was, even though it felt like I should. I wouldn’t do it. I didn’t want to know. It was my birthday, and he was supposed to drop it at the door and celebrate with us. That was his promise this morning.

  I stood, laying the costume on the table and walking to him. I rubbed a hand across his back. “We made a chocolate cake. Becca got to lick the bowl.”

  He rolled his eyes, his brows knitted in frustration when he turned to face me. “You know I hate it when you let her do that.”

  “I know,” I said, keeping the smile planted on my face. “But she loves it.” I waited, but he didn't smile back. “I only let her have a little bit.” It wasn’t true, but it didn’t matter. I needed him to smile.

  He finished the rest of his glass of water and set it in the sink. “What would you like for dinner, my love?” I swear sometimes I got whiplash from how quickly his mood changed, but still, there was a chill to his tone.

  “I was thinking we could go out. That way no one has to cook or deal with dishes. What do you think? Jonathan’s?”

  “Sounds delicious.” He kissed my l
ips quickly, not allowing me to savor him, and walked away. “I’m going to shower before we head out.”

  I nodded, letting him get midway down the hall before I headed back to the table to finish sewing.

  I was running the last thread through the fabric of her costume when I heard the water kick on upstairs. I put the sweater down, sticking the costume in the bag and the bag on top of the fridge, then headed down the hall. Becca was asleep in her room, but she should’ve been waking up within the hour.

  In the middle of the hallway, I turned and headed up the stairs toward the bedrooms. I walked through our bedroom, lifting his scrubs from the floor and tossing them into the hamper. The water shut off as I opened the door, suffocated by the steam that smacked me in the face. My skin was suddenly dewy.

  He opened the glass door of the shower, jumping back when he realized I was standing there. He grabbed a black bath towel from the rack.

  “What the hell?”

  “I thought I could join you…” I whispered, running a finger along the side of the door.

  He sighed, rubbing the towel through his wet hair. “I’m already getting out, Naomi.”

  “Well, God, I didn’t realize it was such a chore.” I was half joking, but he didn’t seem to care.

  “It’s not a chore, but…just not right now, okay? Becca will be up soon, and you should start getting ready if we want to get a table.”

  “We have time if you want to…” I stepped forward, rubbing a hand over his wet torso. “It’s my birthday, after all.”

  He sighed again. “I had a shit day at work, Nae.” I hated it when he called me that, my mother’s signature nickname for me, too. Like I was a barnyard animal. “I just need a minute, okay?”

  Where had the man I knew this morning gone? “Anything you want to talk about?”