Clara took another sip of her water, sitting back as we each waited for anyone else to speak first. We each had secrets, that much was obvious. We had reasons to want Lucas’ case to be closed. Whoever spoke first, it wouldn’t be me. I had no idea what I wanted to say, other than nothing. I wanted the conversation to be over. I wanted to go home, where I was safe.
I swallowed, rubbing a hand over the small bump beneath my top without thought.
“Right now, the police don’t know you two were involved with my husband. If we can resolve the matter between us, I don’t see any reason to involve them. I know we’re all hurting right now, and shocked, of course, but that’s no reason we can’t work together to get to the truth. Is it?” Naomi asked.
Clara cleared her throat, and I was sure she was going to begin to tell her version of things. “Maybe you should tell us what you know first. Just so we know…what happened between you two and where we need to fill in the blanks.”
“What are you implying?” Naomi demanded.
“Nothing, of course. It’s just… Well, we loved him too, like you said. I’d like to know the truth just as well as you would.”
They both looked at me, waiting for me to agree. The truth. It was a funny thing, wasn’t it?
Chapter Seven
Naomi
Ten Days Before Lucas’ Death
A hand slid over my torso, rousing me from sleep. I rolled over, one eye squeezed shut as I inhaled sharply. He pulled me into him, his fingers trailing across my skin toward my back.
“Good morning, beautiful.”
I rubbed the messy, dark hair from his eyes. “Good morning.” My voice was gruff with sleep, but he pressed his lips to mine, waking me up completely. “What’s gotten into you this morning?”
He kissed me again, his lips fresh and minty. He smelled of soap; he’d already been in the shower. His eyes trailed across the room, and I followed them to where a tray of food sat on my dresser. The smile on my lips grew shamelessly.
“Happy Birthday,” he whispered, reminding me. His face pressed into the side of mine. He kissed my temple. “I love you.”
I rubbed my eyes, popping my back as I sat up. “Thank you, baby.” He jumped from the bed and rushed across the room, grabbing the tray and carrying it toward me. “Where’s Becca?”
“I didn’t want to wake her.”
I took a sip of my coffee, enjoying the perfect amount of caramel creamer. Lucas was always good about remembering just how I liked it. “You could’ve been a barista in another life, you know?”
He twisted a piece of the comforter between his fingers. “How do you know I wasn’t?”
“Maybe you should be again,” I teased. “You might be better at this than surgery.”
“For my patients’ sake, I hope not,” he said with a snort, then sighed. “Maybe one day when we’re living in the south of France, I’ll open up a coffee shop.”
“And we can live above it in a tiny apartment with a balcony,” I said, playing along with the fantasy. “Of course, we’d have to summer back home where there’s air conditioning.”
He laughed. “Yes, of course. Our shop would only be open in the winter, and you could sit on the balcony every morning all snuggled in a blanket and smell my coffee brewing.”
“Or you could just bring me a cup of coffee every morning. Then I wouldn’t have to just smell it.”
“I could do that here,” he said, one brow raising. “And then we wouldn’t have to worry about vandals destroying the shop in the summer. Can you imagine insurance on a vacant restaurant six months out of the year?”
“Fair enough. I guess France will just have to wait.” I giggled, taking another sip of the coffee. “What should we do today?”
“It’s your day, gorgeous. What do you want to do?”
I stared at him incredulously. “You mean you don’t have to work?”
He smiled with just one side of his mouth. “Just for a few hours. I’ve already told the chief I’m coming home early to spend it with my beautiful wife on her birthday.”
“And Cooper was okay with that?”
He ran a hand down his side playfully. “When you look this good, you can get away with almost everything.”
I rolled my eyes, setting my coffee down and lifting the tray to place it on my nightstand. “Prove it,” I teased, turning back to him. His hands traveled up my waist, tickling my skin. Hands of a surgeon—every movement was precise and intentional as he spread the warmth of his palms across my bare skin.
“It’d be my pleasure,” he whispered, connecting his lips with mine. The pit of my stomach tingled with desire as he shifted his weight on top of my body, his kisses growing fevered.
“Mommy?” Becca’s tiny voice interrupted us, and Lucas rolled off me, breathing heavily.
“Good morning, pumpkin,” I said, not missing a beat as I held out my arms for her. She watched us from where she stood in the hallway. I cast a silly glance at Lucas, who shook his head, an exasperated look on his face. He patted the cover on top of my tummy.
“Come wish Mommy a happy birthday, Bec,” he said. At his invitation, she hurried across the room, bouncing up on top of me and giggling.
“Happy Birthday, Mommy,” she cheered, bouncing up and down. Lucas pulled her over, kissing her forehead. “How old are you?”
“Old,” I said with a laugh.
“You have to take care of her while Daddy’s at work, okay? Deal?”
She twisted in his arms with glee. “Deal!”
He leaned forward, kissing my forehead. “Don’t lift a finger today, you hear me? I have two surgeries this morning, both minor, but I’ll be home right after.”
I nodded, watching him leave the bed and then the room. I looked at Becca, who was snuggled into my arm, her brown curls messy from sleep.
“Want some breakfast?” I pulled the tray over onto the bed again. “Sit still, okay?” I warned as she sat up, fully prepared to devour the breakfast.
She clapped her hands together excitedly just as my phone chimed. “Okay!”
As she dug into the biscuit waiting for her, I reached for my phone, unplugging it and pulling it to me. Blinking and leaning my head back, I read the message on the screen.
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?”