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With a shaky hand she reached for the zipper. She flipped the top and stared at perfectly folded jeans, tees, underwear, running shoes...
Sam’s things. They even smelled like him. That familiar woodsy scent wafted up and assaulted her senses, making her stomach clench with...what? She couldn’t even label her emotions at this point—there were simply too many.
Blowing out a sigh, Tara closed her eyes and dropped her head between her shoulders. This was not happening. It couldn’t be happening. No way was Sam staying here. He could come and go as often as he wanted. She’d certainly never denied him any involvement with Marley. On that they had always agreed. But he would not be staying in her home while Marley recovered.
Surely he wasn’t using Marley’s condition to try to come back? He hadn’t signed the divorce papers, so did that mean he thought there was a chance? He hadn’t made a move on her since coming out of rehab; he hadn’t tried to push his way into their lives. In all honesty, he’d been the perfect gentleman. She hadn’t known what to expect. They’d been so passionate early in their relationship so now things always seemed odd...strained.
Tara bounded down the stairs and headed toward the kitchen. Sam stood at the island with a bowl, eggs and bread. Marley was on her knees on a stool beside him. This had been their thing. Sam had always been a phenomenal cook—that was one of the many ways he’d captured her heart. But when he started incorporating Marley into the prep work and she eventually graduated to using the stove with assistance, Tara had utterly melted.
Even though Marley had been a toddler when she’d started helping, she’d actually mastered measuring and mixing.
“Hey,” he said, smiling across the room at her. “We’re making French toast. Interested?”
“He said no ice cream for breakfast.” Marley pouted as she cracked an egg into the bowl.
Tara offered her daughter a smile but shook her head. “Actually, I need to speak to your daddy for a minute.”
Sam’s eyes snapped to hers, but his own smile didn’t diminish. How could this look so right, so painstakingly familiar, yet every bit of this morning be so devastatingly wrong? She couldn’t handle him in their kitchen, like this was old times, let alone stay for...however long he’d intended. His suitcase had been crammed full. They’d bought the house together when they’d married, but he’d given it to her in the divorce. Still, this was their space and memories flooded her now that he was back.
Sam grabbed a dish towel and wiped his hands as he circled the island. “Just crack the eggs and I’ll be right back so we can start dipping the bread.”
Marley began humming as she cracked another egg. Tara pulled in a deep breath, telling herself not to explode because yelling or getting upset would get them nowhere. Still, she had to make Sam understand he simply couldn’t stay. She had to remain firm on this for her sanity. Falling into their pattern of her enabling his actions would only lead to disaster and leave her where she’d crawled her way out of.
But she was still enabling, wasn’t she? Just like she’d covered for him when he’d been using. Pretenses...they were an ugly thing to try to keep up.
Tara went up the stairs and into the bedroom, well aware he was directly behind her.
“What the hell is this?” she asked, pointing to the bed.
With a casual shrug, he crossed his arms over his massive chest. “My suitcase.”
She willed herself to find patience. “Why is it on my bed?”
Casual as you please, Sam leaned against the door frame. “I’m staying.”
“No, you’re not.”
He couldn’t. She’d barely gotten used to this house without him. Having him here would be too cruel and dealing with Marley on top of that...she simply didn’t think she could handle all the emotions at once.
The irony that she counseled people yet couldn’t even get her own life in order was not lost on her.
Sam pushed off the frame and took one slow step at a time until he’d closed the space between them. Tara concentrated on her breathing; it was better than focusing on those gray eyes that seemed to look right into her soul.
