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Despite maintaining separate residences—Shane’s political advisors had been adamant he couldn’t publicly flaunt cohabitation with a woman not his wife, even in this day and age—they’d been practically living together for the past six weeks. They’d given each other keys and they hadn’t slept a single night apart, which—given how much Shane had suffered when he found out which one of his staff was the traitor—had been a blessing for him. Not that he would admit it, of course. He’d acted as if he wasn’t devastated...even though he was.
The day after the pipeline bill was narrowly defeated, Marsh Anderson—his arm still in a sling from where Carly had shot him—had taken a plea deal in exchange for naming names. Including those he referred to as the Agenda Men, and the name Shane had most wanted to know—the man who’d betrayed him.
But then Shane had fought believing it. Bobby? Bobby? He’d gone to high school with Bobby Vernon, he’d told Carly in a state of shock. Had given his friend a job over more qualified men when he’d first been elected to the House of Representatives because Bobby had worked hard on Shane’s first election campaign and Shane was nothing if not loyal. And Bobby had gotten up to speed so quickly Shane hadn’t had to think twice about keeping him on as deputy chief of staff when he’d moved to the Senate.
Carly had grieved for Shane, for the loss of his trusted staffer and friend. There were no words she could have said to him to cushion the blow, and Shane wasn’t the kind of man who could talk out his grief. So all she could do was hold him. Love him. Be a constant, reassuring presence in his life.
She’d even turned down a story J.C. had offered her that would take her out of the country—and she’d only ever done that before for her sister, Tahra. That, more than anything, had convinced Carly she truly loved Shane. Totally. Completely. She loved her job...but it didn’t need her the way Shane did.
So they’d spent every night together...until Shane had flown to Arizona a few days ago for a follow-up visit with his neurologist there. The Mayo Clinic had given Shane the name of a highly regarded neurologist in the DC area for emergencies, but apparently whatever was wrong with him required a trip out west.
Carly had wanted to go with Shane, but he’d declined her offer. She’d been hurt—she’d admitted as much to herself at the time—but then had reasoned he was entitled to his privacy...if he wanted to keep this private from her. Which, apparently, he did.
Shane had flown out Thursday evening and had flown back Friday afternoon. Friday night, he’d pleaded exhaustion. She’d offered him some TLC but he’d gently turned her down, and Carly hadn’t pushed. Saturday he’d claimed Niall was in town briefly, and he wanted to devote the day and night to his brother—some one-on-one male bonding time. Again Carly hadn’t protested, because if her sister Tahra had been visiting, she would have wanted to spend time alone with her without male distraction.
But today was Sunday. And Shane hadn’t even bothered to come up with a lame excuse. He hadn’t lied to her, she’d give him that. But all he’d said was “I can’t, Carly” in a tone that brooked no argument. Then he’d disconnected, as if that was the end of it.
He’s avoiding you, she acknowledged. Any other man and she would have gotten the message loud and clear—the cold-shoulder brush off. But Shane wasn’t like that. If he didn’t love her, he’d be a man about it and tell her to her face. So whatever the problem was, it didn’t have anything to do with how he felt about her. Which only left one explanation.
For just a moment, burning anger and a sense of injustice took possession, and her lips thinned. What kind of woman did Shane think she was? Did he think she’d crumble at the first sign of trouble? And who the hell gave him the right to make unilateral decisions about them both that affected her?
But then she realized Shane had taken her words to heart when she’d told him all those weeks ago they had to keep an emotional distance. He saw her exactly as she’d told him she was—an emotional coward. A woman who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—be there for him when the chips were down.
