UNSHAKABLE (Able Series Book 4) (22 page)

“Son-of-a-bitch!” Damien yells, throwing the remote control across the room.

His loud voice doesn’t startle me, the seething anger radiating off of him doesn’t scare me either since any type of emotion has vacated me. My mind is busy directing different scenarios of Nicole and Damien together as the infamous audio tape serves as their background music. The ghost of the past comes dancing into my brain again.

“You better quit playing stupid shit in your brain, Sophia! You know better than I do that pictures can mislead anyone to believe whatever truth they want!” The veins on his neck bulge as I’ve never seen them before. Livid . . . he’s beyond it—it has overtaken him completely.

“Truth? What’s the truth?” I whisper. My own voice sounds foreign to my ears.

Taking a rugged breath in and expelling it, he walks in my direction. His eyes glare furiously, but nothing stirs inside me—nothing. Is this why he’s been so tense since he got home?

“Are you going to believe that bullshit over me?” He bellows, eyes bulging. “Over me?” He repeats with less force but more pain.

My first tear falls, then soon a few more until feeling starts creeping back in and a sob burst out of me. He’s on me in an instant, his arms comforting my shaking body, kissing my forehead clear of any doubts.

“I know our truth, but that doesn’t matter! Their truth is plastered on TV! Our truth becomes lies, and their lies become the truth.”

He lifts my chin with his thumb, his eyes clouded with fear. “The only truth you should be concerned about is ours. Do you doubt me?”

“I . . . I’m not doubting you. I have questions though, but who knows the answer! When will this shit ever stop! When?”

“Don’t let it affect you! It’s as simple as that, Sophia.”

Surprised by what he says, I turn away from him. How dare he say it’s as simple as that? My whole life I’ve been told to not let anything affect me. How is that even possible when my face is like a flashing neon light on TV? When the words being said are hurtful? When could he have possibly gotten her pregnant? My God! Is it possible? It is possible! Or is it that she got pregnant, but didn’t tell him until after the abortion. If he didn’t know, I can’t possibly get mad, right? I don’t know . . . I don’t know what the truth is anymore.

He speaks with every word measured, voice controlled and emotions reigned in, “I don’t know where to begin. But know this, my need to protect you is my priority. Do you understand that?”

“Just tell me, okay! I’m not a piece of crystal that will shatter into a million pieces if shit doesn’t go my way! I just want the truth.”

“Can you promise me you’ll understand?”

Request
—it’s when someone is asking something from you. My husband is asking something from me. Without knowing why he needs my understanding, it scares me. It’s a stupid request my brain screams out, stopping my heart from answering.

Reply
—it’s what the person asking the question awaits, and sometimes it can’t be easily given. My heart feels what my heart wants to feel even though my brain demands to re-think its decision, ultimately the heart wins.

DAMIEN

While I wait for her answer I start praying, and while I pray I start hoping for a better outcome to a situation I don’t know an ending to, to an enemy who doesn’t have a face, and to a war I absolutely need to win.

“I trust you. I promise to understand. Please just tell me.” Her answer is music to my ears.

“Remember that day we went to visit the troops in Afghanistan?” She nods her answer. “I got a package in the mail with correspondence and pictures of Nicole and me . . .” I stop knowing the mere mention of Nicole will set her off. “ . . . of emails between a person and a Senator, whom we don’t know yet, and other documents. The informant won’t meet with anyone but me, and it’s going to be at a time and place of his choosing. Meanwhile, I’m doing my own investigation with Luke and Dan’s help, and so far we have nothing. I don’t know who the Senator is. I don’t know how deep this goes, but it seems we’re the target to get to your dad.”

With a shaky voice she asks, “The document shown tonight, is that real? Did that . . . did that happen? The picture of you and her, is that recent? Before us? Before we got married? When? Tell me!”

As she starts barking questions, I can’t help but notice the seed of doubt blossoming in her brain.

“Remember when I got that phone call the same time you got yours, when you assumed I was going out on a date? That was Nicole. She wanted to talk and what I wanted to tell her couldn’t be done over the phone. I didn’t know we were being watched. That document, baby, is definitely not pertaining to me as the father. I used protection. Always.” The calmness in my voice surprises me because the level of dread coursing through my veins is like no other I’ve ever experienced.

I watch her take everything in as the clouds of doubt enclose her, while I’m trying to think of the best defense to this emotional battle I’m faced with.

“How could you be so sure? There’s a chance. There’s always a chance! What more are you hiding? What’s gonna happen tomorrow, next week? Will there be a love child next?” She cries, and her once weakened voice turns defeated.

I feel as if I’ve been hit by a freight train after hearing those words come out of her mouth. The mouth I just loved with my own a few short moments ago. Lips that didn’t doubt me then, now do. Hurt by it I move to leave, unwilling to hear anymore of her doubts and accusations fling their hurtful daggers at me.

How could someone who loves me so much—too much doubt me so easily?

“Where are you going?”

“I’m walking away before I say something I don’t mean.”

Walking away from her is always hard, but right at this moment I don’t feel the same sting as I normally do. What permeates deep inside me and threatens to bubble to the surface is disbelief and disappointment.

Footsteps follow behind me as her small hands capture mine, pulling me to stop. My head falls down, my eyes finding the floor more interesting than the woman I swore to protect.

“What did I say?”

“You should know, you said it.” I huff a frustrated breath. “I expect you to always trust me, but at the very least give me the benefit of the doubt. You couldn’t even give me that. Not even for a second.”

“It was a valid statement, Damien. I’m sorry, but the last time I checked, Jesus was the only one who walked on water! I didn’t know you were perfect. I’m sorry; I forgot to read the damn memo!”

“Your questions prove that you really don’t know me or believe what you know about me.” I shrug her off facing her. “Don’t you think I would’ve told you, even if it were just a feeling that it could’ve been mine? I am one hundred fucking percent sure it wasn’t mine! So in your brain, I’m already guilty of doing something heinous . . . something fucking deplorable that could smear your very precious name! I told you there’s a conspiracy to bring your father down, and whoever is planning it is doing this! He’s not only destroying your father, but us too! It’s a shame you’re allowing it!”

We face off, her stance against mine, chests heaving, eyes accusatory, faces devoid of emotion other than resentment and disappointment.

“If I can’t voice my fears, what can I do? Tell me! What am I allowed to do? What am I allowed to ask? Am I even allowed to think?” Her loud voice bounces off the silent walls and through my heart.

“I’ve already made my request known to you before we started this conversation. You tell me.” My voice is controlled and soft unlike hers.

I dare not wait for another question, though I don’t think she has one. I think she realizes the very thing I asked of her is probably the last thing she can give me right now.

Understanding.

Request
—I made it known clearly, but now I realize the demand to understand is an ominous task, especially if Nicole is involved. But isn’t that when trust comes in?

Reply
—The saying ‘be careful what you ask for’ rings wildly in my head. I shouldn’t have asked for understanding, knowing the unknown will scare her. Hell it scares the shit out of me, but our trust in each other should be stronger than the fear. It should always be stronger than the fear.

SOPHIA

THE DOOR CLOSING FINALIZES THE
image of my husband leaving. I’m upset at myself for not controlling my emotions, but at the same token, adamant in justifying my reactions. One hour turns into two, so I wait in our room, lying down instead of pacing the living room floor. As I’m comfortably nestled on my bed, a glimpse of the morning after our wedding hits me like a sucker punch in the gut. It’s a far cry from what we are to each other now—at this very moment.

Wet small kisses wake me, firm strong hands tickle my skin, and a smile so wide decorates my face.

“Good morning, Mrs. Williams.”

I twist to face the man making my body hum like crazy early in the morning. “Good morning, my darling husband.”

We stare into each other’s eyes in awe at how perfectly our bodies mold against each other. He pushes me flat against the bed, cradling my head with his hands while I run my finger over his unshaven jaw, enjoying our quiet time.

“Are you happy?” I ask. Maybe it’s a stupid question, but inquiring minds want to know.

“Let me see?” He grins at me mischievously. “I’m happy you’re my wife, thankful you’re finally mine in every essence of the word, and do you feel that?”

I arch my brow seductively at my very naughty husband. And yes! I feel it!

“Waiting for your answer, babe.” his equally naughty tongue finds its home on my neck. Twirling, swirling, enticing every inch of me, making my skin tingle in anticipation of what’s to come. My body sings a tune only my husband knows how to play.

“Yesss . . .” Another swirl of his tongue makes me catch my breath. “I. . . .” His fingers glide over my breast, give my nipple a soft pinch and once again, demand an answer.

“Still waiting. . . .”

I can feel his lips spread into a smile as his hands continue their exploration of my body. A body, he already knows, every mole, every scar, every inch of me he knows by heart. His fingers graze my overly sensitive clit, pinching it one second and circling it the next. A soft appreciative moan escapes me which only fires him up to tease me relentlessly.

Without much thought, words slip out of my mouth. “I want you.”

He pulls back whispering against my lips, “I more than want you, baby. I need every inch of you to touch every inch of me. I hunger for everything about you. I hunger for this moment . . .” He thrusts hard into me, my wetness helping him glide home sheathed in my warmth.

My lips become one with his. My body matches the rhythm of his in a dance of love that we both surrender to. And surrender we do, together.

We’re still riding the waves of pleasure that rock our bodies as we hold each other when it suddenly hits me. We haven’t really talked about contraceptives. He’s not wearing one, and I’m certainly not taking anything. We may have made our first, child.

“Damien,” my shaky voice obviously worries him since he pulls back quite abruptly.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Where? Show me?”

I look at him as though he’s grown two heads. Show him? Like I could just spread my legs and show him how used my hooha feels.

I shake my head ever so slowly. “I’m not on anything, and you didn’t wear a condom. I could get. . . .”

He interrupts me with a kiss. “. . . . pregnant. I know. We’re married. You’re my wife. The
will you get pregnant
part isn’t the problem, it’s the
when
. If you get pregnant now, I’ll be ecstatic. If you don’t, I’ll be content.”

“You won’t be sad?”

He kisses my lips again. “There’s no sadness when I’m with you, Wildflower. My heart doesn’t feel it, my mind doesn’t think of it because you, my wife, make everything bright in my world.”

Smiling, I answer, “I love you.”

“Hmm, I love you, too. How about we start practicing?”

My phone buzzes on my bedside table, erasing the smile from my face, seeing the smile of his on my phone. Should I or shouldn’t I? I’m calm but is he? We’ve fought before, but we’ve never walked out on each other. Now we’re settling it on a phone call? Logic wins over with a simple swipe of my finger.

“Hey.”

I hear an audible sigh instead of words that actually mean something.

“Where are you?” I whisper.

“In the work out room.”

The softness in his voice is welcoming, killing my anxiety. “Are you about done?”

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

While I sit here waiting, my hyperactive mind thinks of a million things and comes up with nothing. The click of the door alerts me of my husband’s arrival. I dare not look at him just yet for fear of what I might see. I know he demands understanding and trust. Even though I failed to give it in that moment, it doesn’t mean I don’t trust him or want to understand what we’re facing.