Prologue
Harlow
Fall 2010—Walla Walla
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LOW. I waited for you.”
The instant his voice filtered through the phone, my body stilled and warmed at the same time. My breath came out in a soft, audible huff, and my eyes shut as hundreds of welcome memories flooded my mind.
I didn’t have to look at the screen to know who was calling. I would know that voice anywhere, and I should have been expecting his call. Not just his call. This call. We’d been preparing for and talking about this call for two and a half years now.
My lips and fingers trembled, and I almost dropped the phone as I tried to make my throat work.
“I waited for you,” played over and over again like a broken record. A broken record with the most beautiful music still coming from it.
Turning my head just enough to look over my shoulder, I eyed the guy shrugging into his shirt, and my chest ached when I faced forward again.
No longer seeing the dorm room I was standing in, I let our memories consume me. “I—” I took in a shaky breath, and my voice came out as a strained whisper. “I didn’t wait for you.”
There was nothing. No sound, no response—only the most heartbreaking silence I’ve ever endured.
And it was a heartbreak I would carry with me forever.
Chapter 1
Harlow
Present Day—Richland, Washington
MY EYES SHOT open as the dream faded away, and my dark bedroom blurred for a few seconds as the tears fell steadily across my face, dripping onto the pillow. Locking my jaw against the trembling, I took deep breaths to keep myself calm—to keep myself from giving in to the sobs that were building in my chest.
The heartbreak that had settled over the silence during that phone call was still one I felt today—as if it had just happened rather than four and a half years ago.
I should have known in those seconds that I’d said the wrong words. I should have known I was choosing the wrong man. He would have understood my mistake. He would have still been waiting for me, like he had been for two and a half years.
My Knox.
But I’d ignored signs; I’d gone with what my then-eighteen-year-old heart had been screaming over—and I hadn’t heard from Knox Alexander since.
I lay on my side long after the tears had run their course and my cheeks had dried, clinging to the memories I knew I should let go of, but couldn’t. I should have noticed the sky lightening outside, I should have been checking the time to get up before the alarm went off; but I was still there daydreaming when the shrill sound filled the room, and my body locked up as I waited for what would meet me this morning.
My fingers curled around the edge of my pillow when the alarm was turned off, my stomach churned when I heard him roll over behind me, and my jaw trembled almost violently when his arm slowly wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer to him.
I closed my eyes tightly as my husband’s lips pressed firmly to my shoulder, and refused to acknowledge him until it was necessary.
“You’re still in bed,” Collin observed.
I nodded my head sluggishly against the pillow.
“Which means I don’t have breakfast waiting for me; am I right?”
Swallowing past the thickness in my throat, I nodded again—waiting, always waiting.
His fingers slowly traced up my arm resting on my side until they reached just above the inside of my elbow. My body jerked when he dug two fingers into the pressure point there.
“Then why the fuck are you still in bed?” he growled against my shoulder before releasing my arm roughly.
I moved quickly, not wanting to give him an opportunity to do anything else, and released a shaky sigh of relief when I hit the kitchen. If that was all I got for still being in bed, I would take it and be thankful.
After putting his bread in the toaster, I mixed up some eggs and milk, then poured them into a skillet and ran across the kitchen to get the Keurig ready. I’d just put everything on the table and had started washing the dishes when Collin walked into the kitchen and right up behind me instead of going to the table.
He only had a towel wrapped around his waist, and when his arm snaked around my body, I saw there were still drops of water racing down his skin.
My hands fisted around the handle of the skillet and the dish-scrubbing brush when I realized he was testing me, but I didn’t say anything. Collin never came out here like this. He ate either as soon as he woke up, or right before he left for work . . . if he was still in his towel, he was just looking for more reasons to be upset with me.
“Good girl,” he whispered against the back of my neck before placing a soft kiss there.
My nostrils flared from my rough, nervous breaths when he stepped away from me, and after a few seconds, I began slowly scrubbing the skillet to calm myself.
“Now make it again since you were late.”
I watched as he dumped the food and coffee into the sink before roughly setting the plate and mug on the counter next to me. I wanted to cry, I wanted to yell at him for being an asshole, but I knew both those things would only end badly for me. So with a defeated sigh and hollow feeling in my chest, I quickly cleaned and dried the skillet before making his breakfast all over again.
The dishes were cleaned, his food and coffee were on the table, and I was sitting in one of the chairs at the kitchen table by the time he came back out—this time ready for work.
He held my hand on the tabletop the entire time he ate, and even cleaned and put his dishes in the dishwasher when he was done before walking back over to me. Bending at the waist so he was eye-level with me, he stared at me for an entire minute with an apologetic look.
“I love you, Harlow,” he said, as if he was trying to determine whether I knew that or not.
“I know,” I responded softly. “I love you too.”
His lips fell gently upon mine for a few seconds before he straightened. Grabbing his wallet out of his back pocket, he pulled out a credit card and let it fall to the table. “Go pick up your sister, take her out to lunch, and get your nails done or something. If you have time, go shopping.”
“Thank you, Collin.”
“Anything for my girl. I’ll see you when I get home.”
I just nodded and watched as he left the kitchen. I waited for the front door to close and his car to start before I finally let my body relax.
There was no point in telling him I didn’t want his money. He knew he’d upset me, and having me buy things for myself was his way of apologizing. Money was his way of apologizing, but no amount of money could keep me in this house and married to that man.