Rene returned to South Lake Tahoe in a fugue-like state, his mind and body both on autopilot, his gaze fixed on the road ahead of him without any real awareness. He drove by reflex only, his palms tacky with sweat against the steering wheel, his mouth dry and cottony, his tongue leaden.
I need a drink.
He stopped at a liquor store near the motel and sat behind the wheel for a long time, watching a neon sign for Budweiser in the front window flicker and blink at him in alternating shades of red and blue.
I need a drink, he thought again, because he could still taste vomit in his mouth, and his brain kept wanting to think about things, to return to that goddamn airport hangar in the middle of the desert, and that, in turn, was causing his heart to break.
I’m sorry, petit, he thought, closing his eyes, forking his fingers through his hair. His breath escaped in a shaky, choked sigh. He knew he would never forget that look on Brandon’s face, the confusion and pain, the stunned realization of Rene’s betrayal. As long as he lived, it would haunt him, burned indelibly into the landscape of his mind.
I did what I had to do. He grasped the steering wheel again, folding his fingers so fiercely, it made his injured palm ache. Goddamn it, I did what needed to be done to protect Tessa and the baby. There was no other way.
He opened his eyes, relaxing his grip on the steering wheel. After studying the blinking beer sign for another brief moment, he reached for the door handle. A fifth of Bloodhorse would help numb his mind, ease his memory. Or maybe some vodka, a nice bottle of Grey Goose to anesthetize his heart.
But he couldn’t bring himself to open the door, get out of the car, even though the liquor was his old and familiar friend, the escape he’d always sought whenever he’d needed refuge from thinking too much, caring too deeply.
Because there’s Tessa now, he thought. And the baby.
He turned the key in the ignition, firing up the engine again. Dropping the car in reverse, he pulled out of the parking lot and back on the road, leaving the store behind. He returned to the motel and ducked quietly into his room.
The curtains were drawn, the room enveloped in shadows. Tessa lay sleeping in the bed, blankets draped in graceful folds to outline her slim figure beneath. He crossed the room and went to her, easing himself into bed, spooning his body against hers in the darkness.
Forgive me, he thought as he drew his arm across her waist, closing his eyes against the sting of tears. He could never tell her what had happened, never let her learn the truth. She wouldn’t forgive him and he knew it. There would be no explaining it, no undoing it, nothing to make her understand. I love you, Tessa. They’ll never bother you, never come for you, never hurt you again. I love you, and I made sure of that for you. It was the only way, the only choice I had. Because nothing else matters to me in the world. Only you and the bébé—our son.
Tessa murmured softly in her sleep and he felt her hand slip against his, holding his hand gently against her stomach. He could open his mind and sense the baby inside of her, the golden glow that had nearly waned, the life his blood had helped to restore.
Our son. A tear slipped from the corner of his eye, trailing down his cheek toward the pillow. I’ll spend the rest of my life making things right for you somehow, Tessa. You and our bébé. With all that I have—everything I call my own, I swear it, pischouette.
“I swear it,” he breathed against her hair.