Page 87 of The Perfect Secret

He froze. She was pale and her breath made white puffs in front of her. His ice queen was beautiful.

His hands shook and he fisted one at his side, the other around his cane, as he nodded toward her bag. “You going to pick it up?”

“Go to hell.”

They both jerked. It was only the surprise on Hannah’s face that kept Dan from turning around and walking away.

“I’m already there.”

Hannah bent to pick up her purse. Her hair fell forward, curtaining her face from his view. Her narrow shoulders shook.

He groaned. “Please, Hannah, can we talk?”

She rose. “Why?”

“Because I owe you…so much…but at the very least an explanation.”

“You owe me more than that.”

Her response took his breath away. He gasped. “I know.”

Folding her arms across her chest, she tapped her foot, her face set in a glare. “You never wanted to talk before.”

With a look up and down the sidewalk, he motioned to a nearby bench. “Will you sit with me?”

She followed him to the bench and sat on one end, as far from him as possible without landing on the ground. He didn’t try to move closer. Resting his cane against the side of the icy bench, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands hanginglimp. It was better she sat far away. He couldn’t bear to see the condemnation in her expression.

“It was raining that day when the three of us went out. We were running errands. Tess was singing in the backseat.” He paused, a brief smile tugging at his lips as he remembered her little-girl voice. “Beth was rummaging in her purse, looking for something to record Tess. The light turned green. I pulled into the intersection.” He swallowed, his palms slick with sweat as he rubbed them on his thighs. “The car never slowed.” Was there a squeal? Or was it his imagination now? “It hit the front passenger side head-on.” He remembered the sound of metal screeching as it bent, the odor of burnt rubber, the excruciating pain. “She died instantly.” He took a deep gulp of air, trying to ease the ache in his chest as cold sweat trickled down his back.

“I was hospitalized for weeks. My leg was shattered. The pain was unbearable.” His drug-induced haze was filled with psychedelic nightmares, made worse when he came out of it and learned the truth. “They gave me oxy when they discharged me, enough for ten days. Afterwards, I was supposed to move to over-the-counter drugs. For whatever reason, I couldn’t.” He hadn’t been able to do anything—breathing had overwhelmed him. “I’m sure it had a lot to do with losing my wife and becoming a single father overnight. That’s not me trying to excuse anything; I’m stating what I’ve learned. Anyway, I became addicted to it.”

He looked at the cracked, dirty sidewalk, across the street at the lit-up lobby of the apartment building, anywhere but at Hannah. His mouth dried and he licked his lips.

“I’d found a way to get it illegally. One day, I was down to my last pill. I’d never make it through the rest of the day without it. Tess was watching TV. She was seven years old and I left without telling her where I was going. I was gone maybe forty minutes, but during that time, some guys who were connected to mypusher broke into my apartment. They knew I had money and they stole a bunch of stuff. But Tess…Tess was there.” His voice cracked. Even now, years later, he couldn’t tell this story without reliving the horror.

“She’d hidden under the bed. When I found her, I lost it. I cried in front of her. I’d never cried before, not even when Beth died. I promised her I’d never take another drug again. And I didn’t.” He tried to breathe but his lungs wouldn’t expand. “Not even ibuprofen. I didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t think I deserved anything other than punishment. So I went cold turkey. I sent Tess to stay with Lexi for a few days and I went through withdrawal on my own.” Hannah made some sort of sound, but he couldn’t look at her. He pushed on, his head pounding.

“I fought my addiction by being in rigid control of everything I did—no alcohol, nothing I liked too much, like chocolate. I wouldn’t allow any kind of drug in the house unless it was medicine Tess needed, and even then, I hated having it in the house. If my leg hurt, I either ignored it, or I worked on puzzles to distract me. I thought I’d beaten it.” He paced in front of the bench. His leg ached in the cold. It was nothing compared to the ache in his chest.

“Before I met you, it was like I was dead inside. Oh, I was pretty good at faking it for Tess’s sake, but deep down, I was numb. With you, I started to feel again. I wanted you to be a part of my life, to know everything. But you told me about your brother and I knew I could never tell you my secret. You already had one addict in your family. The last thing you needed was another one.”

She squeaked, but he ignored her. If he stopped now, he’d never get it all out. “I counted the minutes until I could see you again. I wasn’t happy unless I was with you. I couldn’t breathe. I thought I’d become addicted to you, so I needed to let you go.”

He angled toward her, still not looking at her. He couldn’t have seen her anyway through unshed tears. “I pulled away from you. I thought it was best for you and for me, but without you I was miserable. I wanted to talk to you, but how could I do that? I saw that what I was doing was hurting Tess. I’d vowed I’d never hurt her again, and I’d done it without realizing it. So I went to NA. Or at least, I tried.”

He sat again and rubbed his knee. He didn’t know if it hurt. Everything was painful. “The first time I went, I couldn’t make myself go inside. But eventually, I was able to. I learned how my addiction worked and what was okay or not okay to do. But it was meaningless. Because I’d lost you. I have lost you. You already have one addict in your family. I know how much he hurt you. And I hurt you too. I’m sorry.”

He had nothing else to say. His hands shook and he clasped them together. He couldn’t meet her gaze. The silence between them stretched like the taut string of a guitar. The only thing he could hear was the rushing of his blood in his veins. His breathing came in short gasps, like he’d run a marathon.

She grasped his clenched hands. Her skin was smooth and cool, and he couldn’t figure out why she touched him. Within the surety of her grip, his trembling ceased. He risked a glance. Despite his expectations, there was no horror, no condemnation, no anger. Only compassion.

He bowed his head until it touched her arms and those short gasps transformed into long, shuddering gulps of air. Pressure on the back of his head made him pause. He realized with wonder it was her lips. If he moved, he’d break contact with her and she might never touch him again. He was a selfish bastard. The thought of space between them was enough to keep him motionless. All too soon, the chill air ruffled the back of his neck, she released his hands and she pulled away. He grippedher hands again, needing to maintain at least some contact, and raised his head. His head pounded and his chest ached.

Confessing was supposed to make him feel better.

“You’re right,” she said. “You don’t deserve me.”

He blinked. Deep, deep down, surrounded by doubts and self-loathing, when she didn’t run away, there was a tiny spark of hope that maybe she’d forgive him. Tell him all wasn’t lost. Remind him she loved him. Now the spark of hope died.