Loree Lough - Suddenly Reunited

But he did.

He wanted nothing but good things for her—happiness, fulfillment, robust health. It was only because he believed with everything in him that he was good for her that Drew prayed, Lord, if it means she’ll leave me again, don’t ever let Gabby get her memory back.

Even as the words formed in his mind, he admitted the selfishness of them. But he needed her every bit as much as he loved her; he’d make it up to her in a thousand ways, for the rest of his days.

“I hope I won’t be sorry in the morning,” she whispered, her voice husky and trembly as she back-stepped into their room.

Sorry?

His heart thundered against his ribs. Sorry about what?

“For letting the dishes wait. Mozzarella cheese gets like concrete when it sits.”

His earlier concerns that this might be a mistake—a big one—were blotted out by velvet sighs and fluttering hands that caressed his face, his shoulders, his back. Pulse pounding and heart hammering, he gave in to the moment, but not so completely that he didn’t hear those words ringing in his ears: “I hope I won’t be sorry in the morning.”

Sleep—what there had been of it—came that night in fits and starts, for Drew didn’t want to take the chance that while he dozed, she might remember the months she’d forgotten.

Almost from the moment she’d fallen asleep, Gabrielle had snuggled close, the way she used to in the early weeks of their marriage. In this position—nose tucked into the crook of his neck, one arm across his chest, a leg flung over his thigh—he couldn’t see her face, despite the bright swath of moonlight slicing into their room.

But he didn’t need to look at her to see her, for he’d watched her sleep countless times before she’d left him. After she was gone, he’d seen her with his mind’s eye, night after lonely night: thick lashes that dusted lightly freckled, sleep-flushed cheeks; lush, velvety curls against porcelain skin; the hint of a smile that turned up the corners of her mouth. Too many nights to count, Drew had listened to the slow, steady breaths that sighed softly past her luscious, slightly parted lips.

Her breathing was so shallow, so faint that he often found it necessary to hold his own breath to hear hers. Some mornings he’d tease her, pointing out how odd it was that a gal who bubbled with energy and chattered like a chipmunk during the daylight could grow so still and silent while she slept. On those mornings, Gabrielle would yawn and shrug daintily and, voice still morning-hoarse, grin and whisper, “Guess that’s just one of my womanly mysteries.”

Smiling now, Drew nodded as he admitted just how right she’d been. Everything about her had been a mystery to him, from the way she seemed to fall boots-over-bonnet in love with him right from the get-go, to the way she made him feel like a smitten schoolboy every time she aimed that innocent-yet-womanly gaze of hers in his direction.

Gabrielle stirred in his arms as a sigh rustled from her, reminding Drew of the musical murmurings she’d hummed into his ears hours earlier. “’Oh, let me hear thy voice, for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is lovely,’” he quoted from Song of Songs. “‘Thou art fair, my love, thou art fair…. My beloved is mine, and I am hers….’”

But was she his?

And if she was, for how long?

He’d known from the instant her car disappeared from view that fateful night that he would miss everything about her, from her generous nature to her drive toward perfection.

Was the heat of their marital love a result of her determination to be the best? Or was it exactly what she’d called it at the conclusion of every interlude: physical proof of the love in her heart?

They’d been apart a long time, but not so long that he’d forgotten she liked having the window open, even on cold nights, so she could feel the breath of the cool wind on her face. She liked the sheets folded neatly over the comforter, too, and hated for the covers to be tucked too tightly over her feet.

Drew glanced at the window, where a crisp autumn breeze had set the sheer white curtains to billowing gently, like a sail that’s been filled by an obliging sea breeze. But the blankets, unencumbered by hospital corners, had gotten twisted, and he tidied them now, straightening the top sheet until it lay smooth.

His efforts roused her briefly, causing her to cuddle closer still. “I love you, Drew,” she murmured, kissing his neck before drifting off again.

He didn’t know its cause or source, but a sob swelled in his throat. Blinking back stinging tears, he managed to croak out a quiet “Ah, Gabby, I love you, too.”

He’d told her he loved her before, hundreds of times, and had meant it each time. But never more than now.

He’d have hugged her tighter, but she needed her rest, and he couldn’t chance waking her. He’d be nudging her in a few minutes, anyway, as Doc Parker had instructed. Every hour on the hour, he’d given her a gentle shake, just enough so he could pry open one eye at a time and study her pupils under the flashlight beam. Once he’d returned the light to the nightstand, he reset the alarm. But he hadn’t needed to: he hadn’t slept a wink all night.

He’d lain awake to do what the doctor had ordered—that much was true. But it was only part of the truth. The main reason for his sleeplessness was terror—cold and grim and hard as steel. Because what if, as he slumbered peacefully, Gabrielle woke up and got her memory back? She’d hate him, that’s what, and she’d leave again.

He never would have admitted it—not even to Gabrielle—but being abandoned by his mother twenty years earlier had left its mark. There hadn’t been one visit, one phone call or one note in all that time, so Drew and his only brother had had no choice but to take his father’s word that her leaving was proof she’d never cared a whit about any of them.

He’d been twelve at the time, young enough to hope and dream that she’d come back someday, old enough that it cut like a knife when “someday” never came.

When Gabrielle stormed out, all those feelings he’d repressed—fear and hurt, anger and confusion, and a powerful mistrust of women—came rushing back with the force of a mile-wide tornado. The biggest difference was that his mother had left without so much as a “See you later.” At least Gabrielle had shouted out a list of explanations for her decision to end their life together. Even with those reasons echoing in his mind, Drew still didn’t understand why she’d gone away any more than he’d understood his mother’s sudden departure.

What Gabrielle had said as she quietly closed the front door behind her confused him most of all. “I love you, Drew Cunningham, and I probably always will, but I can’t live with a man who thinks so little of me.”

That made no sense to him at all, because he thought the world of her. Didn’t she know that? Why, he loved her with everything in him, and would gladly have done anything to protect her, to give her the feelings of security and stability she’d never known as a girl.

What’s a man to do, he wondered, when the things he’s done to provide his wife with what he believes she needs are the very reasons she walks out on him?

Exhaling a ragged sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, as Gabrielle mumbled something in her sleep. He hoped it wouldn’t be just a matter of time before who he was drove her away again. God, he prayed, let me change. Don’t let me botch it this time. His concern was forgotten the moment she nestled against him, tangling her limbs with his. For the moment, at least, it didn’t matter that her absence had sent him into a black despair for three-quarters of a year, because it felt so good holding her close, so good that the only thing he really gave a hoot about right now was making her happy, any way he could.