care. “That’s it,” he finally said.
She blinked. “It?” It wasn’t an outlandish claim; that wasn’t what made her question it. It was the look in his eyes. They’d grown darker somehow, even in the room’s pale light, and she knew he was holding back. There for a minute, he’d actually seemed open with her, like he was speaking from the heart—and then he’d suddenly clammed up, his answers growing short and clipped. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Okay, maybe I didn’t tell you everything,” he began—yet he sounded wholly uncertain, like maybe he still wasn’t sure he wanted to. Then his look transformed into one of scolding. “But one reason for that, Little Miss Sugar Plum, is that you kinda have a big mouth sometimes. You know?”
Oh, that. Sue Ann just sighed. There it was, the fault she’d reined in lately, but no one seemed to notice the change—they only remembered past transgressions. Funny how once upon a time such flaws had seemed small—they’d been insignificant traits she’d simply accepted as part of who she was—but now they added to her insecurities. “I’ve stopped that,” she explained. “And something like this, Adam—I would never tell anyone. Seriously.”
When he still looked doubtful, though, she added, “I promise. I can keep a secret. Just ask Jenny. Back when she was secretly seeing Mick, I knew all about it and never breathed a word to anyone, not even Jeff.”
He tilted his head in the other direction, his eyes narrowing on her as he said, “That’s impressive, but . . . I still can’t tell you.”
“You can’t do that,” she snipped, adding a hmmpf sound. “You can’t act like you’re going to and then not.”
He just flashed a challenging look. “Is that so? Sue Ann’s rules of fair play?”
She nodded. “Yes, as a matter of fact.”
And she couldn’t completely read his expression then, but if nothing else, she sensed a certain . . . sadness in it.
“Just tell me, Adam,” she whispered.
“I can’t,” he replied, his voice just as low, something in it almost ominous now. “Even if I trust you not to tell anyone.”
Despite the warmth of the bed, his response made her skin prickle and her stomach churn. God, what was it already? What could be so horrible? “Why?”
He let out a sigh, his eyes shifting away from hers. “Because if I tell you, it’ll change how you see me. Not in a good way, either.”
Hmm. Adam? Really? That was hard to fathom. Despite his recent bad mood, he was the most upstanding guy in all of Destiny. “I can’t imagine that,” she finally said.
“Well, you will. If I tell you.”
“No,” she argued.
“Yes,” he countered.
But she still thought it sounded improbable. “How? What could you possibly say to make me think badly of you? I mean, you’re Adam Becker, for God’s sake—Mr. Becker Landscaping, Mr. Cub Scout dad, Mr. All American good guy. You bend over backward to help people. You cut Willie Hargis’s grass for free all summer the year his wife died. You shovel snow for the elderly. You—”
“Sue Ann,” he said sharply, cutting her off. “I cheated on her.”
“Huh?” she said on a gasp, flinching.
“You heard me. I said I cheated on her.”
Four
“These are but shadows of the things that have been.”
Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol
A dam’s chest tightened as he tried to read the expression on Sue Ann’s face. But he didn’t really need to read it—he could feel it. He’d committed the worst sin a man—a husband—could commit. The same her ex-husband had committed, more or less. And they’d been very different situations, but that probably didn’t matter.
“You’re . . . kidding,” she said, her voice barely audible as she stiffened slightly in his arms.
“I wish I was,” he told her and—damn, the shame washed over him then like something fresh, brand new.
God, there were reasons he never talked to anyone about this. For one,
She blinked. “It?” It wasn’t an outlandish claim; that wasn’t what made her question it. It was the look in his eyes. They’d grown darker somehow, even in the room’s pale light, and she knew he was holding back. There for a minute, he’d actually seemed open with her, like he was speaking from the heart—and then he’d suddenly clammed up, his answers growing short and clipped. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Okay, maybe I didn’t tell you everything,” he began—yet he sounded wholly uncertain, like maybe he still wasn’t sure he wanted to. Then his look transformed into one of scolding. “But one reason for that, Little Miss Sugar Plum, is that you kinda have a big mouth sometimes. You know?”
Oh, that. Sue Ann just sighed. There it was, the fault she’d reined in lately, but no one seemed to notice the change—they only remembered past transgressions. Funny how once upon a time such flaws had seemed small—they’d been insignificant traits she’d simply accepted as part of who she was—but now they added to her insecurities. “I’ve stopped that,” she explained. “And something like this, Adam—I would never tell anyone. Seriously.”
When he still looked doubtful, though, she added, “I promise. I can keep a secret. Just ask Jenny. Back when she was secretly seeing Mick, I knew all about it and never breathed a word to anyone, not even Jeff.”
He tilted his head in the other direction, his eyes narrowing on her as he said, “That’s impressive, but . . . I still can’t tell you.”
“You can’t do that,” she snipped, adding a hmmpf sound. “You can’t act like you’re going to and then not.”
He just flashed a challenging look. “Is that so? Sue Ann’s rules of fair play?”
She nodded. “Yes, as a matter of fact.”
And she couldn’t completely read his expression then, but if nothing else, she sensed a certain . . . sadness in it.
“Just tell me, Adam,” she whispered.
“I can’t,” he replied, his voice just as low, something in it almost ominous now. “Even if I trust you not to tell anyone.”
Despite the warmth of the bed, his response made her skin prickle and her stomach churn. God, what was it already? What could be so horrible? “Why?”
He let out a sigh, his eyes shifting away from hers. “Because if I tell you, it’ll change how you see me. Not in a good way, either.”
Hmm. Adam? Really? That was hard to fathom. Despite his recent bad mood, he was the most upstanding guy in all of Destiny. “I can’t imagine that,” she finally said.
“Well, you will. If I tell you.”
“No,” she argued.
“Yes,” he countered.
But she still thought it sounded improbable. “How? What could you possibly say to make me think badly of you? I mean, you’re Adam Becker, for God’s sake—Mr. Becker Landscaping, Mr. Cub Scout dad, Mr. All American good guy. You bend over backward to help people. You cut Willie Hargis’s grass for free all summer the year his wife died. You shovel snow for the elderly. You—”
“Sue Ann,” he said sharply, cutting her off. “I cheated on her.”
“Huh?” she said on a gasp, flinching.
“You heard me. I said I cheated on her.”
Four
“These are but shadows of the things that have been.”
Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol
A dam’s chest tightened as he tried to read the expression on Sue Ann’s face. But he didn’t really need to read it—he could feel it. He’d committed the worst sin a man—a husband—could commit. The same her ex-husband had committed, more or less. And they’d been very different situations, but that probably didn’t matter.
“You’re . . . kidding,” she said, her voice barely audible as she stiffened slightly in his arms.
“I wish I was,” he told her and—damn, the shame washed over him then like something fresh, brand new.
God, there were reasons he never talked to anyone about this. For one,
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