Free Eye of the Storm by Ann Jacobs

it, they’d move ahead, not back. He pulled into the driveway, the way he’d done so many times before. “If you think I’m walking away now, you’re not thinking straight.”
    “You don’t have a choice. What you did to me wasn’t something that can be dismissed with an apology, even though at least now I halfway understand why you didn’t trust me.”
    Hurrying around to her side of the car, he opened the door, blocking her with his body so she couldn’t bolt. “Baby, I trust you now. It was only at first—”
    “What would you say if I called you next week, told you I was pregnant and said you were the father?”
    Sam’s hand tightened on the open door. “I’d say I was thrilled.” He would be, even though he’d be hard-pressed to believe the same miracle had happened twice. “And I’d get down on my knees and beg you to marry me again and let me come back home.”
    “But would you believe me?” she asked, her tone incisive.
    Fuck, he couldn’t lie. Chances were, if she were to learn she was pregnant, one of her lovers’ condoms had failed in the past few weeks. The odds against him impregnating her again were too goddamn high. “I’d try. But it wouldn’t make any difference. I’d still want you. I’d believe you’d made your choice and wanted me to be the baby’s father, whether or not it had my DNA. “
    “That’s what I thought.” She got out of the car and stared him down the way he imagined she would the toughest crook in the courtroom. “Now let me go. We’ve got too much baggage ever to get back together and make it work.”
    She might have been right. But Sam wasn’t convinced of anything except that around Marcy he felt complete, fulfilled in a way no other woman had managed to accomplish since their split. Yeah, they had baggage—resentment, distrust, probably a dozen other disquieting emotions. Still, Marcy had reached out to him when they faced mortal danger. She’d admitted she still harbored a few warm feelings toward him too.
    He had to touch her. Do something to reach her. Following her to the door, he set his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “What we had back there was good. More than good. Do you really want to toss it away without—”
    “It was sex, Sam. Incredibly hot sex and memories and fear, all jumbled together. Maybe, in a way, the storm forced us to acknowledge the parts of our relationship that always had been good. Perhaps it forced you to talk and me to listen. If there’s a God, maybe now He’ll grant us closure.”
    Closure. The last thing Sam wanted. He knew, though, from the sound of Marcy’s voice and the tight set of her chin that now wasn’t the time to pit his limited debating skill against her innate talent for argument that she’d honed in courtrooms for over ten years now. “Maybe. Don’t count on it being over, though. I don’t give up easily.”
    “Go on, Sam. Thanks for saving me. And for the best time I’ve had in bed for longer than I can remember. Thanks, too, for explaining after all this time why you shoved me away when I needed you most. Maybe now I can let go of the hate.” She stood on tiptoe, brushed a quick kiss across his lips.
    Then, before he could stop her, she turned and stepped inside, leaving him staring at the dark-blue door with its bright, brass knocker he remembered having installed there soon after they’d bought the place.
    Sam had never felt so alone.
    * * * * *
    Inside, Marcy regarded the blinking light on the phone, wondering if she dared ignore it, crawl into bed, and forget about the outside world. Damn it, she’d wanted to ask Sam in, so much she ached inside. It had taken every bit of strength she’d been able to muster to stop with that brief touch of lips to lips, then close the door in his face.
    No. She’d made a life apart from him. She had lovers, as he so painfully had reminded her with his hesitation, his carefully chosen answer to the hypothetical question she’d