Free Back to You by Faith Andrews Page A

reminder of all the ghosts that just won’t stop haunting me!
    My pulse quickens, my cheeks heat up as if they’re on fire, and the latest sample of wine creeps up into my throat, pooling there as if getting ready to erupt like an angry volcano. I’m gonna be sick. Right here. Wonderful.
    Memories of that night at Declan’s Christmas party come back in sharp, vivid flashes. I was mortified finding out about his infidelity the way I did—where I did. Being humiliated in public and having to deal with the crippling feelings while trying not to make a fool out of yourself—yeah, impossible. And that’s exactly how I feel right now.
    Declan calls out to me as I run off, but I don’t even look back. I’m not dealing with these emotions in front of all these strangers. I knew they were bound to escape me some time, and that’s why I’d begged Declan to have a talk while we were alone, but—damn him!
    “Mia!” His calls are getting closer and I can hear his footsteps reaching me. I still don’t turn around, afraid to see that everyone’s staring at me and wondering what my outburst is about. How flipping embarrassing.
    His hand grips my shoulder and I shrug it off. “Leave me alone for a minute, Declan. I’ll be fine.” It’s a blatant understatement, but if we’re to get on with this tour and the rest of this day, I’ll have to push it all down for just a little while longer. I can’t let Samantha bring out the ugly.
    “Please. Mia. Please just look at me. I’m sorry.” His voice drips with remorse. It’s heartbreaking.
    I don’t know what it is but hearing him say those words—again and again and again. This time it makes me angry because I have an awful lot to be sorry for myself.
    Without caring who’s around to hear, I take a deep breath, turn around, and purge the way I need to. “Why do you keep apologizing? Please stop saying you’re sorry! I know you’re sorry, I get it, but you didn’t take it further than a kiss with that girl, you didn’t leave your kids weekend after weekend to spend time with her, and you didn’t throw it in my face either. So, tell me Declan, why the fuck are you apologizing to me again when I should be the one begging for your forgiveness?”
    Declan’s face says it all. He doesn’t need to say a word. I know I’ve just picked at all the healing scabs, poured salt deep into the cracks of his wounds, and broke his heart all over again. Does it get any worse than this?
    “Um, Mr. Murphy. We’re going to have to continue the tour witho—”
    Declan doesn’t take his eyes off me to answer the tour guide. He says the words like an emotionless robot, “Go on without us. We’ll catch up or make our way back home.”
    The tour guide doesn’t argue or try to persuade Declan otherwise. Instead, she turns to join the rest of our group, which is doing a piss poor job of pretending not to be nosy.
    We both stare at each other in complete silence as we wait for everyone to clear. We’re left alone in the presence of grapes—I don’t even remember what flipping kind they are—and the tension is thicker than the hot summer humidity.
    “Say something!” I finally shout, unable to take it any longer. This is finally that moment—it’s all come to a head, and he has nothing to say.
    He finally slumps forward, digging his hands into his hair that’s become unruly from a long day in the heat. When he comes back up to face me, his expression breaks my heart. “You wanted this. You wanted to hash it out, didn’t you? You’ve been waiting and nagging me to talk about it and I know I was doing the wrong thing by making you keep it all bottled up inside, but—” He takes a breath to steady himself, maybe even to gulp back the tears I see forming in his eyes. “You don’t think part of me wants to hate you for what you did to us?”
    When I hear him use the word hate I cringe. Could he really hate me? I never once hated him when I thought he’d slept with that girl.