The thought popped into her head. She remembered how trapped she felt because she didn’t feel like she could go to his family; she’d die before allowing them to know the extent of her marital problems. Ethan wouldn’t have gone to them either, so they wouldn’t have known how awful things were.
Oh God, so was that why he was now acting like she was the love of his life? Why? God, why?
There was too much she didn’t know, that she needed to know. She had to get out of this house before she screamed the walls down.
Garrett. He’d always been there for her. Always. But had they betrayed Ethan? No. It wasn’t possible. She’d loved Ethan. Had been devastated when he asked for a divorce—no, demanded a divorce.
But Garrett would know. He’d have some of the answers. The time for her to be silent and keep everything to herself was over. She had no one else. Only Ethan, and now she knew she didn’t even have him.
She choked back a sob as she got up. Garrett had left keys to his truck on the kitchen table. Sam had come to pick him up so she and Ethan would have transportation until they replaced Ethan’s truck.
It was impossibly dark outside when she hurried out to Garrett’s truck. She hadn’t bothered to check the time, and now as she drove toward the same bridge she’d nearly gone off of earlier, panic gripped her.
Her palms were slick with sweat, and her breathing was so shallow she felt light-headed. As she approached, she slowed and almost pulled over to the side. She had a cell phone. Garrett’s number was programmed. He could come get her.
With a snarl of disgust, she stepped on the accelerator and barreled over the bridge. She kept to the far inside lane and didn’t spare a glance at all the police tape and the barricades erected around the gaping hole.
“No one can save you now but you,” she chanted to herself. Maybe if she said it often enough it would sink in.
Ten minutes later, she pulled into the gravel drive of Sam’s lake house and parked Garrett’s truck beside Sam’s. With Donovan taking off so late—or early—they probably hadn’t gotten much sleep—if any—and now she was barging in.
She searched her tattered memories for some idea that she was mistaken about her relationship with Garrett, but all she could come up with was the sense of a close friendship.
At the door, she hesitated and spent several long seconds working up her courage. She rubbed damp palms down her sweatpants and mentally chided herself for being such a wimp.
With shaking hands, she knocked and then rolled her eyes. Like they’d hear that? She pressed the doorbell several times instead and waited, anxiety eating a hole in her stomach.
The door yanked open, and she instinctively took a step back as she stared warily at Sam. He wore gym shorts, no shirt, and he had a scowl that made her swallow.
The scowl disappeared when he stared back at her. Worry instantly replaced his irritation, and he too took a step back as if to not seem more threatening.
“Rachel? Honey, is everything okay?”
She would not cry. Would. Not. Cry. She made painful facial contortions to maintain her composure as she stared back at him.
“I need to see Garrett,” she said haltingly.
Sam opened the door wider then reached for her arm. “I’ll get him. Come in and have a seat. Where’s Ethan? Is there something wrong?”
Again the threat of tears nearly undid her. She expelled her breath in halting jerks, and she bit into her bottom lip as she followed him inside.
“Ethan is at home,” she said softly. “He’s fine.”
Sam’s sharp gaze flickered over her, and it was obvious he didn’t miss that she’d left herself out of the “okay” equation. He motioned for her to sit on the couch, but she couldn’t. She’d go crazy.
He left the room, and just a few moments later, Garrett came barreling into the living room, his hair mussed, concern creasing his forehead. Sam followed behind now wearing a shirt and a pair of jeans.
No longer able to control the tide of emotion, she launched herself at Garrett and buried her face in his chest. Tears seeped into his shirt and she held on as all the anguish she’d tried so hard to keep in spilled out.
“Hey, what’s wrong, sweet pea?”
He wrapped his arms around her and held her as he stroked a hand through her hair. After his first