Temptation on Ocean Drive - Jennifer Probst Page 0,58

her own making. It’d sent a cold trickle down his spine. Well, it wasn’t like it was Friday the thirteenth. It was just February—

His thoughts stalled out. A tickle of memory reared up and became a flash flood.

Six years ago.

February twenty-second. The day her husband had died.

He sucked in a breath and placed his own mug down. Son of a bitch. He remembered when Avery first told him. They’d all been acting weird and jumpy, and Bella had called in sick, so he needed to take over a last-minute consulting appointment. He’d made some joking comment about her going to play hooky, and Avery quietly told him this was the date Matt had died in the crash. She also said they never discussed it. The sisters remained silent witnesses of the anniversary that had taken the man Bella loved, allowed her the isolation she seemed to crave, and moved on the next day like nothing had happened. Each year was the same, so he’d followed the pattern and never questioned anyone.

He’d felt it wasn’t a great way to deal with grief, but he was no therapist. God knew everyone needed something different to soothe the ravaged pain of losing who they loved.

He froze as the realization slowly leaked through him.

Her car accident.

She’d experienced a crash just like her late husband had years ago. What type of horrible nightmares had that dredged up? No wonder she’d passed out. Had she imagined her husband at that awful moment? And had she honestly expected not to be affected by any of it? To work and pick up Zoe and finish her day like it was a normal one? To be so deep in denial, she didn’t have to fall behind or deal with those emotions that might be silently tearing her apart?

He heard the door open, and she walked back into the room. “I better get going. Thanks for being there, Gabe. I promise to tell my sisters about it.”

He hesitated, wondering if he was going to push her down an unknown path that could either help her heal or destroy her more. His nerves prickled, and he cleared his throat, waiting for courage.

It was the blankness in her expression that made him act.

“I didn’t realize today is the anniversary of when you lost Matt,” he said casually, walking to the bureau. He picked up the one picture always displayed: the two of them staring down at Zoe wrapped up in a blanket. Their faces were full of the love and wonder of first-time parents at the beginning of their journey. He imagined getting that chance with Bella and losing her too soon. That type of anguish could morph and change every year but never disappear. “Makes a bit more sense now why you passed out. I can’t imagine the type of memories that crash brought up.”

The silence screamed. He kept his back turned to give her the space, not knowing what to expect.

“How did you know?” she ripped out in a half whisper.

“I should have remembered sooner. Avery told me when I first started working here when I began to ask questions. I never meant to invade your privacy, but she thought I should know.” He slowly moved away from the bureau and jammed his hands in his pockets. “Thing is, she said no one talks about it. She said it’s easier for all of you to try and forget.”

“Forgetting is good in some ways,” she said. “At least it helps you function in the world.”

“Agreed. But other times, it’s like there’s this splinter throbbing under your skin, and if you keep ignoring it for long enough, it gets infected. That’s how grief works sometimes. Letting it bleed clean hurts, but that’s how it can heal better.”

He dared a look. Her eyes were curious as she stared back at him. It was as if she were caught between two different reactions, and he wasn’t sure which one would tip her over.

“I went to a grief counselor, and she told me the same thing. I began to journal things—memories I had about Matt when we were together. Suddenly, I was writing more and remembering all these tiny things that I’d forgotten. I began getting stronger. I got out of bed. Eventually, I even got back to work and was able to be alone with Zoe.” A faint smile curved her lips, but it only made Gabe ache from the sheer pain it obviously masked. “Finally, I didn’t need the journals anymore, and it