Ride Wild(27)

The sound of the school bus pulling up saved her.

Slider's shoulders fell. "Cora-"

"Boys are home," she said, turning and making for the front door.  Outside, she breathed in the fall spice on the air and waved as the kids  ran off the bus and straight to her.

Like she belonged there.

But she didn't, did she? Not really. God, she didn't belong anywhere.

Back inside, the boys beelined for the pizza, and Cora headed for the steps.

"Aren't you going to eat, Cora?" Ben called.

"I need to wash up," she said. It wasn't a lie. A day's cleaning left  her feeling grimy and sweaty. But she also wasn't sure she wanted to sit  across from Slider and see anger or distance on his face. Either would  be too much for her to handle right now. Besides, quarter after four in  the afternoon was a little early for her to eat.                       
       
           



       

So she indulged in a long shower, and the hot water revived her.  Afterward, she towel-dried her hair, threw on some yoga pants and a  long-sleeved shirt, and lingered around her room until hunger  necessitated that she go downstairs. She couldn't hide out forever,  particularly as the sound of the TV playing in the family room indicated  that someone remained downstairs.

Remembering that the curtains needed to go in the dryer, she headed to  the laundry room and shifted the load over. And then she heard her name.

"Cora?"

Closing her eyes, she heaved a deep breath. And then she followed  Slider's voice until she found him sitting alone on the couch, but he  didn't look at all like he'd been relaxing. Instead, he sat forward,  elbows braced on his knees, fingers laced together, head hanging low.

"Yeah?" she asked, her belly roiling with dread.

"Shut the door, please."

Oh, God. Why in the world did he need her to close the door? What could  be so bad that he'd want privacy to say it? She closed them in. Whatever  this was seemed like it was not going to be good.

Finally, he lifted his gaze to hers. But what she saw there wasn't  anger. Cora couldn't tell what it was exactly. He just looked . . .  shredded. "Thank you for making the house so nice."

"Sure," she said.

"The boys saw what you did with their mother's figurines and loved it,  so thank you for that, too." She hugged herself and waited for the other  shoe to drop. "But thanks isn't all I owe you. I owe you an apology,  too."

Cora blinked. That wasn't what she was expecting at all. "I was the one who touched something I shouldn't."

He waved a hand. "Bullshit. This is your house now. There's nothing off  limits to you, Cora. Understand?" Slider peered up at her, those pale  eyes so intense.

If she'd been feeling more sarcastic, more sassy, she might've asked if  that included him. But she wasn't feeling playful just then. "Okay."

He placed his hand against the cushion beside him. A silent invitation. "Would you sit with me?"

She sat like he was a wild animal that she couldn't help wanting to get  close to, even though she knew there was a chance it would take off her  head.

"I wasn't upset with you for putting out the figures," he said, his  voice sounding so defeated that it was hurting her heart. "They were  there because we wanted to find a place for them and just hadn't done it  yet. What upset me is that they belonged to Kim-"

"I should've realized that right away, Slider. It was so stupid of me. I can only imagine how much she meant to you, so I-"

"No, you can't. You really fucking can't." Cora's feelings were well on  their way to getting hurt again, when he continued. "Nobody can. Because  nobody knows that it was . . . that it was all a lie."

Cora's head whipped up, her eyes on him, her mind trying to process if  she'd really heard what she thought she heard. The room was silent,  utterly still.

Slider heaved a breath that sounded like the weight of the world sat on  his shoulders. And his words made her think that maybe it really did.  "Nobody knows."

"Knows what?" she whispered. Goose bumps ran over her skin, because she'd been holding on to something no one knew, either.

He shook his head, and she thought he wasn't going to answer, but then  he did. "Kim . . . cheated on me. Was going to leave. And then she got  the cancer and the sonofabitch wanted nothing to do with her. So I took  her back."

Cora could barely breathe. After being betrayed and abandoned, he'd  spent months taking care of the terminally ill person who'd wronged him.  "And you kept it quiet for the boys," she ventured. She didn't need him  to answer or even to nod, because the minute the words were out of her  mouth, she knew she was right. And that was everything she needed to  know about what kind of a man Slider Evans was. Loyal, even when that  loyalty hadn't been returned. Honorable. Compassionate. Selfless.

Nothing like any man she'd ever known.

But Slider did answer. "For the boys." He gave a single shake. "But for  me, too. I never want the boys to think bad of their mother, and I  certainly don't want them to know that she was leaving them, too.  Because I damn well know firsthand how being abandoned can mark you in  ways from which you can never recover." His swallow sounded thick,  tortured. "But I also didn't want people to look down on me."

The revelations were making her head spin, and so was the fact that he  was opening up to share them. With her. But, for now, she focused on  what she thought he most needed to hear. "No one would look down on you.  What you did . . . it was heroic, Slider."                       
       
           



       

He chuffed out a humorless laugh. "I'm no fucking hero, Cora. Don't forget that for a second."

"You are . . . you are to me." Her belly did a flip-flop on the  admission, but she didn't want to take it back. She'd never thought of  Slider in those terms before, but hero definitely fit. He lived his life  to take care of his kids. He'd devoted his life to taking care of his  dying wife, even though some might say she didn't deserve his devotion.  He'd kept her secret to preserve their children's happy memories and  their self-esteem.

And that was a lot. A lot more than some people did. A lot more than  what her parents had done, even before her father's terrible violation.

His eyes absolutely burned as they looked at her. "I'm sorry for snapping at you."

"You don't have to apologize," she said, stunned by everything she'd  learned, heartened that he wanted her to understand, and so damn angry  on his behalf. Why did some people search their whole lives for love and  never find it, while others found love and threw it away?

He cleared his throat. "The boys and I talked over pizza. They loved the  way you rearranged the cabinet. They think you should do whatever you  want to freshen up the house. Redecorate. Give it some new life. And I  agree."

"Slider, I couldn't do that on my own. This is your hou-"

"It's yours now, too," he said, simply. "Strip it all away, Cora. All  but those figures that the boys love. Get rid of as many of the  reminders as you can. Make me forget."

He might as well have reached into her chest and squeezed her heart with  his bare hand. That's what it felt like his words did. But forgetting  was a charade. The past never went away. And it never could. "How about  instead of trying to forget, we make new memories that are brighter and  louder and bigger than the old ones?" She didn't want to guess at what  she saw in his eyes, but it sure as hell looked a lot like affection.

Finally, he said, "Does that work for you?"

For a long moment, his question hung in the space between them. A  challenge. Maybe even a plea. For her to tell her secrets, too. She  wasn't oblivious-she knew she'd given more of herself away than she  would've liked on a few occasions. But she just couldn't. Cora feared  that telling her secret would make it real in a way that hiding it  didn't. She feared that people would look at her and think rape victim.  She feared that people would think she deserved it, or asked for it, or  didn't fight back.

Damnit, she just . . . feared.

So Cora hedged. "It's a work in progress."

"I guess that's all any of us are," Slider said, and she couldn't tell  if she imagined the disappointment in his voice or if it was truly  there.

That night, they passed each other in the hallway before bed. She was  coming out of Ben's room after he'd had a nightmare, and Slider was  going in. Wearing a pair of sweatpants and nothing else. Well, nothing  else except for that glorious tattoo and those beautiful sleeves of ink.

She wanted to take his hand or hug him or offer him some other way to  begin making those new memories, but that wasn't what they were. So  instead she tried not to ogle him. "Good night, Slider."