Page 44 of Tempting Devil
I had so many questions. But one had been at the forefront of my mind the entire time I sat in the back seat of the SUV as Henry navigated the familiar streets of Atlanta.
“How?” I asked softly, my voice not sounding like my own.
“What’s that?” Henry looked in the rearview mirror, briefly meeting my eyes.
“How is he still alive?” I said, this time more firmly.
Henry blew out a heavy sigh, his shoulders falling. “It’s not my story to tell, I’m afraid.”
“You have to give me something here because I don’t know what to fucking think right now, Henry. I just…” I turned my gaze out the window, struggling to reel in my emotions.
I was trying so damn hard not to cry, but I didn’t know how much longer I could keep it all in. Didn’t know how much longer I could hold in the scream that was desperate to break free to drown out the agony taking root deep in my marrow.
“The first day I saw him, his eyes reminded me of Samuel’s,” I told him. “Then when I ran into him again and saw him up close, there was something so damn familiar about him. Not his appearance, but everything else. And when he told Ollie to heel?” I sucked in my quivering lip. “The only thing that made me think it couldn’t be him was because he looks nothing like the Samuel I knew. My Samuel. His nose is too crooked. His cheekbones are too high. His jaw is too square and wide. What happened to him? How could he look so different?”
“Again, it’s?—”
“Not your story to tell,” I snapped bitterly. “Got it.” I exhaled a quivering breath as I crossed my arms over my stomach to fight off the chill overtaking me despite the sunshine streaming into the car through the windows. “What can you tell me?”
“I can tell you my story.”
“And what’s that?”
“I had a similar reaction when he showed up on my doorstep.”
“When?” I furrowed my brow. “How long have you known?”
He hesitated before confessing, “a year.”
“A year? You’ve known for a year and never…” I pushed down the betrayal bubbling inside me, unsure how much more I could take. “Why did he lie to me? Or is that not your story to tell, either?”
He briefly met my gaze through the mirror once more. “I’m sorry.”
“But he was shot. They said he was dead,” I choked out, tears stinging my eyes as I thought about all the pain and grief I’d endured. “I mourned him, Henry. Every fucking day. I still mourn him. And now?”
I dug my fingers through my hair, feeling like my brain was about to explode. “I’m just supposed to accept he’s still alive? Why didn’t he tell me? Why did he make me think I was losing my goddamn mind? Hell, he made me feel like a horrible person for asking if he was Samuel the other night. Accused me of living in the past. Of only wanting to be with him because he reminded me of Samuel, when the entire time…”
I swallowed hard through the ache in my throat. In my chest. In my soul.
“Why would he do this to me?” I squeaked out.
“He has his reasons.”
“What could possibly be so important he’d go through all of this? And his face? Why did he change his appearance?”
“He didn’t have a choice. I barely recognized him when he showed up at my front door. His face was so…disfigured. It wasn’t until he told me a story from foster care no one else would know about that I knew it was him. He endured a lot in the time he was gone, Imogene.”
He floated his gaze toward the mirror, allowing the truth of his statement to sink in, even if he couldn’t share exactly what he’d been through.
“I’m not saying what he’s done to you is right, and I cautioned him against this, but he’s insisted it’s worth the risk.”
“What is?”
“Revenge.”
The word hung heavy in the car as I attempted to wrap my head around everything.
If Henry thought it would give me answers, he was mistaken. Instead, it only brought forward more questions.