The Convenient Wife
by Kelly

chapter 41

Alexis closed her eyes and let herself recall the precise second when
she had started to see his life as a quagmire of violence and
depression and death from which no one could escape, least of all her
unborn child. She knew the moment like she knew her own name. And for
the first time, she would face it with him. Tell him the truth.

She could only force two words beyond the painful lump that lodged in
her throat.

"My sister."

Just two words. But they said it all.

Like a physical force, they pushed him to take an involuntary step
away from her. And the wariness in his eyes was apparent, stark and
naked to her gaze. He was remembering the day Alexis had lost her
only sister. Hearing in his mind the horrifying wail of her pain in
that hospital room as Kristina had taken her final breath. Seeing
images of the funeral when he'd gone to pay his respects only to
witness Alexis breaking into fragments of herself before his eyes.

He had avoided this conversation for two years because the pain of
those moments still lived vividly in his soul. Haunted him, in fact.
The guilt that had settled squarely in his gut that awful day when
his warehouse had exploded had never ever subsided. The nightmares
came less frequently now, but there were still times when he would
wake in a sweat seeing Kristina's eyes in his mind.

No one knew of those dreams. It was something he bore alone, along
with flashes of the dark closet where he'd left his childhood
innocence, and the scenes of the exploding car that had stolen his
faith in God's fairness.

Now he had to talk about it…about her sister…a topic he'd consciously
evaded for so very long. He looked at her tentatively and read the
pain in her eyes. This would be far more difficult for Alexis. He had
no right to back away and avoid it. He had to face it with her if
they were to ever scale the wall that was now between them.

"When my sister died," she whispered, "something in me went with her
that I can never get back. My hope. She was my eternal optimist. She
was my miracle. The only one I'd ever gotten in this life."

Her eyes took on a faraway look, as if she was now mentally in some
distant place. "You have to understand that I had felt guilty my
whole life about her. That night…when my mother was murdered…my
sister was taken and likely killed by Helena, too. And I--I was the
only one to survive the attack. I blamed myself. I was supposed to
watch over my sister, but I failed. And the pain of that…the weight
of that followed me in everything I did all my life."

He nodded, his mind flashing images of Lily. He rubbed a hand
absently over his face, trying to blot out the serenity of the last
smile she'd cast at him before she was blown apart by a bomb. Sonny
knew about guilt. It was yet another thing they shared. With sheer
force of will, he retrained his mind on Alexis.

"When Jax brought my sister to me"—a smile, sudden and magnificent,
interrupted her words—"the sun rose, the birds sang, I heard my
mother's voice again. I saw her beautiful smiling face, touched her
hair, and felt her embrace. All in Kristina. And the guilt…finally
that weight was off me. Because I hadn't failed. She was alive and
well and happy. She'd had a good life and had become a very good
person."

Suddenly, violently, the smile was stripped from her lips by memories
too horrific to imagine. A mystified frown pleated her brow. "But
then—in the space of a second—in a flash of brutal and senseless
anger—she was just gone. A casualty of a war she knew nothing about.
A precious life extinguished just like that.

"My mind went dark. Black. All I could feel was rage. All I could
taste was rage. All I wanted was revenge. It ate at me. It nearly
killed me. I went a little crazy, I know. I hated you…or at least I
told myself I did. I told you I wished you dead."

She saw him wince and regretted the pain her words wrought. But she
owed him her honesty.

"Then I thought about the baby," she said, her hand pressing against
her belly in memory. "Our baby. This was---she was a new life, a new
chance for me. The last part of you that I would ever have."

He looked at her, saw the sincerity in her eyes, and his heart moved
within him.

"And I felt so privileged, Sonny. I had another chance. I just knew
that I had to protect this life. I had to make sure that nothing or
no one took this miracle from me like they had taken my sister. Yes,
Sonny, I lied for this baby. I even killed for this baby. And I
couldn't—I wouldn't--let your life and the dangers and craziness in
it touch hers. I couldn't risk losing her, too."

She reached for him then, stroked the hard masculine jaw with her
fingertips. "Though I loved you with all of my heart, though I wanted
you with me as I brought our daughter into this world, though I hated
to look into your eyes and lie…I felt I had to. I put our child
first."

When she finished speaking, she felt like she was empty. As if all
the words that had ever flowed into the substantial linguistic center
of her brain had been used up in this one conversation. He was
silent, his eyes on the carpet as he processed what she said. Once
again, his expression grew enigmatic; she could not tell what his
true feelings were. And she was suddenly afraid to know.

Unconsciously, she held her breath.

She had truly bared her soul, her deepest wound. And all she wished
for now was for him to look at her, to say he understood, to say he
still loved her. Maybe he couldn't forgive her in one fell swoop, but
if he could say he would try…that he'd work on it…that they could
hold each other and talk some more and work to move past this…she'd
accept that.

She needed assurances. She craved them.

She got none.

When he looked up at her, his expression was veiled, his mask in
place, and she knew he was somewhere inside himself trying to figure
all of this out. Somewhere far from her. The breath she'd held was
released on a long, sad, noiseless sigh.

His head bowed, and he cleared his throat struggling to speak. "I—uh--
-Alexis I need some time."

It wasn't said in anger. It was a simple, straightforward request. It
was more than she deserved.

Yet it still felt like a physical blow. All she could do was nod.

"I—I think that we should—you know--be apart for a while. For tonight
at least. I need to think."

She nodded numbly again.

"I'll sleep in the guest room," he told her, his dark eyes averted,
one hand absently rubbing the side of his face.

"Okay," she said in a small voice, turning away. She walked two steps
and stopped. Her question was faint; he had to strain to hear. But it
was one of the most important she'd ever asked.

"Will we be alright, Sonny?"

His voice was just as faint in reply.

"I wish to hell I knew."

She looked at him over her shoulder, catching sight of the tension
that beset his body as he fought an internal war with his emotions.
Then somehow she found the strength to walk away, closing the bedroom
door on his dark expression.

A sad whisper echoed through her mind. "I wish to hell I knew."

chapter 42