Darkest Before Dawn
Page 82

HONOR cautiously opened her eyes and then slammed them shut again, fear shuddering through her fractured mind. Hope—something she’d been denied time and time again until she’d refused to allow herself to even entertain it—was insidiously creeping through her veins, accelerating her pulse until she was nearly breathless. She shook her head. No. Not again. Never again. She’d given in to hope one last time and it had destroyed her completely. Some lessons were learned the hard way.
When the SUV turned onto Oakwood Street, she lost any and all of her carefully constructed control and burst into tears. Her hands flew to her face, covering the guttural sobs tearing from her throat. She rocked back and forth as they drew closer and closer to . . . home.
“Stop!” she cried. “Oh God, please stop!”
The driver immediately slammed on the brakes and Honor bent over, putting her head between her knees as she struggled for breath, panic scraping her insides raw.
Kyle Phillips, who had returned to their “waiting” point and slid into the seat beside her, giving the driver the order to go, put his hand on Honor’s back and rubbed up and down and then in gentle circular motions.
“Honor? Are you going to be sick? Are you all right? Come on, honey, you have to breathe for me.”
“I can’t go in there,” she wept.
She lifted her tear-drenched gaze to Kyle’s surprised one.
“I don’t understand,” he said, clearly puzzled by her reaction. “They know you’re coming, Honor. It’s why I made you hang back. I wanted to prepare them. I didn’t want to just spring you on them.”
“They can’t see me this way,” she cried. “Look at me!” She made a sweeping motion of her emaciated body, the still-healing wounds, the fading burn marks and the still very vivid gashes on her wrists, a match to the ones on her ankles, but at least those were hidden.
“This will kill them,” she whispered. “I can’t do this, Kyle. Please, if you have any compassion, any mercy, you’ll tell them I’ll talk to them on the phone. And I’ll see them. After I heal. I’ll eat. I swear it. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do. But please, God, don’t make me go in there like this.”
Kyle looked gutted, his eyes swamped with so much sympathy and understanding that it spurred another round of gut-wrenching tears.
Gently, he pulled her upward and then into his arms, hugging her to his chest, rocking back and forth in a soothing manner.
“I understand how you feel, Honor,” he said quietly. “I swear to you that I do. But, honey, they know what to expect.”
“You told them?” she asked in a horrified voice.
“Not everything,” he said even more gently. “Only what pertained to your physical and psychological condition. I never mentioned Hancock. That is yours to tell or not. But think of this from their point of view, Honor. They’ve just been told that the daughter they thought was dead is very much alive and will be home shortly. Of course they’re upset and angry that you endured so much. But what they want, what they need most right now, is to see you. To hold you. To have proof that you’re alive. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
He tugged her away from his chest so he could cup her chin. He rubbed his thumb over her cheek and forced her to look into his eyes.
“Now, show me the Honor Cambridge who escaped and evaded capture by the most powerful and ruthless terrorist group in the Middle East. You will not walk into your home ashamed with your head down. Your family is overcome with joy. They are even now counting the seconds and watching for our vehicle to pull into their driveway so they can see you. Touch you. Hold you. And tell you how very much they love you. Would you deny them that?”
“No,” she choked out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. You were kind to me, but I learned that betrayal follows kindness, and so I wouldn’t acknowledge you. I couldn’t. It was the only way I could survive because I couldn’t allow myself the one thing that had the power to completely destroy me. Hope.”
“Shhh, you will not apologize. I would serve with you any day of the week, Honor Cambridge. You have the heart of a Marine, and that’s a fact. Now, can I tell Anthony to resume driving?”
She smiled and then impulsively hugged him, craving what she’d long been bereft of. Human touch. Contact. Comfort. Not since . . .
No, she wouldn’t go there. What she’d shared or rather what Hancock had taken from her didn’t count. Because it wasn’t real.
As if sensing her need for that contact, humanity, he hugged her back ever so gently but no less encompassing and for long moments he merely held her, allowing her to clutch at him while she collected herself.
Finally she pulled away and braced herself, and allowed hope and relief to flood the very depths of her hollow soul.
Excitement began to burn as she caught sight of her house at the end of the cul-de-sac. She half expected her entire family to be on the front lawn waiting, but Kyle had said he’d gone ahead to prepare them, which likely meant he’d told them how fragile she was.
When they pulled to a stop behind her mother’s familiar minivan, Honor sat, frozen to her seat as she hungrily drank in the sight of what she thought she’d never see again. Uncertainty gripped her and her palms grew sweaty, and she recognized the signs of yet another impending panic attack.
Kyle reached over and took her hand, squeezing reassuringly.
“I’ll be with you the whole time,” he said quietly.
She smiled at him. Really smiled, and he seemed delighted.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely.
“Forgive the corny thing I’m about to say, but it has truly been an honor to know you, Honor Cambridge.”
She squeezed his hand back and then drew in a deep cleansing breath, the wheeze floating away as her lungs opened fully, allowing her to breathe easy once more.
“Let’s do this,” she said.
CHAPTER 43
CYNTHIA Cambridge threw up her hands, despair radiating from her eyes as she faced her family—minus Honor, who was holed up in the library, her sanctuary. Everyone had gathered. Brad had come from work, no questions asked. Keith had secured release from fall training from his team the minute he’d received the news of Honor’s return home, and he had yet to return. Tate and Scott owned multiple local businesses and both made their homes nearby so they had been there in minutes. Mandie, like Keith, had yet to return to her job.
They all looked to their mother—wife—worry tight in their chests. Cynthia looked worn and haggard, so much grief in her expression that they all feared the worst.
“This has to end,” Cynthia said, near tears.
Mike, her husband, pulled his wife into his arms, his distress as great as hers, though he held it tightly reined because he sensed just how close his beloved wife was to her breaking point.
“She’s not getting better. She’s sick. She won’t talk about it—anything.”
“We knew this wouldn’t be easy, Mom,” Brad, her oldest son, said.
He was in uniform and had come when his father had called, telling him he was needed at home. His deputies could hold down the fort in his absence. Family—his sister—was more important.
“She’s recovering physically,” Tate said cautiously. “A breeze would have knocked her over when she first came back. She’s gained weight. She’s eating.”