Maya Banks - The Darkest Hour

HED hoped if he drank enough the night before hed sleep right through today. Instead his eyes popped open at eight A.M., and sunlight promptly fried his retinas.

Ethan Kelly threw an arm over his face and lay there as the reality of the day hit him square in the gut.

June 16.

He could say something incredibly corny like . . . June 16, the day his world irrevocably changed. June 16, the day everything went to hell. Truth was, it had done that long before.

The phone rang shrilly from the nightstand, and he quelled the urge to smash it. Instead he listened as each ring pierced his skull like an ice pick.

When it didnt quit in a reasonable length of time, he reached over and yanked the cord from the wall. It could only be one of his well-meaning family members, and the last thing Ethan wanted today was sympathy.

If it was his dad, hed give Ethan a lecture about how Rachel wouldnt like the man hed become. No, Rachel hadnt liked the man hed been. Huge difference there. He hadnt liked the man hed been.

Frank Kelly would go on about how it was time to get on with his life. Move on. Hed grieved long enough.

If it was one of his brothers calling, theyd ride his ass about when he was coming to work for KGI.

Try never.

Knowing there was no chance of him going back to sleep with a head that was split apart at the seams, he struggled to the edge of the bed and planted his feet on the floor.

Hed sought oblivion, but all he had to show for the alcohol binge was cotton mouth and a stomach that felt like hed ingested lead.

And he still had to face today.

Eyes closed, he pressed his fingers into his temples and then covered his face with his hands. His palms dug into his eye sockets, and he massaged as if he could wipe away the cloud hovering in his vision.

Rachel.

Her name whispered through his tired mind, conjuring memories of his laughing, smiling, beautiful wife. They floated there like butterflies.

Just as quickly they shriveled and turned black as if someone had held the wings to fire.

Rachel was gone.

She was dead.

She wasnt coming home.

He pushed himself up from the bed and staggered toward the bathroom. His reflection didnt shock him, and he didnt spare a moment to splash his face with water or wash out his mouth. He took a piss and stumbled back out, his tongue rasping over the roof of his mouth.

He needed a drink. Preferably something that wasnt going to make him puke.

Mechanically, he walked barefooted across the wood floors into the living room. Everything was just as shed left it. The room reflected her personality. Classy, elegant, and uncluttered.

He was a rough-around-the-edges slob.

With a heavy sigh, he wandered into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. Maybe his dad was right. Maybe it was time to put the past behind him. Get on with his sorry life. But he wasnt sure he could ever forgive himself for pushing her away.

He stood by the coffeemaker, waiting for it to quit gurgling. He could sell the house and move to something smaller. It didnt make sense to keep it since it was just him now.

He needed to move somewhere he wasnt reminded of her at every turn, but then this was part of his penance. She didnt deserve to be forgotten and discarded even if thats what hed done.

He thrust his cup forward and poured the steaming coffee from the pot. Then he ambled over to the glass table that overlooked the back deck. He sat and stared out over the landscape that had suffered over the last year. Rachel and his mom had painstakingly planned every detail, putting in long hours planting and weeding. Ethan had helpedwhen he was home.

Hed often been gone for weeks on end, the assignments always out of the blue, classified. He left Rachel with her never knowing where he was going or if hed return. It was no way for them to live.

Hed resigned his commission after Rachel had miscarried their child. During the two years they were married, hed failed her a lot, and hed sworn he wouldnt do it again. But he had.

He rubbed his eyes then let his hand rest lingeringly on the three days worth of stubble that resided on his jaw. He was a wreck.

A flash of peach caught his eye. He zeroed in on the vase of roses hed bought yesterday. They were her favorite. Not quite orange, not quite pink, shed always say. A perfect shade of peach. He should take them to her grave, but he wasnt sure he could bear to stand over that cold slab of marble and tell her for the fortieth time he was sorry.

As quickly as the thought seared through his mind, he curled his lip in disgust. Hed go. It was the least he could do. In the weeks leading up to the one-year anniversary of her death, hed avoided the cemetery. It shouldnt surprise him that he was all too willing to shirk his responsibility. Hed made a practice of it.

He shoved the cup of coffee across the table, sloshing liquid over the rim. Ignoring the mess, he went back into the bedroom and pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He needed a shower and a shave, but he wasnt taking the time to do either. If his appearance put people off, all the better. Making small talk and exchanging pleasantries wasnt on his agenda.

Back in the kitchen, he paused in front of the vase of roses. With shaking fingers, he touched one of the soft petals. He hadnt bought Rachel flowers in a long time. Not since the first year of their marriage. What did it say about him that he bought them now?

Regret was hard enough for a man to swallow, but to swallow the knowledge that he could never do anything to right the wrongs was more than he could bear.

He gripped the vase, his self-disgust making him more nauseous than the sour alcohol swirling around his belly. He grabbed for his keys and stalked toward the front door, determined to go to her grave, face the past and make his peace with the day.

As he opened the door, he came face-to-face with a FedEx deliveryman. He wasnt sure who was more surprised, him or the FedEx guy, but judging by the way the man backed up a step, Ethan guessed he didnt look too welcoming.

Are you Ethan Kelly? the guy asked nervously.

Yeah.

Have a package for you.

Just leave it, Ethan said, gesturing toward the rocker on the porch. He was impatient to be gone, and he looked pretty damn stupid standing there clutching a vase of flowers.

I, uh, need your signature.

Ethan caught the snarl before it escaped and set the flowers down on the porch railing. He gestured impatiently for the stylus and scribbled his electronic signature on the handheld unit.

Thanks. And heres your package.

The guy thrust a thick envelope into Ethans hand and hastily backed down the steps. With a wave, he got into his delivery van and roared off down the drive.

Ethan glanced down at the envelope but didnt immediately see any identifying information. He leaned back into the house and tossed it on the small table in the foyer. Then he slammed the door and reached for the vase.

When he arrived at the small church his family had attended for decades, his gut tightened. It was old, whitewashed and situated off a gravel road well off the beaten path. The cemetery was adjacent to the church, and it was where his ancestors had been buried since the late 1800s.

He got out of his truck, swallowed and then made his way down the worn path to the fenced-in plot of land that made up the cemetery.

The roses shook in his grasp, several petals falling and then catching in the breeze. They swirled crazily and blew across the collection of marble headstones.