What's Left Behind Read Online Free

through her. Charlie’s stomach rumbled, growled, convulsed, but not in laugher.
    Charlie jerked away from her. He slammed his hands on the dining table, hung his head, and retched into a discarded soup bowl.
    Three fingers of Scotch could do that to you, too.
    “Sorry, Abby,” he croaked. “Sorry.”
    She took him by the hand and led him from the dining room, past the library, and down the hallway to one of her vacant guest rooms. She sat him down on the bed, wriggled off his shoes, plumped the pillows beneath his head. She made him down two ibuprofens and laid an ice-water-soaked washcloth across his fevered forehead.
    Abby hummed under her breath, the way Sadie sometimes purred to comfort herself. But her fingers were no longer shaking. Her breathing came even, the air flowing unobstructed for the first time in days. Focusing on Charlie had taken the edge off her pain. Way healthier than walking into the frozen bay.
    Charlie’s eyes drifted shut, blond lashes settling against the curves of his cheeks. His breathing softened. His chest rose and fell beneath the quilt’s wedding ring pattern. Abby pressed her mouth to the warm pulse of Charlie’s temple, the way she used to kiss Luke good night.
    I want my son back.
    The backs of her knees spasmed, and her legs went out. She leaned against the bed.
    On the day Luke was born, she’d reached between her legs and placed her hands on the top of his head, so he’d feel her touch when he took his first breath. So he’d never be alone. She’d once told Luke that someday, in the impossible distant future, when she was old and gray, she wanted him to hold her hand when she breathed her last.
    Yet she’d been miles away from her baby when, alone, he’d fallen. And she hadn’t even known. She hadn’t felt a thing.
    Fully clothed, she turned down the quilt, slid in on top of the blanket, and switched off the lamp. She crossed her arms. In the dark, her teeth chattered. Beside her, Charlie snored. She got up on one elbow and set a pillow between them, in case Charlie woke in the night with renewed energy and the wrong idea.
    As if sex were the only way Charlie could get to her.
    Charlie was to Abby as partying with the boys, poor investments, and broken promises were to Charlie.
    Oh, holy hell. Celeste was right.
    Abby was going to hate herself in the morning.

C HAPTER 2
    R ob Campbell refused to look at Bella’s dog run.
    Instead, he backed his truck into the driveway that was no longer his driveway, jogged up the no-longer-his walkway, and fumbled for the key he’d returned to Maria back in February. Then, remembering, he cursed and rang the bell.The beautiful woman who was no longer his wife opened the door. “It’s time,” she said, and stepped back to let him pass.
    Inside the Victorian’s formal entryway, he gave his spring-muddy boots a cursory stomp on the mat, but didn’t bother taking them off. He wouldn’t be staying long.
    “How’s she doing?”
    “Hardly ate yesterday, trouble sleeping last night, kept waking up howling.” Maria’s bottom lip trembled.
    He held up his hands. “Wait a second. What’s this ‘hardly ate’? I thought you said she didn’t eat. A bad day doesn’t translate to ‘it’s time.’ ” When two people loved each other, a bad day didn’t mean you should get a divorce either. Campbells never gave up. Too bad his ex-wife didn’t share his born-and-bred philosophy.
    Maria sighed and shook her head, her gaze weary, yet determined. “Not one bad day, many bad days. Can’t remember what a good day looks like anymore.”
    He could.
    Coming home after dark had never bothered him. He liked finding his way to the front door by the post light, the satisfaction of creating one of his landscape designs giving him a natural high. The ache of hard work humming through his muscles. Bone-tired, he liked bounding up the stairs, climbing into bed, and finding his college sweetheart, Maria, by his side.
    Pretty much summed up