The McRae Series 01 - Twelve Days Sam and Rachel

bed?
    "Yeah, I'm sure," Sam said. "This is what I have to do."
    Oh, no, Rachel thought, sinking down to the floor, her back against the wall. Oh, no.
    "No, I haven't told her," Sam said. "Her whole family was just here for her father's sixtieth birthday, and now it's almost Christmas. If I move out now, nobody'll talk about anything but that. It'll ruin the holiday, and there's just no point, especially if I can't get into the apartment until after Christmas. I'll wait to tell her. We'll do it nice and quick. That'll be the best thing for everybody."
    She couldn't hear what Rick said, but Rachel thought, Please. Please let him try to talk Sam out of it.
    "No. I'm sure. It's over," Sam said. "Look, I've got to go. Thanks."
    And then there was nothing but silence. Rachel shoved her hand against her mouth. She was breathing too hard, and her chest hurt, but she managed to muffle the sounds and somehow she wasn't crying. She was too stunned to cry.
    Sam was leaving her.
    The Tuesday after Christmas, he'd be gone.
    And he wasn't even going to tell her.
    Sam. Leaving.
    They'd been married for twelve years. He'd seen her through the most awkward years of her life and, later, the hardest ones. She'd believed he would always be by her side, no matter what.
    Apparently, he had other ideas.
    Rachel stood up to go. She didn't want to know his secret. Maybe if he could live with the pretense, so could she.
    She'd taken three steps toward the door when she bumped into a stack of wood on the floor, making an awful racket.
    Sam called out, "I'm in the office. Come on back."
    She closed her eyes and swore softly. She just wanted to hide somewhere, until she wasn't so shaken, so stunned. Until it didn't hurt to breathe.
    But he knew she was here, and she had to talk to him about the children. She'd promised to take care of them. They were only staying until after Christmas, too. Sam and the children might well leave her on the same day.
    Rachel closed her eyes and pulled open the door at the same time he came out. They nearly ran into each other. He caught her, his hands on her arms; it was the first time he'd touched her in days, maybe weeks, and they stood there awkwardly staring at each other, too close and way too full of hurt for two people who were supposed to love each other forever.
    Sam let go almost immediately and backed away.
    He looked guilty, and she wondered if she looked guilty herself.
    "Hi." She forced the word out, looking down at his cluttered desk, at his phone, at his window, anything but him. Then lied without one twinge of guilt. "I didn't think you were here."
    He looked as shook up as she was. She thought he was going to call her on that but all he said was, "I was taking care of some things in the office. Did you... need something?"
    "Yes." She needed so very much. She couldn't begin to tell him now, so she concentrated on the children. "Miriam's here—"
    "Is it Will? Did she bring Will back?" he asked urgently, and for a second the old Sam was back. The one who cared. The one who didn't live behind all the walls they'd erected.
    She missed him, she realized. She missed her husband a great deal.
    And he was leaving her.
    Right after Christmas.
    "No," she said. "Not Will. He's fine, she said. So far, so good."
    Sam made an exasperated sound. So he was still angry, she thought. He still hurt, too. She hadn't known that, and he probably didn't know how angry she still was, either. They didn't share much of anything anymore.
    "Rachel? Are you all right?"
    "Yes. I just have to tell you something, and you're not going to like it."
    He paused, his gaze narrowing on her face. He didn't even seem to breathe. She wondered if he thought she was leaving him, or asking him to leave. Truth was, it had never even occurred to her. She felt so foolish now, but the thought had never crossed her mind.
    "Miriam found some children in trouble," she blurted out. "Two girls and a boy, all from the same family. They don't have anyplace to go."
    "What does that have to do with us?" he asked carefully.
    "We're still on the list. Of approved foster homes—"
    "No," he said right away.
    "We are. They never took us off—"
    "I don't give a damn about any list."
    "She needs us," Rachel argued. "These kids need us."
    "We agreed."
    "No, we didn't," she realized. "You decided. You just told me that we wouldn't do this anymore."
    "We can't," he said. "It nearly tore us apart the first time. You know that. You know how hard it was."
    "My