The Second Chance. Catherine Mann
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out an armful of socks and strode over to the bed again to dump them into his open luggage.
She kept her eyes on her task and off the bed where they’d made love so often—although not as much lately. She definitely kept her gaze away from her handsome husband, his strong jaw jutting as he threw gear into his shaving kit. Too easily, she could be drawn into the sensual lure of the bristle on his face or the temptation to stroke his perpetually mussed sandy-brown hair. His headful of cowlicks refused to fall in line with the rest of his traditional good looks in a way that somehow made him all the more appealing.
He was like his home state of Alaska, majestic and untamed. Commanding the eye, and yet opaque as a dense forest trailing up a mountainside.
His footsteps sounded along the hardwood floor as he approached her. The storm in his green eyes broadcast his silent protest to her edict that he move out. He was leaving under duress. Well, tough. She’d given him chance after chance. He would cut back at work only to plunge into the office twice as hard again. He wasn’t interested in significant change, and over time, that had diluted their love until there was nothing left.
Even their marriage counselor wore a defeated look the last time they’d seen him together.
Every weekly appointment since then? Chuck had canceled. Citing work conflicts—his standard reason for missed dinner dates, too. She’d stopped trusting his word long before that. Trust was already difficult for her, after the way her father had betrayed her and her mother. She didn’t think she would ever recover from the blow of finding out her dad had a secret second family.
Chuck’s extended absences wore on her. Deeply.
Shana swallowed back the painful past and focused on the present. The heartbreaking present.
They were finally expecting a baby.
After failed fertility treatments and three miscarriages, she’d gotten pregnant by surprise. Very much by surprise as their sex life had been on the rocks along with their marriage.
Their communication was at an all-time low. She needed the controlled setting of their counselor’s office to tell her husband about the baby. But since Chuck was a consistent no-show, he still didn’t know.
Sitting alone in the counselor’s office earlier that day, she’d reached the end of her rope. She was done. She would tell him about the baby once their separation was official. She couldn’t afford another emotional breakdown, bad for the health of the baby when Shana was already in such a stressful environment.
She stormed into his closet, wrapped her arms around four of his suits and lifted them from the rack. “This should get you through work until we can set aside a time for you to pick up the rest of your things.”
She slammed the bulk of designer suits into his open case on the bed.
“Shana, I’m sorry for missing the appointment.” He paced barefoot, faded jeans hugging his muscular thighs, his long-sleeved tee stretching across his broad shoulders. His hair was still damp from the shower he’d taken after work. “You have to understand the business merger comes with extra hours. I’ve bowed out of as many things as I can.”
Since the Mikkelson matriarch had married the Steele patriarch, the two former rival oil families were merging their families’ companies into Alaska Oil Barons, Inc. The lengthy process had siblings from both sides making power grabs at a time when stockholders needed to see unity.
“And yet you’re still secluded in the study every night.”
They did nothing together except sleep and eat. No more days spent horseback riding, snowmobiling and traveling. And as much as she wanted to trust Chuck that it was only work and that things would change, she could only bury her head in the sand for so long before she smothered to death.
“I’m doing my best, Shana. Things will get better as the merger takes root.”
“So you keep saying.” She tossed a handful of silk ties into the suitcase. “Every deadline you give for this magical easing at work just gets pushed back. I feel like a fool for believing you.”
“Damn it, Shana, you’ve got to see the effort.” He forked his hand through his hair. “I even had my antisocial brother stand in for me at that wildlife preservation fund-raiser. There aren’t as many Mikkelsons as there are Steeles. And with Mom and Glenna both married to Steeles, their loyalties are split in a way mine aren’t. I’m a Mikkelson. Period.”
As was the baby he knew nothing about.
Thinking about raising their child alone made her heart and head ache. Chuck would want to be a part of the child’s life. She didn’t doubt that. She just wasn’t sure how much time he would make for the baby.
Her ability to trust him had been eroded on so many levels.
Resolve strengthened, she faced him. “It’s quite clear where your heart lies.”
“That’s not fair, Shana. These are extreme times. If I scale back too much, the Steele family could eclipse our vision and our power,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. Their bed. Nearly four years ago, when they’d married and built their dream home in Anchorage, she’d decorated their bedroom with such romantic hope in each detail of the modern French provincial decor.
They’d spent a lot of hours in this room—making love, sharing dreams. Until the third miscarriage had taken too much of a toll on both of them.
“Then by all means, don’t let me hold you back. Dig in.” She closed his suitcase with a decisive click and spun away hard and fast.
Too fast. The room spun and she gripped the footboard of the bed to keep from stumbling.
“Shana?”
She blinked fast to clear the spots dancing in front of her eyes, to quell the nausea from her blossoming headache.
If she could just get Chuck to leave so she could lie down and breathe...
“Please. Go.” She pushed free the two words, a mammoth undertaking with her stress headache spiking.
Why was he walking so slowly? She saw his mouth moving, but nothing was coming out. That didn’t make sense. And then he tipped.
Except no.
The whole room tipped because...
Her hand slid from the bed on her way to the floor.
Thirty-six hours later
Until today, Charles “Chuck” Mikkelson had run out of ideas for a second chance with his wife. Admitting defeat had never been an option for him, professionally or personally.
But amnesia as a do-over with Shana was extreme, even for him.
Surely he’d heard the neurologist wrong. Chuck’s gut knotted. “Do you mean Shana is disoriented? Fuzzy on things like the time or date? Forgot what she had for dinner?”
After all, she’d suffered a minor aneurysm that had left her unconscious for just over thirty-six hours. The longest day and a half of his life. But finally, she was awake. Alive.
Two physicians occupied the secluded sitting area where Chuck had been brought after a staffer located him grabbing a bite in the cafeteria while a privately hired nurse sat with Shana. Chuck couldn’t believe his wife had actually woken up the one time he’d stepped away from her hospital room. The neurologist—Dr. Harris—sat beside Chuck. Another of Shana’s physicians stood at the window. Snow was coming down in thick sheets of white, as if the hospital sterility was outside as well as indoors.
“Shana is disoriented, but it’s more than that,” Dr. Harris explained slowly from the chrome-and-leather chair he’d pulled around to face Chuck. “You need to accept that she has lost her memory.”
Amnesia.