It felt like forever before she said, “Sure. But where’s your truck?”
“I let Carponti take it. He needed to go pick something up for Nicole and didn’t want her to see it.” A version of the truth. Obi Wan would be proud.
Laura’s expression softened when he mentioned Carponti. She had a soft spot for Trent’s friend and his wife. Strange jealousy slithered through him. Not of her friendship. No, not that. But of the way her expression softened. She would never look at him that way again, and the loss? That loss hurt, cutting him quick and deep.
He took a tentative step forward.
“Laura?”
She wanted to look away. He could see it in her eyes. But she didn’t. She was so close, close enough that he could reach out and stroke an errant strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek.
He looked down at her left hand, clenching the pencil like a lifeline. It was a long moment before she turned off her computer and stood, her face a mask of caution. Her bare ring finger haunted him. It never should have gotten this far.
“I need you to be a happy couple.” Patrick’s words rang through his head. How could Patrick suggest that Trent ask his wife to lie for him and pretend everything was wonderful in their marriage when he could barely get past an awkward hello?
He wasn’t asking her for that. He refused.
He wanted this time with her for its own sake. Nothing more.
There was no way he would ask her to do this for him. He watched as she slipped her wallet into her purse. The elegance of her fingers as they flew over the zipper. Longing punched through him.
Laura stood, shouldering the simple black tote he’d bought for her two Christmases ago. It warmed him to see her using something he’d given her. He’d had this mental image of her throwing away everything even remotely tied to his memory and he held on to the ridiculous pleasure of seeing she still had it.
She shifted the tote to her other shoulder, her hand releasing the strap. She caught him looking at her hand and tried to tuck the injured hand behind her back. He moved quickly, capturing it before she could slip it out of his reach.
It was a mistake, touching her. Heat bolted through him the moment her soft fingers were cradled in his and he hung on to the sensation. Her skin was soft and smooth, a stark comparison to his. He’d dreamed about her hands on his body so many times and touching her sparked a thousand images, some real, some pure fantasy.
With a single finger, he traced the top of her knuckles. He brushed his thumb over her bandaged knuckles and felt her jerk. Chilled by her rejection, he let her go. Never would he have imagined that she’d flinch from his touch.
“What happened?”
“I scraped my knuckles trying to fix the dishwasher.” Her voice was thick.
“What’s wrong with the dishwasher?”
“It’s not cleaning the dishes right. I looked up what was wrong, and there’s probably food stuck in the chopper. I was trying to clean it out when the screwdriver slipped and I busted my knuckles.”
Trent wanted to be able to smile at his wife’s stubborn independence. The first time he’d deployed, she’d filled their small study with bookshelves she’d assembled herself. The second time, she’d landscaped. Each time, she learned some new skill around the house, so that when he came back, he was never faced with the honey-do lists that other soldiers had to wrestle with.
He should have been there to do those things for her. But he hadn’t, and she’d made one thing abundantly clear. She didn’t need him.
He looked at her then and wanted to beg her to give him another chance. To hell with the court-martial, to hell with the rumors. He wanted her back. Wanted to explain everything that he hadn’t been able to say for the last year and the year before that and the year before that.
Lay his sins at her feet and allow her to judge him as harshly as she deemed fit. Anything to keep her from casting him out entirely… Don’t give up on me. But he kept the plea to himself, the gulf between them too wide for a single plea to cross.
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he said. He wanted to ask if he could help. But the words lodged in his throat. He couldn’t.
He met her gaze, unable to walk away, despite everything that said he’d already lost her. “I’d like to see you,” he said again.
She bit her lip and looked away, down at where his index finger rested near the edge of her pinky. “I can’t, Trent,” she whispered.
“Can’t?” She lifted her gaze at his single word. “Or won’t?”
“You can’t come in here and ask me that,” she said. There was steel beneath the sadness in her voice. “You have no right.”
“You’re my wife.”
“I was your wife,” she said. “And you chose the army over your family.”
He heard what she didn’t say. You chose the army over me.
“I did. You’re right.” Her mouth opened, then closed again quickly. Surprise flashed in her eyes at his admission. A simple thing. But so very important. He had so many sins to atone for. She bit her lips hard enough that he winced. “I want to try. Just once more, I want to try and make things right.”
She swallowed hard, shaking her head. “You can’t. You lost that opportunity.”
“I screwed up last year.”
“This isn’t about last year, Trent.” She took a step backward. He felt the loss of her warmth in the air around him. “This is about all those years ago. You died. And you never came back to me. You never planned on coming home, not really. Not to me, not to the kids. So why should I believe you now?” she whispered.
He twisted his wedding ring around his finger. Light bounced off white gold. “I can’t give you any good reasons.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “Other than I screwed up.”
Silence stretched between them, harsh and unforgiving and filled with bitterness, sadness and lies. It was forever before she spoke.
“I can’t give you what you want anymore, Trent.” Her gaze didn’t waiver from his. “Because I don’t have anything left. You broke me,” she whispered. “You finally broke me.”
Chapter Four
Laura supposed she should be used to the awkward silence filling the space between them by now. As she turned down Highway 195, heading toward Jen’s out-of-town property, Patrick’s words weighed heavily on her soul. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, trying to figure out what to do with all the uncertainty twisting inside her.
She thought about turning the radio on then thought against it. The sound would be jarring. Grating. Too harsh.
The silence, at least, was as familiar as it was empty.
Trent kept shifting in the seat, fidgeting with his glasses. There had been a time when they would talk about pointless things. Laugh and share jokes or better—find a place to pull off on the side of the road because they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
Now the distance between them was silent and cold.
She sighed heavily. Might as well get started on the old familiar routine. God, but she wanted to break free of all this. She wanted this resolved. She was so tired of ripping the bandage off the wounds on her heart every time he reappeared in her life.
“Is there something on your mind?” he asked. His voice jolted her out of her thoughts.
She considered her next words carefully, knowing they were going to cause a fight and knowing she could do nothing to avoid it. “So Patrick came and talked to me today,” she said quietly.
The silence turned frigid, like shattered ice, frozen and suspended in the air around them. Trent swore loud and long. The force of his reaction momentarily stunned her. He pushed his glasses onto the top of his head and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’m sorry. I asked him not to.”
“I know,” she said. He glanced at her. “He told me.” She took a deep breath. “Were you even going to give me a choice or just make the decision without talking to me?”
“Laura—”
“You weren’t, wer
e you?” She paused, breathing deeply, fighting for control of her temper. “No, you did this just like you do everything. You shut it down, you don’t talk to me about it and you don’t let me in on the really big fucking decisions that oh, I don’t know, impact more than just your life. Our life.” She gripped the steering wheel so tightly that the leather creased beneath her fingers.
She couldn’t do this. Not like this. She needed to move. To get away. To release some of the anger and hurt inside her before she lashed out and did something she could not take back.
Laura slowed the car and steered it to the side of the road, breathing deeply through her nose to keep from losing her temper completely. She needed space, needed to move, to do something with the twisting anger inside her. She knew what most of the charges against him were. Dereliction of duty. Conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman. But it was the allegations made by another woman that had nearly crushed her soul.
He leaned forward, keeping his hands over his mouth. “He thinks that everything hinges on their impression of my integrity. That means it’s really important to beat the morality charges…”
It was a long moment before he spoke again. “Laura, they’re lies.”
She swallowed. His denial echoed in her ears. She opened the door, then got out and slammed it shut with extreme violence. He followed her. “Then where did these allegations come from, Trent? Why would your soldier say these things?”
“I don’t know. Because of her husband, because she’s as guilty as he is? I don’t know.” He paused and she fought the urge to turn around. Hated that the sound of his voice drew her to him when she should be walking the other way. “Laura, I’ve done some horrible things in my life. But not this. Never this.”
She turned back and looked at her husband and for a brief moment, felt a deep twinge of sympathy. He looked lost. Formal charges of adultery were not something the army did often, and those charges were usually only filed when the commanders had incontrovertible proof that a violation had occurred. Such charges were almost always tied to other—more serious—charges. She’d seen far too many cases like this in her job as the family readiness liaison for the battalion.
She turned away and started walking down a well-worn path near a small stream. The anger overwhelmed her, clawed at her. Made her feel again and that was the absolute last thing she wanted.
She needed a minute to cool down before she could face the kids. She didn’t want them to see her like this. This needy, sad thing who still, despite everything, hoped her husband would love her enough to come home. God, she was pathetic. But the day he’d died, she’d lost everything. The foundation of her world had been ripped from beneath her feet.
She rubbed her upper arms against a sudden chill.
The snap of a twig behind her told her she was no longer alone with her thoughts. A brush of air against her neck told her he was closer than he had any right to be. But he made no move to touch her. At least none that she could see or feel.
“I remember when you died,” she whispered. She wrapped her arms around her waist, a phantom pain rippling through her belly, the memory etched into her very bones. “Ethan was barely two. I was pregnant with Emma.”
“I couldn’t hear for a day and a half,” he murmured.
“For two whole days I thought I’d lost you. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t get out of bed. I just stared into the darkness, hoping, praying for five more minutes with you. I would have traded anything.” She gripped her upper arms tightly, bracing against the cold inside her, fighting the tears that burned behind her eyes. “And when you called, when I heard your voice… I didn’t believe it was you.” She bit her lips together, fighting to keep everything inside from breaking free. “I was so… I was so happy. You were alive. I got everything I hoped for. But it was all a lie because I never really got you back,” she whispered, her voice breaking. Finally she turned to face him. “Why can’t you just let me go?” She released a shuddering breath, afraid to look him in the eye. Terrified at what she would see.
“Because I can’t,” he whispered. “I know I broke us. By not calling, by following that goddamned no-contact order instead of breaking the rules and calling you. I know I did this.” He lifted one hand. It trembled near her cheek and she hated herself for yearning for his touch.
She didn’t speak until she was confident she could, past the block in her throat. “Trent, you’ve been closing me off and shutting me out for years. Last year? Last year just solidified the death of our marriage. All the rumors. All the allegations? What was I supposed to believe when I didn’t hear anything from you?”
“I will regret following that no-contact order for the rest of my life.” His voice cracked.
“Then why did you?”
He closed his eyes. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. Finally he met her gaze again. “Because I still believed the system would work. I still had faith.”
“Really?” She searched the deep brown eyes behind the soft reflection of his glasses.
His throat moved as he swallowed and looked away. “Yeah.”
“Then why stay? Why not get out of the army and have a nice, nine-to-five civilian job?” She needed to know what made this man who had sacrificed everything for the army turn against it.
“Because it’s the only thing I’ve ever known. It’s the only thing I’m good at. Hell, I’m not even very good at it anymore.” He paused, letting the silence hang between them. Finally, he spoke. “I’m being court-martialed to placate the father of the lieutenant who stole arms from our unit and sold them for cash. They want me to take the fall. There are men who have done far worse than me in the name of God and country but I’m the one who’s been chosen for public crucifixion.”
The bitterness in his words struck her forcibly, and a renewed anger washed over her. Only this time, her anger was directed at the army.
“You’re serious? After everything you’ve sacrificed, the army is just going to throw you away?”
“Not the army. My esteemed brigade commander.” His gaze did not waver from hers.
She hesitated, her mind racing over the implications of her decision.
“If I do this…” Her voice broke and she fought to keep tears from filling her eyes or her words. “If I do this, it changes nothing between us. You’ll sign the papers and leave once it’s over.”
His nostrils flared slightly, the muscles in his neck tense. “Why would you agree to this?” His voice was harsh.
Because I’ve lost you too many times. I have to walk away. But she didn’t voice the silent cry. She lifted her chin and refused to look away from the dark gaze that held too many secrets and lies. “I don’t want our children to have to visit you in jail.”
* * *
Because he couldn’t help himself, Trent reached for her. Terrified that she would pull away, his fist trembled. The barest brush of his knuckles against her cheek. She shifted, a slight movement away from his touch. A sharp bolt of hurt sliced through him.
“Why would you do this?” he asked again, dreading the answer. He had to know if he had a chance, even the most minute chance, of fixing things with her.
Conflict passed over her features. “Because I want this over and done with. I’m tired of hurting. If this ends the court-martial, then so be it.”
He heard what she did not say: This ends our marriage. Standing there in the fading sunlight, he looked at his wife. At the hurt written on her face. At the stubborn line of her mouth.
He wanted to see her mouth soften. To see her look at him like she used to. He wanted to be that man again: worthy of her.
His sins were legion. He was not a good man. The war had seen to that. But he felt a faint brush of warmth inside him and knew it for what it was: hope. And he reached into the darkness, cupping the light. It was a long time before he spoke. “Thank you, Laura,” he whispered.
“This isn’t for you,” she said softly. She offered him a flat smile that did not meet her eye
s. “This is about moving on. You and I…”
“Laura—”
“Don’t.” Her eyes flashed and he realized he’d pushed too far. “Don’t ask for more than that.” She released a deep breath, looking away. “I have to get the kids.”
He swallowed and nodded, waiting a full breath before following her back up the hill to the car.
Their children had no idea about the world’s dangers. About the pain and suffering he’d seen beaten into younger kids’ faces before they could even walk.
His kids were always there in the back of his mind, but he’d needed to lock away his love for them and focus on his mission. Some of the most important years of their lives were memories captured only in photographs and videos. Memories he would never be a part of. Because war and children did not mix. That much he knew from brutal, firsthand experience.
He’d tried so hard to protect them but he’d failed so miserably. He glanced at Laura as he climbed into the passenger’s seat. In his head, he nurtured a hesitant, fragile fantasy. A fantasy where he offered a tentative smile and her eyes warmed in return. Where for one aching moment, he saw in her eyes the love that he’d betrayed.
A stronger man could fix this. A better man could capture his wife’s love and reclaim her heart. Lay down his weapons and become the husband and father she’d promised to wait for.
The fear was back, tormenting him with doubt and all the ways he’d failed.
It whispered in his ear that he’d already lost her.
He refused to listen to the dark thoughts, the whispered torment. It couldn’t be true.
Because if he lost them, he lost everything.
Chapter Five
“Daddy!”
“Daddy?” Emma’s tiny, squeaky voice echoed her brother’s as both kids barreled toward him as soon as he and Laura walked into the house.
For a brief moment, the noise and chaos of their cries overwhelmed him, and he fought an ingrained reaction to shout for silence. These were his children, not his soldiers, and they were still babies, barely out of diapers.
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