“That’s not what his note said.” He’d never forget that moment when Nick Perrin walked in on them in bed. He’d scrambled to dress and gave chase, but it was too late. Nick had scrawled a suicide note, put a gun in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.
You took my only reason to live. I hope you’re happy together. I hope it was worth it.
Johanna closed her eyes. “I know. I remember every word.”
“He blamed us.”
“I know.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “But that doesn’t mean we’re guilty.”
He scoffed. “How long did it take to convince yourself of that?”
“Five years,” Johanna whispered. “But I didn’t believe it until I saw you again.”
She moved to the couch and sank down, looking smallagainst the worn leather. The dim light from the tree cast shadows across her face, highlighting the hollow beneath her cheekbone, the slight tremble of her lower lip.
“I was little more than a teenager when I married Nick,” she said. “I thought my future was so rosy then. I was naive. I had no idea what marrying a soldier meant, that every deployment would take more of him until he was a stranger. But, still. I’m trained to see the signs. I should’ve recognized what was happening and intervened sooner.”
Walker stood rooted to the spot, the half-decorated tree forgotten between them. “You can’t save everyone, Jo.”
Her laugh was bitter. “Isn’t that what you’re trying to do here? Save everyone?”
The truth of it stung. He moved to the woodstove, opened the grate, and tossed in another log. Sparks scattered upward, briefly illuminating the room. “Maybe we’re both trying to pay off debts that can’t be paid.”
“Maybe.” She pulled her knees to her chest, curling into herself. “Or maybe we’re just two people who’ve spent too long punishing ourselves for things we couldn’t control.”
He finally moved, crossing the room to sit beside her. The couch cushion dipped beneath his weight, bringing them closer than he’d intended. Her knee brushed his thigh, and despite the cold in the room, heat flashed through him. It had been five years since he’d been this close to her, close enough to smell the faint scent of lavender that always clung to her hair, to see the tiny scar at the corner of her right eyebrow from a childhood fall.
“Jo.” Her name came out like a plea. For what, he wasn’t sure.
She looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the glow of the Christmas lights. “I’ve missed hearing you call me that.”
His throat tightened. “I’ve missed saying it.”
The confession cost him a piece of the armor he’d built around himself these past years.
“I thought about you,” she said softly. “Every day.”
His hand moved of its own accord, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered at her temple, tracing the line of her cheekbone. “I tried not to think about you. Didn’t work.”
Her eyes closed at his touch, and he watched her swallow. When she opened them again, something had shifted. The careful distance she’d maintained since arriving was gone, replaced by a look he recognized—the same one she’d given him the first time they’d kissed, a mixture of fear and want that mirrored his own.
“We shouldn’t,” she murmured, even as she leaned into his touch.
“I know.” But he didn’t move away. Instead, his hand slid to cup the back of her neck, feeling the warmth of her skin, the softness of her hair between his fingers.
She was so close now he could feel her breath against his lips. Time seemed to stretch and compress all at once. Five years of separation, of guilt and longing, distilled into this single moment.
He leaned forward, drawn by a gravity he couldn’t resist. Their foreheads touched, then the tips of their noses. Her lips parted slightly in a silent invitation.
A deafening crash shattered the moment.
They jerked apart as glass exploded inward from the window, showering the floor with glittering shards. Cold air rushed into the room, bringing with it a spray of snow and ice.
“What the hell?” He was on his feet in an instant, positioning himself between Johanna and the broken window. His heart hammered in his chest, military training kicking in as he scanned for threats.
A massive pine branch lay halfway through the shattered window, its needles dusted with snow and ice.
Just a branch, not an attack.
