Her hand tightens on mine.
"I chose Leah." My voice cracks. "I carried her out of that house while my parents burned. A beam fell on her—that's how she got the scar. But she lived. We both lived."
"Garrett..."
"I was nine years old, and I had to choose who lived and who died. And I chose my baby sister." I finally look at her, letting her see the tears I've been holding back for twenty years. "That's why I can't give up on people, Van. That's why I couldn't give up on you. Because I already failed once. I already lost people I loved. And I swore I would never let that happen again."
"You didn't fail." Her voice is fierce, her hands coming up to cup my face. "You were a child. You saved your sister's life."
"And I let my parents die."
"No. The fire let your parents die. You did everything you could." She presses her forehead to mine. "You were nine years old, Garrett. Nine. You made an impossible choice, and you saved a life. That's not failure. That's heroism."
I can't speak.
Can't do anything but hold her, letting the tears fall for the first time in years.
She holds me back, her hands in my hair, her body pressed against mine.
"Thank you for telling me," she whispers. "Thank you for trusting me with that."
"You deserve to know. You deserve to understand why I'm so?—"
"Protective? Stubborn? Incapable of letting go?" She laughs softly. "I love those things about you. Even when they drive me crazy."
We sit there for a long moment, wrapped up in each other.
Then she pulls back, wiping her eyes. "Now. Tell me about Venus."
Right. Venus.
"We hooked up while you were gone. During the separation." I don't sugarcoat it, don't try to make it sound better than it was. "It was just physical. She knew that—I made it clear from the start. You were still my wife. I was just... lonely."
"For the past few years?"
"Off and on. It ended when I decided to give us another real shot. When I found the rehab facility and started making plans." I meet her eyes. "The night before I took you to Pennsylvania, I told her it was over. That you were coming back, and there was no room for her in my life anymore."
Vanna is quiet, processing.
I can see the emotions playing across her face—hurt, jealousy, understanding.
"She's not happy about it," she finally says.
"No. But she knows where she stands. Ruger made it clear—ol’ ladies come first. Always."
"And I'm your ol’ lady."
"You've always been my ol’ lady. Even when you weren't here."
She nods slowly. "Okay. I can deal with that." A small smile tugs at her lips. "Might have to mark my territory a little, though."
"Yeah?" I pull her closer, my hands sliding to her hips. "How do you plan to do that?"
"I have some ideas."
She kisses me, soft and sweet at first, then deeper.
Her fingers find the buttons of my flannel shirt, working them open one by one.
