My heart pounded. “The girls know you love them.”
He smiled wryly. “Indeed.”
I got up to clear the table.
“Because of you,” Ash said. “I always counted on you to connect us.”
I concentrated on stacking the dishes. “I didn’t mind. Maybe that was the problem. I was always in the middle.”
He carried his plate to the sink. “You were a wonderful mother.” He stopped behind me. I could feel his heat all along my spine, not touching, just... there. “Area wonderful mother,” he murmured.
I drew a shaky breath. “I could have set a better example. For the girls.”
“I don’t see how.” His breath was warm in my ear.
“I should have spoken up when things bothered me.”
“It’s not your way to complain.”
“No, I just shut down,” I said.
“It’s hard to admit when something’s wrong. To face your fears. Sometimes it’s easier to shut down.”
“Ignore your problems, and they’ll go away?” I shook my head.“That didn’t work for us. I want our daughters to fight for what they want.”
He turned me in his arms. His gaze searched mine. “What do you want, Abby? What are you scared of?”
I’m scared I want you. “I’m afraid to need you.”
“I love you.”
“You left me.”
“You asked me to go.”
“You’d already made your decision. To go to Iraq after my parents died. To go to a conference in D.C. when I was in the hospital. You never asked what I felt, what I thought, what I needed.”
“I was wrong.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does. I was so caught up in what I believed I was called to do, I forgot my first duty was to you and the girls. I’m sorry.”
“It’s too late for that now.”
“Never too late, you said. Abby.” He took my hands in his. Strong hands. Steady hands. Familiar hands. “I love you,” he repeated.
“I’m sorry, too,” I said, and my voice was shaking. “Sometimes love isn’t enough.”
CHAPTER 19
Beth
The following Thursday, I was back in the rehab center outside Staff Sergeant Carlos Cruz’s room. His wife, Jessica, followed me into the hall.
She handed me her phone. “From our wedding day.”
I looked down at the photo. She looked radiant, dancing with the groom in his dress blues. To “Miss You More,” they’d told me. I glanced at her now, in her stretched T-shirt with her hair pulled tight. The ponytail dragged at the tender skin at her temples, giving her a faintly surprised look. Like life wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.
