Andthoughtfultoo. Because he returned from the bathroom with a towel and a glass of water. Both of which he handed to her before climbing into bed and pulling the covers over them.
After she’d taken a drink—more like gulped down the entire glass—and used the towel, she snuggled in beside him. With her leg thrown over his hard, hairy thigh and her head nestled on his chest, she could hear the solid, steady beat of his heart.
Solid and steady. That’s Fisher.
Had he always been that way, she wondered? So dependable? So loyal and true? Or had the Army taken the amorphous lump of clay that was eighteen-year-old Fisher Wakefield and molded him into the man she knew today?
“If you could redo any moment of your life,” she asked, “which would it be?”
She felt him duck his chin to look at her. But she didn’t return the gesture. Instead, she played with the swirling hair over his chest and stared at the window that was covered with a blue tarp.
“Wow. Your pillow talk is really…uh…serious.”
“Considering we’ve known each other for four years and considering what we just did together”—she gestured between them—“I figured I’d skip the small talk and get to the good stuff.”
“Ya considerregretsthe good stuff?”
“No.” She moved her thumb over his flat, brown nipple and watched delightedly as it hardened. “I consider having conversations thatmeansomething to be the good stuff.”
“How ’bout ya go first, then. Ifyoucould redo any moment of your life, which would it be?”
“That’s easy.” She closed her eyes and immediately regretted the decision when the image of Charlie’s bullet-filled body projected itself across the backs of her eyelids. Opening her eyes, she forced herself to focus on the opposite wall, on the festive-looking Mardi Gras masks Fisher had hung on the bricks. “I’d decline Charlie’s invitation to attend his father’s cocktail party. I knew he was more serious than I was. And I knew I wanted to pump the brakes because, as much as I liked him, I’d already resigned myself that I was never going to fall in love with him. If I’d told himanyof that, we wouldn’t have gone to that party, he wouldn’t have sacrificed himself to save me, and he’d still be alive today.”
“Charles McClean’s death is not your fault, Eliza.”
Even though he couldn’t see her, she made a face of regret. “Maybe it wasn’t myfault, but I’m the reason he’s dead.”
“No.” Fisher hooked a thumb under her chin and forced her to look at him. There was such kindness in his eyes that she felt tears tickle the back of her nose. “If ya hadn’t gone to that party, who’s to say he wouldn’t have gone without ya? And even if hehadn’tused his body to shield yours, chances are more than good he’d still be dead anyway. That chef managed to kill most everyone.”
That was true, she supposed.
She opened her mouth to admit as much, but Fisher wasn’t finished. “Charles is the reason you’re alive. But you’re not the reason he’s dead.”
She hadn’t realized how badly she’d needed to hear that logic until he spoke it. The tears that’d tickled her nose rushed to her eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks. She tried to duck her head, but he wouldn’t let her.
“Nod and tell me ya know that what I just said is true.” He used his thumb to brush away her tears.
She nodded and found herself caught up in his arms. And that’s when the tearsreallycame.
He held her through the storm of sorrow and regret, petting her back, murmuring sweet nothings. When her sobs were reduced to sniffles, he pulled a tissue from the box on his bedside table and chuckled when she noisily blew her nose.
Afterward, she released a tired breath and once more lowered her cheek to his chest. There was something infinitely soothing about the hard, rhythmicthudof his heart.
She counted the beats for a minute or two before saying into the quiet of the room, “Your turn.”
She could tell by the hitch in his gentle stroking he’d hoped she’d forgotten he hadn’t answered her question. And when he was quiet for the span of a dozen heartbeats, she thought perhaps he’d choose not to answer at all. But finally…
“I’d go back to the day my mom died.” There was regret in his voice. When she pushed up on her elbow to look at him, she saw the same in his face.
“The day my mom died is one of the worst days of my life.” Her confusion was evident in her tone. “Why would you ever want to go back to that day?”
“Because I might’ve been able to save her.”
Oh, Fisher. Sweet, wonderful,wrongFisher.
She shook her head. “How? You weren’t even there.”
His Adam’s apple worked over a swallow before he hoarsely admitted, “But I was.”
