Starfish pier, p.27
Starfish Pier, page 27
Without missing a beat, he slipped out of his own jacket and draped it around her shoulders.
“I can’t take this.” She tried to shrug it off. “You’ll freeze.”
He held it firmly in place. “Believe me, I’m not in the least cold—and I’ve been in conditions far more frigid than this with less to keep me warm. I don’t want the weather to interrupt this conversation.”
They were tracking the same direction.
Maybe it was time to broach the subject of his other secrets.
Snuggling deeper into the jacket infused with his body heat, she tried to psyche herself up to take the plunge. After all, a shy woman who hated the limelight yet found the courage to stand up in front of a crowd—and TV cameras—ought to be able to talk to one person.
But this was harder in many respects than what she’d done earlier, given that the outcome of this conversation had a bearing on her entire future.
As her mom had always told her whenever a new surgery was imminent, though, the only way to secure a better future was to tackle the hard stuff in the present.
That was as true on an interpersonal level as it had been for her physical challenges through the years.
A stray, passing cloud covered the moon, casting a black shroud over the scene—and under the cover of darkness, she broached the subject he’d been avoiding for weeks.
“Steven—can I ask you a question?”
Beside her, she could feel him tense. “I guess.”
“You said once that if you were in the market for a relationship, I’d be at the top of your list. I thought you were pushing me away because you were grieving over your wife—but I have a feeling it’s more than that.”
Only the muted thunder of waves crashing against the jagged offshore rocks broke the silence as she held her breath.
Finally he responded. “That’s not a question.”
And that wasn’t an answer.
“You know what I’m asking.”
“Yeah. I do.” He exhaled and scooped up a handful of sand. Let it sift through his fingers. “Your intuition is correct. It’s more than that.” Lifting his head, he surveyed the horizon, giving her a view of his strong, shadowed profile etched against the dark water. “I haven’t told anyone else this yet, but I met with Reverend Baker and Father Murphy a few days ago to let them know I’m interested in the director position at Helping Hands. At their request, I also talked with Michael Hunter.”
At the non sequitur, she frowned. “I don’t . . . how is that relevant to our discussion?”
“I was worried my history could be a deterrent for that job—like it could be a deterrent for us.”
“How did they react?”
“They were more open-minded than I expected. They’re considering my application.”
“And you don’t think I’d be willing to do the same—for a different, more personal position?”
“Given who you are, and your own history—I’m not certain.” His response was slow and deliberate, as if he’d already given her question a great deal of thought.
“Then why don’t you tell me and let me decide?”
He turned to her, and despite the dim light she could feel the intensity of his gaze. “You want the truth?”
“Yes.”
“Because I’m afraid you’ll bolt—and the possibility that you could disappear from my life scares me.”
The air whooshed out of her lungs.
The man was laying it all out there. Exposing his deepest feelings. Putting his heart on the line.
Before she could formulate a response, he continued.
“From the instant I laid eyes on you, my world shifted. For years I was a loner, doing my job, wrestling with my private demons, living a solitary, isolated life. Meeting you made me want more. Chemistry may have ignited the spark, but as I’ve gotten to know you, that spark has flamed into a blaze I can’t quench. When I’m not with you, I think about you. When I am with you, I want . . .” His voice hoarsened, and he raked his fingers through his hair.
As the silence lengthened, she touched his hand. “What do you want?” A husky whisper was all she could manage.
He dipped his chin. Stroked an unsteady finger across her knuckles, the caress whisper soft. “Too much.”
Holly stopped breathing.
Waited.
But he didn’t make the obvious next move.
If romance was in the cards for this evening, apparently she was going to have to initiate it.
Her pulse picked up.
Could she be so bold?
Should she be?
Maybe he was the wise one, thinking this through instead of taking a step that would lead them into new territory and forever change the landscape of their relationship. Maybe she should exercise restraint too. Maybe she’d live to regret it if she followed her heart and took the initiative.
Yet she wanted this as much as he did. Wanted a memory to hold forever if this ended up being a farewell kiss rather than the beginning of a grand romance.
As it very well could be, depending on what he was so afraid to share with her.
But if it was, at least she’d have this moment to remember—and savor.
Pushing aside her doubts, Holly slowly leaned toward him.
He didn’t back away.
Instead, with a slight groan—and a sigh of surrender—he met her halfway and lowered his mouth to hers, his lips tender yet demanding. Gentle yet hungry. Giving as much as taking, both leading and following, seeming to know exactly what she wanted and how to please her.
Mercy.
This man knew how to kiss.
Major league.
As the embrace went on and on . . . as passion surged . . . she lost track of time.
Or maybe it stopped.
Hard to tell, when the world around you ceased to exist. When you were alone in a universe of your own, spinning through the firmament, propelled by a powerful surge of emotion as impossible to stop as the tide.
Until all at once Steven wrenched free and spoke ragged words that brought her crashing back to earth in a hard landing.
“I’m sorry, Holly. That was a mistake.”
23
Talk about a colossal tactical error.
As shock, dismay, and embarrassment chased away the tender warmth that had softened Holly’s features, Steven’s gut clenched.
Great way to win a lady’s heart, Roark. Why don’t you throw in a few other insults while you’re at it—or kick her in the teeth?
Holly’s breath hitched, and she started to pull back.
He gripped her shoulders. “Wait. Let me rephrase that.” He chose his words more carefully this go-round. “The kiss wasn’t a mistake—but it was premature. I told myself I wouldn’t do that until . . . or unless . . . you gave me a green light after you were fully briefed on my background. Somehow my emotions overpowered my self-discipline—a rare occurrence that speaks volumes about the strength of your appeal. As for the kiss . . . if you want a repeat performance later, I’m all in.”
Beneath his fingers, the tension in her shoulders diminished. “Thanks for clarifying. I was afraid my kissing wasn’t up to your standards. I haven’t had all that much practice.”
The knot in his stomach loosened. She wasn’t going to hold his stupid comment against him.
He could only hope she’d be as generous as the next few minutes unfolded.
“Then you have incredible natural ability.” He released her and repositioned himself to get an optimal view of her reactions. Body language was often more telling than verbal cues. The darkness hid subtle details, but there was sufficient luminous light to reveal clues that would help him gauge her reaction to his story.
A reaction that could very well be negative.
It was possible the glow in her eyes, generated by far more than reflected moonlight, would vanish—and he had to be prepared for that.
But what was he going to do if she walked away forever?
His stomach bottomed out.
Reconnecting with Patrick and his family had eased his loneliness, but that didn’t take the place of a family of his own. Or of Holly—and the bright future he could envision with her.
A surge of panic swept over him, as powerful and relentless as a riptide.
What if—
“Steven.” She rested a hand on his knee. “Just tell me.”
He reined in his turbulent emotions.
Yeah.
That’s what he needed to do.
Playing out what-if scenarios had been helpful in The Unit, but his life wasn’t in danger here. Only his heart.
And unlike combat situations, where decisions had to be immediate, he’d have time to develop a survival plan after the fact if his worst fears came to fruition.
“My story isn’t pretty.”
“I didn’t think it would be.”
“It may not be one you can live with.” No sense dancing around the danger.
“I’m aware of that. But I learned long ago during my surgical cycles that delaying the inevitable is useless—and can sometimes make matters worse. If there’s hard stuff to deal with, it’s better to get it over with . . . and hope the outcome is positive. If it’s not—you pick yourself up and move on.”
“An admirable philosophy.”
“Developed in the school of hard knocks.” She offered him the flicker of a smile.
“I know.” While Holly’s life had been far more sheltered than his, she’d endured her share of trials—and they’d forged a strong spirit. She was a survivor, like he was. She’d be able to handle what he had to tell her.
Perhaps with more grit and grace than he would handle her reaction, if this went south.
“The floor . . . or the dune . . . is yours.” She gave him her full attention.
Steven gripped the edge of the blanket and filled his lungs with the briny air. “I’ve only told this story to three people—and even they don’t know all the details. I’d ask that you keep this confidential.”
“That goes without saying. And thank you in advance for trusting me with such personal information.” Warmth infused her voice.
He acknowledged her comment with a dip of his head. “I told you my wife died four years ago—but I never told you the circumstances. The story actually begins eleven months before her death . . . with a pregnancy neither of us expected.”
Twin furrows appeared on Holly’s brow—but she remained silent.
“It happened while I was home on a brief leave, after being deployed a few weeks into our marriage. When the leave ended, I went back to the Middle East—and two months later, I got the news in an email.”
Somewhere in the distance, the mournful whistle of a train echoed in the night, and the coil of tension in Steven’s stomach tightened. “This isn’t . . . it’s harder than I expected to spit this out.” An apt description for how he felt about exorcising the vile truth.
“It doesn’t have to be, if you let God walk with you and follow where he leads.”
“Following isn’t my style. I’m used to being in charge.”
“Or thinking you are.”
Her correction was gentle—but she had a point.
He took a mental step back. Recalibrated.
Okay, God, I’m acknowledging you’re in control here. That you run the show. Please guide me through this confession.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He plunged back in, forcing out the words. “I have to admit, I’d never given much thought to being a father. Not that I was opposed to it, but I always envisioned parenthood somewhere in the far distant future. My focus in those days was on my career. I’m ashamed to admit even Laura took second place to The Unit—and she realized that not long after we were married.”
Confession number one was out.
He swallowed . . . and for a brief instant he had an inkling of how potent Patrick’s cravings for alcohol could be. For the first time in four years, he longed for a stiff drink to soften the edges of his ragged emotions.
“You’re doing fine.” Holly touched his knee again, the warmth of her fingers seeping through his slacks, her encouragement propping up his faltering fortitude.
Keep going, Roark. You’ve defeated enemy insurgents in life-and-death battles. You can crush your fears and get through this.
He fisted his hands and continued.
“When I got Laura’s email, I was shocked. We’d both agreed the timing wasn’t ideal to start a family, and we’d taken precautions. As the doctor told her, however, no form of birth control is infallible except abstinence.”
“How did she feel about the pregnancy?”
“She was stunned too, but after she got over the initial surprise, she was happy about it. Me—not so much. I figured I had seven months to get used to the idea, though, and that I’d come up with a plan to juggle a wife and family with my work in The Unit. Then, four weeks later, I got another email.” He paused.
Holly waited a few seconds. “Something happened to the baby?”
“No. Not in the sense you mean. But a screening test during Laura’s first trimester showed a marker for Down syndrome. A follow-up test confirmed that diagnosis. She was shattered and distraught. I was upset . . . and angry . . . and frustrated.”
“I expect all of those were normal reactions.” Holly’s expression didn’t change, but a slight note of caution had crept into her tone.
“Maybe. And being thousands of miles apart didn’t help. We were each dealing with the crisis in isolation. I did tons of research on the condition, and most of what I read was discouraging—and scary.” He braced for confession number two. “In the end, I concluded that given the demands of my job and my inability to provide much moral support in the immediate future, we should . . . terminate the pregnancy.”
That was the phrase he’d used with Laura too. It sounded less callous than kill the baby.
But that’s what abortion did—as the woman sitting inches away well knew. She could have become a statistic herself, given the abortion rate for children with spina bifida.
“Did your wife agree?” Holly’s question was subdued, and her complexion had paled—unless the moonlight was playing tricks on him.
“Not at first—but I built a compelling case. Listed all the potential medical problems for children with Down syndrome. Told her this was the decision made by the vast majority of couples in our situation. Painted a dismal picture of how difficult it would be for her to cope with all the physical challenges our child would have. In the end, she caved under my pressure.”
“Did you come home?”
“I offered to try and get a leave, but she said she’d handle it. And she did. The whole experience took a toll on her, though—and on us.”
Holly didn’t say anything.
She didn’t have to.
Any decent man would have moved heaven and earth to be with his wife during such a traumatic experience.
Keep going, Roark. Get it all out there. Every last, ugly piece.
“I take full blame for the decision. I pushed Laura into it. I wish I could say my motives were noble, that I wanted to spare the child all the difficulties that condition can entail—but the truth is, I wanted to spare myself. It was a selfish decision, one born of fear and an unwillingness to be inconvenienced.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I know this doesn’t change the past or undo the mistake, but if I was faced with the decision again, I’d make a different choice.”
Only the waves crashing against the rocks filled the silence that stretched between them as he waited for her reaction.
At last Holly exhaled. “I didn’t expect . . . this wasn’t on my radar screen. I mean . . . I knew whatever you were keeping from me would be a challenge to deal with, but I didn’t . . . I guess I never expected it to hit this close to home. It’s a lot to process.”
And he wasn’t through yet.
If he was going to bare his soul, he had to put every transgression on the table so there were no dark secrets between them that could lead to conflict down the road.
He had to confess sin number three.
“There’s more.”
Her head jerked up, like a dazed boxer trying to prepare for the second of a one-two punch. “More?”
“Yeah. I told you, it’s not a pretty story.” He crossed his legs and gripped his knees. “After the abortion, I was relieved . . . but Laura was plagued by guilt. She began taking meds for depression. When I came home on leave, I began to worry she was becoming dependent on drugs to get her through the day—and guilt began to eat at me over what I’d more or less forced her to do.”
“She could have refused.”
Steven was tempted to agree to lessen his culpability—but that would be disingenuous.
“I’m not certain that’s true, given all the pressure I put on her and the scare tactics I employed about what we—mostly she—would be facing with a Down syndrome baby.”
“Did you think about leaving the service?”
“No. Another failure on my part—and another indication of my selfishness. All my life I’d wanted to be part of Delta Force, and I wasn’t willing to give up that dream for the woman I loved or the child we created. I won’t offer any excuses for my behavior. What I did was wrong, plain and simple.”
“How long were you home on leave?”
“Three weeks. Not long enough. I did set up a meeting with a counselor for Laura, and I went with her to the first session. She promised she’d continue seeing the woman after I went back overseas.”
“Did she?”
“No. I thought she was, but I found out later she stopped after four sessions.” He swallowed. “One day I got called in to see my commanding officer. The chaplain was with him. I knew it was bad news—but it was far worse than I imagined. Laura had been found dead from a drug overdose.”
Holly drew in a sharp breath—but didn’t speak.
“Her death was ruled accidental, but I’ve never been convinced that was true, given her depression. The depression I caused.” He blinked to clear away the moisture misting his vision. “So not only did I destroy our baby’s life, I may also be responsible for my wife’s death. I should have been there for her. Until the day I die, I’ll regret those mistakes.” His voice broke.
