Always a Warrior(73)

“I almost didn’t come back,” he began as he twirled the wine. “I wasn’t sure if you could ever love me again. I almost chickened out but it’s not the nature of a Navy SEAL to be a coward.” He paused, stared into the dark red liquid, and then looked at her again. “I wanted you to love me again, like you did before.”



“No. Not again, Damien.” She fiddled with the stem of her glass, twirling it on the table, as uncomfortable as he appeared to be. “I never stopped loving you.”



The sudden flare in his eyes had nothing to do with candlelight. “I thought you hated me.

I deserved it.”



Laurie shook her head, sipped her wine, and then lowered the glass once more to the table. “No. I didn’t hate you, though I wanted to, even tried to convince myself I did hate you for a day or two.” She sighed. “I was scared, confused—angry at you.”



“And hurt,” Damien interjected, regret in his eyes as his hand covered hers.



“Yes, hurt,” she admitted. “But even then, I still loved you.”



Tears threatened but she blinked them back. Her hand trembled under his and she tried to draw away but he tightened his grip. She dropped her unsteady gaze to her plate and toyed with her wine glass.



“You forgave me,” he murmured, sounding awed, baffled, and humbled all at once. “I didn’t know if you ever would—or could.” He cleared his throat. “What did I do in the past month to deserve that?”



“Not the last month,” she replied softly. “The day we left the terrorist compound—the day I had to make a killing shot I wasn’t sure I could make.”



“What?” He put his glass down and stared at her.



She squirmed but explained. “I swore I forgave you everything if fate let me make that shot. Nothing else mattered as long as I didn’t have to watch you die.”



“You said that,” he muttered, “that night in that dingy room over the bar.”



“That was only part of it,” she admitted in a low voice. “Of course I didn’t want to watch you die. In spite of everything, I still loved you. I ….” She stopped and bit her lip. “I just couldn’t say it. I knew you didn’t want to hear it.”



With that she did look away. She picked up her fork, toyed with her food, but didn’t eat it. The silence lingered, uncomfortable as a wet blanket in winter. This time when she tried to pull her hand from his, he released her.



“You’re right,” he finally broke the silence. “I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to feel it. And I didn’t want to say it.”



“Why?” she demanded but refused to look at him.



“Because I loved you even then,” he admitted roughly. “And I knew if I said it, my whole life would change. I didn’t want my life to change.”



“I didn’t have to change,” she murmured into her glass, stunned by his admissions.



“I wasn’t ready for it,” he continued as though she had not spoken. “My life was exactly as I wanted it, needed it. I didn’t need anything else. I couldn’t have anything else.”



He stopped and the silence carried an element of expectancy. She lifted her gaze warily to his, knew he would not say another word unless she asked the question. She needed to know ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening

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what made him decide to leave his career. Afraid she knew the answer, and unwilling to shoulder that responsibility, she hesitated. She drew a breath, let it out slowly, and hoped there was a different answer.



“What changed, Damien?”



“Six months of hell,” he muttered with a vicious edge to his voice. Then his tone softened and he looked into her eyes. “I still wanted you. I needed you. And I loved you.”



She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. His skin was warm under her fingertips and her nerves tingled pleasantly when he entwined his fingers with hers. Tears of compassion filled her eyes and she blinked furiously. He’d see it as pity, something he never wanted.



“I watched the news every day.” She couldn’t stop the hitch in her voice. “I wondered where you were—if you survived.”



His fingers tightened on hers. “It wasn’t the work, the job. That was pretty normal.” He paused as though searching for the right words. His voice was gruff when he spoke again.

“Suddenly, it wasn’t enough. All I had were memories. The memories weren’t enough—not when I was alone in my quarters.” He trailed off.