"But this thing that I can't even label can be so loud in my head sometimes. It would keep me up at night and the only way to silence it was to go out on anther gig. By then I needed something more dangerous, more intense to keep me going. So I went to Mexico and did stories on missing women and on the drug cartel. I went to Nigeria and covered the political unrest. I photographed stories on human trafficking in the Ivory Coast, and the corruption in Russia. The last story I did with Bowen before Syria was about an international child porn ring and that nearly did me in."
Her hands crept up over his and she squeezed his palms tightly.
He stopped then, gazing down at her small hands and pain lashed across his chest. It was a pain that was buried so deep he grunted from the pressure.
"Why did you go to Syria?"
How much of this should he share? He looked up at Sabrina, at eyes that were so full of concern and empathy and tenderness, and he knew nothing but the absolute truth would do.
"I was over there with a group of men, some of them Seals and some of them former black ops now working on a contract basis for the government. I wasn't there as a journalist. I was there as a soldier. A hired gun so to speak. Our team leader, Dallas, was a guy I knew from my Seal days. Our purpose was to gather intel on several militant groups in the area and report back with our findings. Sure it was dangerous as hell, but it should have been a quick in and out.
"It was cold the night everything went down. We were camped out in the hills and had received intel the day before that two British journalists who'd been taken prisoner a few days before we'd arrived, were being held in a town not far from where we were. We were told they were going to be executed that night and got permission to go in and to see if a rescue was possible. It went south pretty fast."
He blinked hard as the memories washed over him. The gunfire. The flashes of light. The screams of terror.
"In the end we were holed up in a shelled out dump at the edge of the town. The intel was bad, the journalists were nowhere near us, and we were trapped by extremists. Then this kid appears out of nowhere. I had my weapon on him and he looked at me. I remember thinking that he reminded me of Tucker when we were that age."
Horror flashed across Sabrina's face and she squeezed his hand even harder. "My job was to watch the exit. To take out anyone who crossed it. I hesitated. Didn't take the shot and the kid fired a weapon from underneath his clothes. He got Dallas and all hell broke loose. I didn't hesitate after that. I took out the threat, but it was too late."
"Teague," she whispered, leaning forward. "I'm so sorry."
"That kid haunts me. That kid and the fact that we never saw Dallas again. We were held in a hole in the ground for days and when our guys came and got us out, we left Dallas back there. We left Dallas back there," he repeated hoarsely.
He saw the question in her eyes and he didn't hesitate to answer.
"A couple weeks ago Richard Bowen, a journalist I've worked with in the past, got a tip that Dallas might still be alive and being held somewhere in Syria."
"Why wouldn't your government act on that?"
"The government works on numbers. Cause and effect. Win and loss. They can't act until they have proof." He paused because this was the important part. "You understand why I have to go, don't you Sabrina?"
She hesitated and his spirits slumped.
"I think that you need closure and I think that you need the danger. That it's part of who you are. I think that adrenaline is the diet that feeds your soul and that one day you hope that piece inside you stops spinning."
She got it. He felt as if the monkey on his back was finally on the run. She got it.
Her eyes were full of tears and one slowly wove its way down her face. He wiped it away with his thumb.
"And you'll keep doing what you do even if it costs you your life."
He had nothing to say to that because it was probably true, so he took a moment and gathered his thoughts and asked the one question that had been haunting him all day.
"Can I come and see you when I get back?"
The pulse at her throat beat crazily as a fresh wave of tears filled her eyes. "When do you leave?" she asked quietly.
"Five days," he replied.
A heartbeat passed.
"Okay then," she said, sliding over to him and nestling into his arms. He closed his eyes and inhaled her scent, holding it deep inside him for as long as he could.
"Let's make the most of them."
Much later, Teague would realize that Sabrina had never answered his question and by then, it would be too late.
Chapter Twenty-two
The next four days passed in a blur. Sabrina spent every moment that she could with Teague-lazy days on the beach, afternoons out on the boat, and they made love under the cover of darkness, when her children were asleep.
Teague never stayed the night and when he left her alone, she would wrap herself in a blanket that still carried his scent. She would sit on the deck and watch the night stars and think about small things.
She would think about how his eyes darkened when he was inside her. And how cute the dimple was on his right cheek. She'd remember how tender his touch was when he held her in the dark. And how his last kiss before he left her each night was as light as a butterfly kiss.
It was a heavy thing to know that she'd fallen in love with a man who was leaving her, and it had taken everything she had to carry on through the days and nights without breaking down.
And here it was. Teague's last night in Gravenhurst, and she'd been on the verge of tears all day. They were celebrating the twins birthday even though it wasn't for two more days.
"Mommy, Tigger picked some flowers for the table."
Sabrina wiped at her eyes and winced. Shit. Her fingers were covered in onion juice. Morgan's eyes nearly popped out of her head when Sabrina swore.
"That's at least a fiver in the swear jar."
She nodded at her daughter and rinsed her eyes out, before rifling through the cupboards looking for a vase. The wild flowers were gorgeous and she busied herself arranging them, while trying to keep her emotions in check.
"Why are you sad?" Morgan asked, climbing onto the chair beside Sabrina. Her daughter had pulled on her favorite princess dress for Teague's last supper and she was excited for him to see it.
"I'm not sad."
"You were crying."
"That was the onions, pumpkin. They always make me cry."
Morgan's little brows furrowed and she picked up a purple petal that had fallen onto the table. She rolled it between her fingers.
"I'm sad," Morgan said slowly, glancing up at her mother.
Sabrina stopped arranging the flowers and tried to keep it together. She counted to five and then exhaled before turning to her daughter once more.
"Why are you sad, honey?"
"Because Tigger has to go away."
"Well, sweetie. It's normal to feel sad when a friend leaves us."
She nodded enthusiastically. "Tigger's one of my bestest friends. I wish he didn't have to go."
"I know." What else could she say to that?
The door to the cottage flew open at that point and Harry, Bingo, and Teague appeared. Her son's face was flushed and he skipped over to the table. "Do you like the flowers, Mommy?"
"I do," she answered softly, eyes moving from her son to the man who stood a few inches behind him. "They're beautiful."
Teague's hair was wet, as if he was fresh from the shower, and he wore a crisp white dress shirt with navy slacks. She'd never seen him in anything other than cargos and jeans, and with that slow lopsided smile creeping over his face, the man literally took her breath away.
This was another layer to Teague Simon that she hadn't yet experienced. Another layer she was going to miss.
"Who are these two handsome men in our house, Morgan?" she asked lightly, hoping all evidence of her tears were gone. She didn't want anything to spoil this night.
"Mommy you should put on a princess dress too!" her daughter shouted, sliding off the chair. She jumped up and down. "Then you can look like me."
"Hmm," Sabrina said, glancing down at Morgan. "I don't know if I have a princess dress in my closet."
"Yes you do. The blue one that Daddy likes."
She stared down at her daughter for so long that Harry yanked on her arm and asked her if she was okay.
"I'm good sweetie," she said, rumpling his hair before glancing up at Teague. "I'm going to change for dinner, okay? I'll be back in a few minutes."
She flashed them all a quick smile and retreated to the back of the cottage. She needed some space, a few minutes to herself. Her clothes were in the spare room but the dress Morgan was talking about, well, that particular dress was in her bedroom.
She wasn't sure how long she stood in front of the door but eventually she opened it. The hinges creaked a little and she winced, slipping inside before she could change her mind.