“I’m sorry,” she whispered, forcing the words out.
“Thank you for staying with me. My life was so empty, Grace,” he murmured. “For so long, I was a part of something, and then I wasn’t.”
“I know.” She nodded. “You told me how much the military meant to you.”
“No. Not that. You.” Fiercely, he clasped her face in both palms and lifted her head and spoke directly to her soul. “Grace. Please. We have to find a way to make it work this time because I can’t do this without you. I need you. I love you. I always have.”
And then he was kissing her, pouring a hundred different meanings into it. Longing. Distress. Passion. Fear.
She kissed him back, because yes, she felt those things, too. He was telling her what she meant to him, first verbally and then through their kiss, and she was finally listening. But this was how it was with them. She got her hopes up and he dashed them.
What could possibly be different this time? She took the kiss down a notch, and then pulled back. “Sit down with me and let’s talk. For once.”
That was not what she’d meant to say. She should have said no. Told him flat out that they were not happening again. But the eagerness on his face at her suggestion—maybe talking was that start toward something different than what she’d been looking for.
“We’re not so good at the talking, are we?” he asked rhetorically, and let her lead him to the couch. They settled in together and held hands as they watched the monitors beep and shush for a moment. “I’m sorry about Emma Jane.”
That was so out of the blue, she glanced at him sideways. “I’ve already forgotten that.”
“I haven’t. It was low. And totally unfair to both of you. I apologized to her, too.” He stared at Maddie, his gaze uneasy. “I wish I had a better excuse for why I did it. I have a hard time just coming out and saying what’s going on with me.”
She bit her tongue—hard—to keep from blurting out, Hallelujah and amen. She didn’t say a word. Barely.
“It doesn’t come naturally,” he continued, his voice strained, and her heart ached a little as he struggled to form his thoughts. “I’m used to being stomped on by people I trust, and I guess I have a tendency to keep my mouth shut. My rationale is that if I don’t tell people what I’m feeling, I don’t get hurt.”
The tears that had been threatening spilled over then, sliding down her face as she heard the agony in his words. He fell silent for a moment, and she started to give him a pass on whatever else he was about to say, but he glanced at her and used his thumb to wipe the trail of tears from her cheek.
His lips lifted in a wry smile. “Guess what? It doesn’t work.”
Vehemently, she shook her head, more tears flying. “No, it doesn’t. If I’d just told you how I was feeling ten years ago instead of breaking up with you and then pulling that ridiculous stunt with Liam, we’d be at a different place. Instead, I hurt both of us for no reason.”
All of that had been born out of her own inability to tell him what was going on with her. They were so alike, it was frightening. How had she never realized that?
“I’ve already forgotten that,” he said, and this time, his smile was genuine and full.
“I haven’t,” she shot back sarcastically in a parody of their earlier conversation. “I spent ten years trying to forget you, and guess what? It doesn’t work.”
“For the record, I forgave you way before I ever showed up at your door with those poor flowers.”
Chagrin heated her cheeks. That was mercy she didn’t deserve. Actually, none of this was what she deserved—which would be for Kyle to walk out of this room with his daughter and never speak to her again.
Instead, it looked as though they were on the verge of a real second chance. Please, God. Let that be true.
“I’m sorry about the flowers. I was just so hurt and mad. It never even occurred to me that part of the problem was that I wasn’t opening my mouth any more than you were. I don’t even have a good excuse. So I’m trying to do things differently this time. Starting now.” She covered their joined hands with her other one, aching to touch him, to increase the contact just a bit. “I have a hard time with separating what I think something should look like from reality. I wanted you to be dashing and romantic. Sweep me off my feet with over-the-top gestures and babble on with pretty poetry about how I was your sun and moon. Silly stuff.”
Saying it out loud solidified that fact as she took in Kyle’s still closely shorn hair that the military had shaped. He’d traveled to the other side of the world in defense of his country, seeing and doing things she could only imagine. What could be more dashing and romantic than that?