“Why?” he asked, smiling down at her sadly. “You shouldn’t have to live with this.”
“I want to share everything with you.” The moment she spoke the words, she regretted them. It was too soon. Or was it? Her heart felt oversized in her chest, full of sorrow and hurt over what he’d borne, and yet still he’d become this wonderful man. She almost held her breath, wondering if he’d push her away now, if he’d think she was getting too close.
“It was a routine mission until we started being shelled,” he said in a hushed voice. “I called in the air strike on our position, knowing it was a Danger Close target. I might have saved some of the others after the bomb fell, but I’m no hero, Brooke.”
She leaned into him, focused on his pain. “I know there’s more. Tell me. Tell me what happened. Keeping it inside can only tear you apart.”
He rested his hands on her shoulders and suddenly his breath seemed to catch, and a spasm of pain twisted his features. “They told me the wrong bomb size,” he whispered. “I calculated the coordinates for a 250-pound bomb, but they dropped a 500. The blast radius—” And then he broke off with a choked gasp.
She pressed her lips together to keep from crying out, knowing it wasn’t what he needed. He wouldn’t want to hear her protests that it was an accident, that he wasn’t the one who made the mistake. He knew all that, but the grief and the guilt still made him bleed inside.
“If I wouldn’t have called in a strike, more of my men would be alive,” he finished.
“You can’t know that, Adam.” She kept her voice calm and gentle. She wanted to insist, You were under attack! Without the bomb, something else bad would have happened, maybe even your own death! She felt a swirl of nausea in her stomach at the thought.
His hands gripped her shoulders almost painfully, but she knew he didn’t realize what he was doing.
“I don’t like being called a hero,” he said, giving a sigh, even as his fingers relaxed. “And now you know why.”
“But Adam, did you ever think Coach already knows the facts and thinks you’re a hero anyway? Can’t you search for this kind of stuff online?”
Then he stared down at her, and the light above them caught his square jaw, the way his Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed. “Maybe.”
And then he buried his face in her neck, and she clutched him, trying to share all her strength.
She kissed the side of his head, his neck, whatever she could reach.
“I don’t want you to worry about me,” he said, his voice muffled. “I know I have to forgive myself, that I can’t let guilt and regret rule me. I’m working on it.”
They held each other, and she thought of all the terrible things that had happened to him. He didn’t have any kind of life in Valentine Valley—only dreadful memories of parents who treated him like unwanted garbage, and a grandma who couldn’t save him. Had he been too young to understand why not? Had he lain awake wondering why no one wanted him?
She wanted to protest that he had her, but maybe he didn’t want to hear that. Maybe he never wanted to hear that. She gave a little shiver, and he suddenly straightened from their embrace. She saw a flash of his tired smile in the darkness.
He had so much courage, she realized in wonder. He’d left their small town and braved war and danger, and now he was trying to summon up a new courage, to go on when it seemed the worst had happened. Somehow, she had to follow his example, to find whatever she needed in her life and make it happen.
“It’s cold out here,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “We should get you back inside.”
She nodded, preceding him into the little hall with its two doors.
“Where’s that one go?” he asked.
“Emily’s old apartment. It’s pretty cute. Right in the heart of town.”
“You sound . . . wistful. Do you wish you lived in town?”
“Oh, no, of course not. I have my family.”
“That was a very quick denial.” One side of his mouth turned up. “We wouldn’t have to sneak around anymore. There’d be no one to care that I spent the night in your bed.” Then he put his arms around her in that little hallway.
“Well, making you happy is all that matters,” she answered.
She got a chuckle out of him and was so relieved. For just a moment, she rested her head against his strong shoulder and closed her eyes.
“Someone could see us,” she murmured, not moving. He smelled good—she felt so good.
His hands moved up and down her back, and even through her jacket, she absorbed the strength of them, the steadiness. She remembered every moan those hands had elicited from her. He kissed the side of her head, and she snuggled beneath his chin. When he looked down at her, she couldn’t resist, but kissed him slowly, gently, searching for something, but she didn’t know what. His tongue parted her lips, and she let it happen, knew if anyone came looking for them, they’d see—