A voice inside him, the same one that had damned Josh, shouted, You always have a choice.
“There was a moment in that meeting when…I just thought leaving someone to die couldn’t be the right thing.” And he still didn’t know. The idea of coming home that day to Abby, his heart and soul, eating dinner and kissing his children while another man was tortured, made him sick.
Break someone’s heart or let a man die? But seeing her now, broken and crying, he couldn’t help but wish he’d done things differently.
“I’m sorry, baby. I know it doesn’t help, but I am.”
She leaned into him a fraction, then little by little relaxed. They sat that way for a long time, his hands moving lightly over her back, her head tucked under his chin. He thought about how she’d told him about her mom, the anger and helplessness he’d felt.
Never in a million years had he thought he would do the same. That he’d make her question his love or her worth. “It wasn’t because of you, baby. If you believe nothing else, please believe that.”
She nodded but pushed up and out of his arms.
Tony’s words came back to him. There were consequences.
He’d broken his word. He’d left her. And that might be the one thing she could never forgive.
An ice-cold sensation ran through him. His heart pounded as he stood and again closed the gap between them. “Please tell me I’m not losing you.”
Abby turned and looked up at him, her expression full of pain and hurt. The long seconds of silence were deafening.
Her chin quivered, her green eyes an ocean of tears. “I forgive you, I do, and I understand. It’s just…” She shook her head slowly. “My heart broke, Matt. It broke. And if you left again…if I ended up like my mom—”
“Abby.” He took her face in his hands, forcing her eyes to see him, hoping she would look deeper. “Look at me. I won’t leave you again. I swear it.”
“You say that now, but how do you know? How do you know you won’t feel that pull again? I jump every time the phone rings. When you leave the room, I think I should have said goodbye. I’m afraid every second and I hate it. I can’t—”
“You can. You can, baby.” The look on her face threatened to bring him to his knees. He pulled her against him, held her tightly. “I’m not rushing you. I don’t mean to. I’m just…” so fucking terrified I’m losing you.
Her arms came around him in a death grip. Holding on to him even though he was the one who’d caused the hurt. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.”
And they would be. He’d wait for her to trust him again—as long as it took, he’d wait.
He’d make it okay. He couldn’t accept anything else.
—
Matt was gone when Abby woke up. Even though he’d told her he had to go to the base for a debriefing, she fought the fear reflex and the nausea. The kids were in school. Mary slept soundly in her swing. It was Friday. The day before her wedding.
Her mind was working overtime to wrap around all that had happened. She’d thought he was dead, then he was back. He promised he’d never leave her again, and he meant it. She didn’t doubt that.
But he’d meant it before.
Angie called around noon to check on her. “You sure you don’t want me to come up tonight?”
“No. There’s no need. I promise. We’re just going to spend a quiet night, get to bed early. Hopefully.”
Joe couldn’t get off work until late and Abby didn’t want them to have to bring two cars. There would be no party tonight; she’d insisted. Matt’s family had done enough, and it had all come together in record time.
Knowing the town better than Abby did, Matt’s family had arranged everything—the church, the reception venue, the band. She and Marge had ordered the flowers and the catered food just after Thanksgiving. The fact that Abby could even entertain second thoughts had already made her physically ill once this morning.
“So,” Angie said, “how are you? And if you say you’re fine I swear I will come there right now and slap you.”
Abby let out a little laugh. She could always count on Angie to lighten the mood. Maybe she should let her friend come up early. But what if she couldn’t do it? What if she needed more time? “I’m okay. Can I say that?”
“And Matt?”
Abby stared at the diamond-shaped tiles of the kitchen sink’s backsplash, remembering another time she’d stood here, Matt behind her, his lips on her neck. “He’s fine.” The words were out before she even thought. Maybe Angie had been right about her automatic response. Because Matt was far from fine. He’d held her last night, and she’d cried. They’d cried together. For the pain she’d suffered, for the distance lingering between them, for the fear they’d lost something they could never get back.