“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. But we need to talk.” He sat at the foot of the bed and pulled her down beside him. He took her hand in his and looked down, then back up to meet her eyes. “Abby, when I said it wasn’t working, I meant I wanted more time, not less. So…it’s not all ironed out yet, but…I’m leaving the team.”
What? The bottom dropped out of her stomach and her fingers tightened around his. That’s the very last thing she’d expected him to say. “Matt…I know you were scared, but—”
“Yeah, it scared the shit out of me, but that’s not why. Look at me, baby.” With a finger under her chin, he raised her face a fraction higher toward his. “I meant it two days ago, before you were hurt, and I mean it now. I want more. I need more.”
She shook her head in disbelief as her mind reeled. He was dangling what she wanted so desperately right in front of her, asking her to reach out for it, to trust it wouldn’t disappear. He was walking away from his team? He couldn’t mean it. She didn’t want to let herself believe it. “But you love being a SEAL.”
“I love you. What will it take for you to believe that?”
Abby stared at their joined hands, and everything she had with him, everything they had together, rushed through her with a terrifying force. The more you have, the more you can lose. “I believe you. That you love me, but…”
“But what?” He took her chin again, forcing her to look him in the eye. “Is this because of Josh? Because you can’t compare us. I won’t be compared to him,” he said sharply. “Abby, I know you’ve been hurt before, but you have to know they didn’t really love you. Not like I do.”
Her heart fell at the truth of it. “I know that.”
“I’m sorry.” Matt brushed a hand over her hair and softened his voice. “I didn’t say that to hurt you.”
“No, you’re right. None of them did, but…my mother…I think she loved me. I—”
“Of course she did, honey. I didn’t mean that, not about your mom, but she died. I know it was hard, but that doesn’t mean—”
“No.” She shook her head. She hadn’t lied to him, but there was lying by omission and it felt like a lie. He was talking about giving up everything he loved, and he didn’t even know the truth. She hadn’t wanted him to know. But that wasn’t fair. He had to know everything before he made a choice.
“You should know the truth.” Abby looked into his confused face and felt a cold sweat break out over her skin. She hated to think it. Never said it. “Before you change your life, you should know. I…My mom—she didn’t get sick like I told you.”
She rose from the bed and moved to the dresser before he could touch her, because if he did she might fall into his arms and never get the courage again.
“Abby?”
She didn’t answer as she opened her jewelry box and lifted the top compartment. In the hidden bottom she had the hospital bracelets of each child, the rosary from her first communion , and a folded piece of paper. She hadn’t looked at it in years, not since Annie was born, and she couldn’t say why she’d looked at it then. Maybe because it’s a day a girl wants her mother.
With shaking fingers and an even shakier heart, she pulled it out and turned to face Matt.
He sat on the edge of her bed, a questioning look on his gorgeous face. She took a deep breath and forced it out. “You asked me once to tell you something no one else knew. The thing is…no one knew any of the things I told you.” Her gaze fell to the carpet. “You probably don’t even remember, but—”
“I do,” Matt said.
She looked up and met his eyes—soft, honest.
“Every word.” He took her hand and tugged until she stood between his knees. “Blue. March third. Real tree. Princess Leia. Lucky Charms in your closet.” A small, sad smile formed on his lips. “Of course I remember, baby. I remember every damn second I’ve ever spent with you.”
Everything inside her expanded and melted. Her eyes burned, but she pressed her lips together, like that would keep her heart together. Matt tried to pull her closer, but she shook her head and held the wrinkled paper out between them. “Something no one knows.”
He took the note. She was thankful for the blur of tears providing a protective haze from his expression when he read the words that had shattered her life.
The paper rattled softly as he unfolded it, still not letting go of her hand. He’d see the words she’d memorized. The ones that played over and over in her mind, mixing with the fresh scent of blood, swirling around her mother’s lifeless eyes. She was sorry. She loved her. But it wasn’t enough.