Worth the Fall (The McKinney Brothers, #1)(92)

Mommy, where’s Matt? When is he coming back? Does he miss us?

Abby had answered each time with an encouraging hug, even as she broke apart inside. Of course he’s coming back. Of course he misses you.

If he got kilt by the bad guys, will we have a funewal like we did for Daddy? Will he still be our new daddy? Will we have two daddies in heaven? Will they be fwiends?

She had no answers to these questions. And then last night, through heavy tears, the one that had broken her.

Why doesn’t God want me to have a daddy?

She’d gathered Gracie into her lap while they’d cried together.

But Annie asked no questions. She was more closed-up than ever, barely acknowledging his absence. Jack was deep in denial.

Maybe they should move somewhere new instead of going back to Raleigh, somewhere Matt had never been. Somewhere there were no memories.

Distance yourself. Don’t care.

She glanced down at the floor, where she’d pulled the quilt from the bed, not wanting to sleep where Matt had held her, knowing he never would again. Not wanting to sleep next to the empty space. She pulled the neck of her T-shirt, Matt’s shirt, up to her nose and breathed in his scent. It was all she had left and it was fading.

She strained to remember how her mother had been before, but all she remembered were nights of crying and then…that last night.

It’s not enough. What had her mother meant? Her daughter wasn’t enough? Or the world? Or life? Had her mother wished to fall into a dark hole and never come out?

What a hideous way to relate to a mother she barely remembered. But there was that connection now, an understanding of what it could do to you to love someone so much you didn’t want to live without him. How you could fall so far you couldn’t see out of the darkness.

But she could still see, she thought, looking over at Mary. She wouldn’t take the same path her mother had, wouldn’t make the same choice, but she didn’t blame her mother so much anymore. Didn’t blame herself so much either, or the child she’d been.

Between stiff fingers, she held a picture of Matt she’d taken on Christmas Day, watching the kids play outside, a grin on his handsome face. It was crinkled and water-stained by her tears, but she could still see it in her mind: The crisp, cold day. The kids laughing. His smile, his eyes. The words of love followed by a kiss.

He’s not coming back.

She’d taken a chance and she’d fallen. Neck-breaking hard. She didn’t have to worry about building up walls or being hurt again. That part of her was broken. There was nothing left to keep safe.

She squeezed her eyes shut and imagined she was at the beach. The sound of the ocean and Matt’s strong arms around her, his warm body at her back. Desperate for the feeling she’d had that night when the week was over, when she’d thought she would never see him again, yet been certain she’d survive.

Even now she could hear his voice, whispering her name just as he had that last night at the beach.

She hadn’t wanted to turn around and say goodbye. She didn’t now. The whisper came again and she angled her head. She could just make out his form across the dark room.

It couldn’t be him, couldn’t be real, and in that moment she knew he was gone and the dam inside her burst. She buried her face in her hands as her knees gave under the weight of grief.

He’d come to say goodbye.





Chapter 38


“Abby?” He said her name again and was moving toward her when she covered her face and sank to the floor.

In a second he was there, weak-kneed and kneeling in front of her, gathering her close. Abby. For a second there was nothing, no sound, no thought other than her. More than surviving, more then returning to U.S. soil, even to his house, was holding Abby in his arms. This was home. This was being alive.

He finally forced words past his throat, thick with emotion. “It’s okay,” he said, pressing his lips to her head, burying his face in her neck. “It’s okay, baby. I’m home.”

He whispered it again as she shook and cried against him. “Abby, honey, it’s me. I’m home.” But she made no move to uncover her face. He wasn’t sure she was even hearing him. He forced her back just enough to pull her hands away and cup her face with his. “Abby, look at me.”

Abby. He kissed her lips, then swept back the damp and tangled strands of hair stuck to her cheeks.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she stared like she was straining to focus. “You’re…you’re real?” She reached out with shaking fingers that feathered across his face. “You’re here?”

“I’m here, baby.” He saw the second realization take over and her arms came around him in a choking hold. The relief of having her in his arms dampened as his other senses kicked in.

She wasn’t just shaking from crying. Her skin was hot, but she was shivering. He knew her body, every inch and curve, and his heart pounded as he stroked her too thin back and sides.

“I thought you were—”

“I know.” Her words were muffled against his chest, but he knew what she was about to say. He’d seen the shock in her eyes.

She’d thought he was dead and now she was sick. She’d lost weight and she was burning up. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. Things went bad, and…” He shook his head, his unshaven face catching in her hair. “I couldn’t get a message to you, to anyone. By the time I found out you didn’t know, I…” He’d been at the base but hadn’t wanted to do it over the phone. He’d wanted to see her, hold her. And by doing that, he’d left her not knowing even longer.