Gently I take the photo album out of her hands and place it back in the box. That’s enough for tonight.
I brought several boxes of tissues to keep around the house, and I pluck one from the box by the sofa.
Avery takes it and swipes it over her eyes. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”
A sob erupts from her chest, and I pull her into me. One arm goes around her shoulders and the other draws her into my body. My heart aches for Avery, and I wish I could take all the hurt away.
She leans against my chest, and I rub the backs of her shoulders as the grief consumes her.
After a few minutes the sobs turn to sniffles. She peers up at me with red raw eyes.
“Why did he join the military?” Her fists bang against my chest looking for answers. “Why do any of you join?”
She’s not expecting an answer. She grew up in a military family. I expect Jake’s reasons for signing up differed from mine.
He followed in his dad’s and brother’s footsteps. The Monroe family are proud patriots. They’re good people. Jake had a sense of duty and of honor. He signed up because he answered the call to serve.
For me, it was different. At least at first. I signed up because the judge said it was that or juvie. They gave me one chance, and I took it. Some of the kids I ran around with joined the army, so I joined the Navy. I wanted a fresh start.
Patriotism and duty came later. The Navy gave me discipline like I’d never had before. It pushed me in new ways and gave me a sense of purpose, a chance to be a part of something. By the time I graduated as a SEAL, I was ready to die for my teammates. That’s what the Navy gave me. A place to belong.
Avery pushes against my chest, and I release my hold so she can look up at me. “Why did it have to be Jake?”
I rub her back, absorbing her pain. I’ve asked myself the same question a hundred times. Why not me?
If it was me, no one would be in pain, no one would grieve. I would have served my country and died with honor, which is more than I ever thought possible for a foster kid from Kentucky.
But Jake left behind a world of pain.
I can’t convey any of this to Avery. I can’t take her pain away. But I can comfort her.
She bunches her hands into fists and thumps my chest.
I stop her fists, and she struggles against me.
“Why Jake, why Jake, why Jake?” she says repeatedly.
I hold her until she stills and suddenly she’s breathing hard, her face inches from mine. Our eyes lock. Then she leans in and presses her lips to mine.
Avery’s lips on mine are persistent and firm and everything I’ve been imagining for the last several weeks. Ever since I saw her at Jake’s funeral.
A better man would pull away. A better man would not take advantage of her grief. But instead of pulling away, my palm slides up to her neck, cupping her head in my palm. The kiss deepens, and my tongue moves lazily to explore her sweet mouth.
The shuddering stops, and her body relaxes as a moan escapes her lips. It jolts me back to reality and all the reasons this can’t happen.
I pull away, and Avery grabs my cheeks in her hands. “Don’t do that, Ed. Don’t pull away from me.”
Her eyes are red and raw from crying and full of pain and pleading. “Don’t deny this attraction between us, Ed.”
I glance behind me, looking for the notebook, desperate to communicate why this is a bad idea. Because she’s raw from grief, because she’s my best friend’s little sister, because I might have gotten her brother killed, and because if I kiss her again, I might not be able to stop.
Avery clasps my arm with a vice-like grip. “I don’t want to read all your excuses why you shouldn’t kiss me.” She pulls my head around to face her.
“I need this, Ed.” Her eyes are pleading, and it makes my chest ache to see her in pain. “When I kiss you I forget. Help me forget.”
Her lips brush against my cheek and I close my eyes, inhaling her feminine scent of citrus and soap.
Her lips press the corner of my lips, the side without the scar, and the tenderness makes my chest ache.
