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A crack the size of Texas rips through my chest. She’s sick, and my suspicion is it’s not going away any time soon.
“Noah, show Grandma the tree,” I say as I run my own fingers through his curls, the color of his mother’s.
Noah bounces back, as he always does, while my wife sags with defeat, a toy soldier in her hand. She stares at it with longing before tossing it in with the rest.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
I kneel on the floor with her and toss another soldier in. “It’s okay to feel this way.”
“I scared him.”
I shake my head. “He’s seen us argue before, he’s fine.”
“He can’t be like us; he can’t. Promise me you won’t encourage this.”
Swallowing, I nod.
“Thank you,” she whispers, as I wait for tears that don’t come.
Chapter Thirty-One
Briggs
Rapping my knuckles on the door, I look around the duplex with an armload of presents, freezing my ass off. Though, at this point, I’d brave the cold, because I fear what’s on the other side of the door a lot more. She opens it after my second knock and her face cracks at the sight of me.
“Hey, Mandy. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Briggs.”
“Sorry I didn’t call first.” This visit was a last-minute decision. I had my Christmas this morning with Gran, who has a church function tonight. Instead of giving myself more whiskey dick and flirting with women I’ll never fuck, I decided to own up to my responsibilities. Jones and I had spent a drunk Christmas together years ago, on a deployment. Can’t say it wasn’t a good night. We laughed so hard we pissed ourselves. We made the most of it; we always did. People credited me for being the funny one, but he was the one with the better sense of humor. This day has been especially rough. I can’t stop thinking of him. Mandy looks at me standing here as if she knows what’s weighing on me. Maybe I made the wrong call.
“It’s late. I can drop these off and come back another time.”
“It’s fine, come in.” She ushers me through the front door with a pained smile on her weary face. I’ve come here many times for dinners when Jones was still alive. Mandy was always a bubbly, happy woman. Small, but mighty in both bark and bite, a beautiful brunette with bright blue eyes and a smile that stretched from ear to ear. She’s hardly recognizable in her grief.
The house is a wreck. There’s wrapping paper and toys littering every surface, and it’s not just due to Christmas. Unfolded laundry is piled high on the couches. I pretend not to notice. I don’t know what to say, or how to act. I pretend being in his house isn’t suffocating the life out of me. I clear my throat as I lay the presents beneath the tree and find a framed picture of Jones sitting under it. “I wish I could have been here.”
There’s no need to elaborate. I know that she’s aware I’m referring to my best friend’s funeral.
She nods. “Me too.” Mandy rubs her nose, sniffling as she steps around me and starts toward the kitchen where the kids’ supper dishes are still on the table. I move to pick them up and carry them over to the sink, and she stops me. “I’ve got it, Briggs.”
“Where are the rug rats?” I ask, looking for any way to start up conversation.
“I already put Gabriella down, but D.J. is playing on his iPad in his room.” The garbage disposal runs as she empties the scraps of food down the drain. I feel fucking stupid just standing here.
“I’ll have to go peek in on him before I leave.”
“He’ll love it. Have a seat,” she says, sitting a cold beer in front of me at her four-seater kitchen table.
It gets quiet for a beat. I clear my throat. Mandy continues to wash as I glance around the townhome. It’s in need of repairs—repairs Jones had planned to do once he was home. I make the decision to come back and do them for her. For him.
A dish clanks in the sink, and Mandy drops her head. I know what’s coming. It’s why I’m here.
“Okay, tell me. I’m not ready, but I have to know.” She lets out a sob before her hand lifts to cover her mouth. She seems embarrassed by her tears, and that affects me so much. She shouldn’t be ashamed of her grief. I hate that society has made her feel this way. It’s only been three months. But isn’t that the way things work? People use up all their sympathy and understanding in the first few days and weeks, and then they move on. They expect you to do the same. Suddenly your sadness makes everyone else uncomfortable, so you hide it. You hide it deep inside and let it eat away at you.
“I was the one driving,” I admit, my own voice going hoarse. I still blame myself every single day. If I’d swerved just a moment sooner, would my friends still be alive? It’s the question that’ll forever plague me.
“I’m so sorry.” They’re the last words I expect to hear from the newly single mother and wife of the man I unwittingly killed. “That must be so hard for you.”
“Don’t. My God, Mandy, don’t apologize to me. It’s my fault your husband—” I swallow hard. “—It’s my fault he’s gone. You need to know how sorry I am. If I hadn’t looked away for that two seconds, he might be here.”
I can’t even fucking look at her. I’m sunk. Guilt rips through me.
Mandy stares at me, and I strain in my seat, my fingers turning white as I grip the edge of her table. “Fuck,” I whisper before swiping a hand over my face.
“Okay, so you lost two seconds, but you probably needed two more, Briggs. This isn’t exact science, it’s war. You’ve got to stop blaming yourself, and you damn well know it. He’d be pissed if he knew you’d taken this on yourself. You’ll never be less than a hero to me or his kids. And with what you went through, Jesus.”
The news of our return has been airing everywhere, with Scottie’s picture and mine side by side. At one point I was so fucking desperate I took a snap of the screen, just so I could stare at her. Then the calls started. The Today Show, CNN…everyone wants an interview with the two of us. Scottie has agreed to none, so I won’t either. Gran’s gone half mad with all the phone calls at the ranch.
“You didn’t kill him, Briggs. This war did.”
With a nod, I shift in my chair and clear my throat. Her words mean a lot, even if I don’t completely agree. “Morrero was driving the Humvee in front of ours. He hit an IED.” Memories of the crash fill my mind, and my heart rate speeds up. “I swerved too late and hit the corner of his truck.”
She grips my hand, and the pad of her thumb moves back and forth across my knuckles, encouraging me to continue. As painful as it is, I know she needs to hear this. She needs closure. I can’t imagine how hard it was for this woman not to be able to see her husband one last time. Jones was so badly burned that she just had to accept that it was him in that box and hold a closed-casket service. One that I missed.
“I was ejected from the vehicle. When I got back to it, he was the only one still inside, and by then it was in flames.” A visible chill ripples throughout my body. “He was already gone, Mandy. If there was any chance I could have saved him—”
“H—how was he that day? Before the accident?” She changes the subject quickly, perhaps due to the intensity of my reaction, or maybe she just can’t bear to hear any more.
My eyes close as I recall the conversation I overheard between him and Scottie and I smile. “He was happy. So happy. He and Scott were talking about the kids. He mentioned Gabriella recently learning to walk.”
She nods as fresh tears stream down her cheeks and slice through her smile.
This is what she really needs.
“He loved them so much. He was more a family man than a soldier. You should know that. That man talked about you to the point he made us all nauseous. He was telling us all how he was going to put another baby in you when he got home for R & R.”
“He—he said that?” The Cheshire grin on her face doesn’t match the steady flow of tears.
“He did. I swear it. His very last words were about you and the kids.”
