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But he was still having nightmares. Even on our vacation.
I leaned against him as he pressed his forehead to his knees. “I am waking you every night. We’re trying to get your inflammation under control so you can eat more food, and it can’t help that I’m waking you every fucking night.”
Rubbing his back, I shushed him. “Stop it. It’s not like you wanted this.”
“Been a decade since this happened.” He rubbed his eyes before he leaned back down. “It’s all stuff that I really can’t talk about. Or maybe I can now? I don’t know. In the years after I left the Army, I didn’t come back here right away. I handled some private contracting. It was…sometimes bad.”
I put my head on his chest to hear his heartbeat. He liked to hear me breathe, and I liked the sound of his heartbeat.
“If you want to tell me, I’m happy to listen.” I told him this every night, and like every other night, he shook his head.
“I don’t. I think it all just surged because that was a time of loss. We lost a lot of people. And when I thought I’d lost you, it re-triggered. It’ll stop. Or I’ll find a therapist with a security clearance.”
His voice was getting lower; Michael was going to fall asleep again soon. It was a strange routine for us to have gotten into, but it was ours.” I listened to the ceiling fan and the sound of his heartbeat. Soon, I was back asleep, too.
Our quick vacationended too quickly. Barefoot, wearing my tiny white shorts and a black tank top, I stood on our balcony just so I could stare at the moon. It hung huge and bright in the sky, a disk of light surrounded by a glowing halo. I was ready for bed, except that I really didn’t want to say goodbye to this place.
Michael came up behind me and kissed my neck, which made me shiver with anticipation.
“Look,” I pointed at the luminescent orb. “The moon is huge tonight.”
“It is.” He kissed me again before resting his cheek against mine. “Bridget, I have a question. I wanted to ask it a year ago. I never got to then, and for a long time, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to ask you.” He cleared his throat and backed up a step. “Turn around and look at me, would you?”
I did, my heart in my throat.He couldn’t be…
He got down on one knee. “They never tell you how awkward this is going to feel. This position? Anyway, that doesn’t matter. Would you marry me? I promise that I can make you happy. I swear I can. I want you to be my wife. I want to make you my life. Will you let me? Please?”
I threw myself at him, which almost toppled him over then kissed all over his face. “Yes, Michael. I’ve loved you since before I knew what love meant. Yes, I’ll be your wife. I’ll make you happy, too.”
He kissed me then, the sweetest happiest kiss I ever experienced.
Which was why I insisted we had to get marriedthatnight. I didn’t want a white dress. I didn’t care about cake and people. I just wanted to be his wife right then and there.
Michael did so love to give me what I wanted.
Michael had been gonefor a week, and it was the longest week of my life. I didn’t know where he was or if I should be worrying about him. I ran a hand over the growing bump of my stomach. The day I could digest tomatoes again, we got pregnant. It wasn’t on purpose, but it happened that way.
It was also two days from our first anniversary.
But he’d vanished for the past week, and he left me with little to no communication over the duration. Since we’dgotten married, he hadn’t done any dangerous work himself, thankfully. He sent others out, and his people still seemed thrilled to work for him. Michael didn’t seem to mind, either.
But despite that, there I stood, staring at our nursery, not at all sure why he was gone, or where he went, when I was three months pregnant. My vision went blurry, so I wiped at my face.
Great.And I was crying for absolutely no reason.
It’s your hormones, Hope texted me when I asked if I was crazy.
Totally your hormones, Layla answered.
Well…that sucks.
Three hours later, I was reading a recipe for gluten-free blueberry muffins when Michael got home. He dropped his bag at the door and walked over to me quickly.
“Hi.” I’d barely gotten out the greeting when he pulled me into his arms.Something is wrong. “Michael?”
He pulled back to look at me. “Bridget, I’m so sorry. I wanted to be sure, so I went to see for myself. Your father…he’s gone. His body washed up on shore in Venezuela.”
I blinked, catching my breath. What was he saying?Was he…?“He’s dead?”
