We lay together in silence listening to each other breathe. Stil wearing my pants and dress shirt, I tugged the sheet and blanket over my body, and hugged a pil ow to my chest. I refused myself the fantasies flickering on the outskirts of my consciousness and forced myself to rest satisfied in Elizabeth’s peace.

Final y, Elizabeth whispered, “I’m so sorry, Christian.”

“I’m sorry too.”

It was usual y only Lizzie who waited by the window for her father, but today I couldn’t help but join her. Every few minutes I went to stand beside my daughter who waited perched on her knees, peering out at the street. The blinds were drawn wide, opened in invitation. The glass was smudged and painted by Lizzie’s eager hands and dotted by her tiny nose.

Christian had sent a text about twenty minutes before to let us know he’d landed and was on his way.

My heart palpitated, raced in anticipation, sped in fear.

Christian told me he loved me.

My chest constricted as his words flowed through me again with their tenor, their depth.

His declaration had nearly undone me, had almost unraveled the knot I held so tightly twined around my broken heart. I’d wanted to say it so badly. I’d felt it dance on my tongue, longing to admit that I loved him too. Somehow, I’d reined it in, harnessed it, and left it to smolder, knowing it would only grow.

For one more day, I’d kept my heart hidden and protected.

Running my palms over my arms, I attempted to tame my nerves. I forced myself into believing that the moment we’d shared in place of those words hadn’t been so much more powerful than had I just said them aloud. I pretended that my heart wasn’t the farthest from secure and that I didn’t feel more vulnerable today than I had ever in my life.

Movement from the street brought Lizzie to her feet, the tail of Christian’s silver car visible as he pul ed into our driveway. “He’s here,” she al but whispered. Her face looked determined as she set out the front door and ran down the sidewalk to meet him.

She had not been herself al week but quiet and contemplative. Final y, last night as I’d tucked her into bed, she’d opened up, confessed her fears, and asked, “What if my Daddy dies too?” It had been one of the hardest things I’d ever discussed with my daughter, the balance of giving her both peace and honesty, the truth that life ultimately ends in death. She’d only been able to fal asleep once I’d lain down next to her and ran my fingers through her hair. I’d whispered for her not to worry and promised that she’d see her father again.

Pushing a hand through my bangs, I steeled myself for the emotion I knew would come. I hesitated at doorway and listened to their greetings.

Even though they were out of view, I could almost feel Christian’s relief when Lizzie was final y in his arms again.

When they rounded the corner, Lizzie was attached to her father’s hip, clinging to his neck as if she’d never let go.

Christian came to a standstil when he saw me, his breath rushing from his chest as his gaze washed over me.

His eyes swam their deepest blue—midnight—warm but so very tired; his body weary, leaden with obvious exhaustion.

Chaotic shocks of black hair stood up in disaccord, salient circles beneath his eyes, his white, printed T-shirt wrinkled, and his expression hopeful.

I couldn’t refrain from taking a step forward and whispering, “Welcome home.”

Slowly he approached, each footfal measured, calculated, and purposed. Every step that brought him closer escalated my already rapid breaths. The pieces of my broken heart were at war, tangled and twisted, the smoldering, conflicting emotions threatening to burst.

Inches from me, he stopped and kissed the side of Lizzie’s head before he set her down, never taking his penetrating gaze from me.

Frozen, I waited, unable to look away.

Somewhere inside me, I knew I shouldn’t reach out when he reached for me; knew I shouldn’t wrap my arms around his waist when he wrapped his arms around my shoulders; knew I shouldn’t bury my face in his chest at the moment he buried his in my hair.

I just couldn’t stop myself.

Christian tugged me closer, his body heavy and perfect against mine, fatigued and seeking support.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered against my ear as he pul ed me impossibly closer and breathed me in. The heat of his breath licked at my skin, his nearness setting it aflame.

He clouded every faculty, interrupted reason, tempted me to forget. I closed my eyes against the sensations and tried to block the resurgence of memories, to ignore the familiarity of his touch. I pushed it al aside and focused on what he needed— comfort.

He clung to me as if his life depended on it.

A warning signal flared somewhere deep within my soul.

Dangerous.

For once, I ignored it.

Instead, I crushed my chest to his, al owed the rush of relief to surge through my veins, and savored the heat of his skin and the warmth of his body.

Echoes of our past surfaced in my mind, our happiest moments, the way only he could make me smile, the way only he could make me feel, our most intimate times. I wanted to hold onto them, but they fluttered and flickered and gave way to vivid images so strong I could almost taste them—sick, cold, alone—and I remembered why I could never give into this.

Even then, I didn’t want to let go and al owed myself a few moments more before I placed a hand against his few moments more before I placed a hand against his chest and gently pushed him away. He covered my hand with both of his, pressed it over his heart, and smiled at me in a way that chipped away another piece of my armor.

Averting my eyes, I made the mistake of looking down at Lizzie who gazed up at us with the same expression I’d seen Christian wearing the second before—like she’d just been al owed a smal piece of heaven.

What the hel was I doing?

Teasing my daughter?

Giving her false hope, stoking her imagination, painting a picture of things that could never be?

I forced myself to take a step back from Christian, gathered up the emotions that were slowly slipping away, and drew another line.

For Lizzie, I told myself. This was for Lizzie.

I glanced back up at Christian, reminding myself we could only ever be friends— partners. Purging the remnants of my desire from my face, I straightened myself and put back on my mask. I smiled and stood aside. “Go on in.

Dinner’s almost ready.”

Christian inhaled and threw a grin in my direction, lopsided and achingly cute. “You made spaghetti and meatbal s?” His voice teemed with appreciation, swam in awareness.

My mask fel , so easily penetrable, evidence of my weakness. I felt my face flush, and I ducked my head. I knew how obvious I was in preparing his favorite dinner just as I had prepared his favorite breakfast the morning after

Lizzie’s fal .

“Yeah, I figured you’d be starved after the long flight,” I mumbled toward my bare feet, shrugging to make less of it than we both knew it was.

I looked up in time to see his lopsided smile spread.

“You have no idea how good that sounds. I haven’t eaten al day.” Turning his attention to Lizzie, he wrapped one of her tiny hands in his and asked, “What about you, princess, are you hungry?”

Overwhelmed, I hung back and tried to convince myself that nothing had changed as he led her inside.

Christian glanced back at me with a lazy grin. “You coming?”

Sighing, I told myself another thousand lies and fol owed him inside.

“Do you want to talk?”

Pointing the remote at the television, I lowered the volume and let the cartoon Lizzie had wanted to watch play out. She’d fal en asleep about fifteen minutes before, curled up in Christian’s lap. Her sweet breaths came in soft pants against his chest, rhythmic and soothing in the dimness of the room. He played with the strands of her hair, appearing lost in thought and most likely minutes from sleep.

Glancing at me, he grimaced through a heavy sigh, ran his palm over his weary face, and blinked. “I . . . don’t . . .

know.” It didn’t seem an answer to my question but was more a statement of how he was feeling.

If I were in his place, I wouldn’t know what to feel either.

Those unanswered questions formed as lines across his forehead. “I’ve spent so much of my life resenting my father . . . blaming him for al of my problems . . . for every mistake I’ve made.” His brow furrowed as he left those mistakes unspoken, though many of them were glaringly obvious. He snorted through his nose and shook his head.

“Do you know he left me a quarter of his inheritance?” He focused on his fingers weaving through Lizzie’s hair while stil shaking his head. His words dropped in slow disbelief, maybe even hinting at a newfound respect.

“And the rest of it to my mom.”

“What?” I couldn’t keep my shocked reaction contained.

Christian cut his eyes to mine. In the muted light of the family room, they were dark and mournful.

His mouth twisted and twitched, and he seemed to be struggling to keep his emotions in check. Supporting Lizzie, he leaned forward, wrenched his wal et from his back pocket, and produced a folded up piece of paper from it.

With his head bowed, he passed it over to me.

“He’d kept this in his desk.”

Wary of what I’d find inside, I stared at the piece of worn and tattered paper in my palm. I was sure whatever it held had broken a part of Christian’s heart.

Gingerly, I unfolded it, smoothed it out on my lap, and gasped at the simple picture.

Christian must have understood my surprise, must have read in the message the same thing I saw now.

“I can’t remember drawing it . . . or feeling it. I just wish I could.” The words shook as they fel as grief from his trembling mouth. “Damn it,” he suddenly spat, raking his hand through his hair. “He wasted his whole life.” Again, his expression shifted and the fire behind his words dul ed and eased into pain as if he didn’t know whether to revile his father’s memory or mourn him. “He knew he was dying, Elizabeth. I know it, and he wanted me to know he cared about me.” The sadness poured through him, a mixture of anger and pity and so much regret. “I just wish he would have had the courage to say it to my face.” Tracing the lettering, I imagined a little black-haired boy drawing it, the concentration he would have had on his face as he worked on the choppy, misspel ed letters, the pride he’d have had as he’d given it to his father.

I didn’t flinch when Christian reached out to do the same.

I closed my eyes as he pried my fingers from the page and wrapped them in his hand. “I don’t want to become like him, Elizabeth.” His throat bobbed in unspent emotion. “I don’t want to waste my life. I don’t want to waste this,” he stressed as he squeezed my hand.

I laced my fingers through his and blinked back tears.

He fol owed my gaze to Lizzie, and I brought our joined hands to touch the porcelain rosiness of our daughter’s cheek before I turned back to face the intent in his eyes.

“You’re not.”

A sad smile whispered at the corner of his mouth, and he laid his cheek against her head as a heavy breath fel from his tired lips.

In the stil ness, I held his hand, brushed my thumb over his soft skin. I watched as his eyes gradual y faded and closed in exhaustion, listened to his deep breaths even out, felt his muscles twitch as he drifted to sleep.

As quietly as I could, I uncurled myself from the couch, lifted Lizzie into my arms, and carried her upstairs to her bed. I tucked her under her covers and spent a moment adoring the amazing child Christian and I had created before I kissed her on the forehead.

Then I went into my room and dragged a blanket and pil ow from my bed.

I tiptoed back downstairs to find Christian had slouched and sank deeper into the crevices of the couch.

His arms were sprawled out, his body relaxed.

My stomach clenched in both pain and desire.

Why did it have to hurt to love him so much?

Putting the linens aside, I crouched to untie his shoes, pul ed them from his feet, and lifted is legs to lay them across the couch.

He stretched and groaned incoherently as he shifted, pul ing at the twines twisted around my heart.

As gently as I could, I maneuvered the pil ow beneath his head, shook out the blanket, and spread it over his body. I hesitated as I leaned down to pul it to his chin.

So beautiful.

His mouth had dropped open, just enough that he expel ed soft breaths of air against my face, sweet and distinctly man, his long black lashes casting slight shadows across his face.

I leaned in further and let my fingertips wander along the day old stubble along his jaw, ran them tenderly over his lips—wanted what I couldn’t have.

So, like a fool, I stole it and pressed my lips to his, knowing he’d only be mine for a few moments.

They were hot, damp, and perfect; they scorched my skin and brought tears to my eyes.

A tremor rol ed through my chest, stuck in my throat, and shook my body.

I took a little more, held his face in my hands and in my desperation, kissed him deeper—tasted my tears and the sweetness of Christian’s mouth—flirted with disaster.

Why? I begged him with my thoughts, with my touch as I kissed him again. Why did you have to ruin us? My mouth traveled to his jaw, kissed him there against the rough skin, fire against my lips and torment to my soul, where I mouthed out my deepest secret, “I love you, Christian.” Sickened and ashamed, I ripped myself away,

escaped upstairs, and wept for a man I’d never al ow myself to have.

Grabbing my things, I sighed in satisfaction, thankful it was Friday and another long workweek had drawn to an end. I shrugged on my jacket, smiling at Selina. “Goodnight.” She grinned, and looked at me awry as she dug through her locker. “Night . . . see you tomorrow.” She shook her hips, suggestive and slow.

I giggled and waved over my shoulder as I left her in the break room.

Natalie and her parties.

She’d never let a year go by without planning something outrageous. They were always too much and always too fun. She’d invited next to everyone I knew, and I was certain we’d al be paying for it Sunday morning.

Anxious to start my weekend, I rushed across the bank floor as I cal ed goodnight to everyone in the lobby. I came to an abrupt halt two feet from the door when I saw my daughter’s face pressed against the glass door, peering inside.

Her huge smile assured me I had no need to worry.

I laughed, returning her excited wave when she noticed me.

Pushing the door open, I poked my head out. She wore a maroon dress with a satin bodice, a skirt of tul e, wrapped at the waist in black ribbon. The outfit had been finished off with white tights, black patent shoes, and a matching maroon bow tied in her hair.

“What are you doing here and al dressed up?” I asked, grinning.

Lizzie grinned back, twirling away from the door as if she were a bal erina, and I stepped the rest of the way out.

Christian’s voice hit me from somewhere behind, smooth and warm—intoxicating. “We’re celebrating.” Jerking around, I found him leaning with a shoulder against the bank wal . He wore an almost cocky look on his face, his mouth twisted in casual confidence. He was dressed in a deep-blue col ared shirt rol ed up to his elbows, the first two buttons undone, and black slacks that looked better than they should.

“I figured since the rest of your family and friends get you tomorrow night on your actual birthday, Lizzie and I get you tonight.” A smile pul ed at one side of his mouth, and he pushed from the wal and took a step forward.

Lizzie took my hand and danced beside me as she sang, “Surprise!”

My spirit soared.

This was the birthday I wanted.

Kneeling beside my daughter, I hugged her while I looked up at Christian. “Thank-you.”

He smiled so wide it touched his eyes and playful y crinkled at the corners. “Did you real y think we’d let them keep you al to themselves?” He came forward and extended his hand to help me up, once again igniting the flames I futilely fought to squelch. He froze just for a second as a palpable quiver traveled up his arm, and I knew he felt it too.

After I’d kissed him last Friday, I’d felt so ashamed. I was sure he could somehow see the guilt on my face—find in it in my eyes. The next morning he’d seemed to watch me careful y, attentive to my every move. It was if he were counting each breath I took and reading every word I spoke. It had begun then, the timid fingertips across my upper arms as he’d leave the room, gentle brushes of skin, testing, tempting. In spite of my promise to myself, my promise to Lizzie, I’d done the same: furtive fingers, roaming eyes, playing with fire.

Christian tugged on my hand. “Come on. We’l fol ow you home and you can hop in my car.”

Forty minutes later, we walked through the parking lot to the restaurant, swinging Lizzie between us. She squealed and begged us to do it again and again.

Christian smiled at me over her head, and I fel in love a little bit more.

Al three of us were laughing when we entered the loud, crowded restaurant. Fil ed with young families with smal children, parties and celebrations, it was one of those places people flocked to on a Friday night to unwind, to forget about the week, and to share a meal and drinks.

Christian led us through the throng of people waiting for tables and to the podium, announcing our arrival and name for the reservation. The hostess weaved through the tables to the far corner of the restaurant, seating us at a booth.

I laughed and dropped my mouth in mock offense when Lizzie once again crawled up next to her father. “How come you never want to sit by Mommy anymore?” I teased.

Lizzie clung to his upper arm, laid her head on his shoulder, squeezed as she giggled, and said, “Cuz Daddy doesn’t always get to sleep at my house.”

Christian smirked, threw me a mischievous look that said that would be easy to fix.

Instead of cringing and cursing my heart, I rol ed my eyes and laughed to let him know I knew exactly what he was thinking. I surprised myself with the action, but I was feeling free, swept away by the atmosphere and the roaring energy of the room.

He grinned as he opened his menu and muttered something under his breath. His smile was evident even as he buried his face in the menu. My smile matched his, wide and unrestrained.

It was my birthday, and just tonight, I was going to al ow myself to enjoy this, to enjoy my family, as unconventional as it was. Christian ordered me a birthday drink, a huge concoction of rum and chocolate and whipped cream, and didn’t hesitate to dip his finger in it to steal a taste. We ordered burgers and fries, drank, and ate as we talked and teased. We laughed until we cried when a clown stopped by to make us bal oon hats. Al of the tension was gone, for a few precious moments our past forgotten.

Sated and appeased, Christian leaned easily against the booth with his arm slung around our daughter’s shoulders, his burger polished off.

Happy.

Blue eyes danced with merriment as he announced,

“Present time.”

Lizzie bounced and clapped her hands. “Ooo, Momma, open mine first!”

Christian produced a smal box he’d kept hidden from somewhere beneath the table. It was square and shal ow, covered in shiny red paper bunched and uneven with a crooked silver bow— perfect—wrapped with great care by little hands. I released a smal , surprised giggle of appreciation and wondered when the last time I’d felt so loved. “When did you have time for al of this?” I held the smal gift near my ear and gently shook the tiny box.

Christian shrugged, smiled wide. “I took the afternoon off to take Lizzie shopping and to get ready.” He nudged her, and they shared a knowing smile, thick as thieves. “I cal ed Natalie last night to let her know I was picking Lizzie up from school today.”

I hoped my expression was enough to portray how much this meant to me, that he would take the time to help our daughter do something that was so obviously important to her, that he took time for me.

“Mommy, open it!” Lizzie prodded.

I smiled, shook it again, and drew the words out as I said, “I wonder what this could be?” I figured she must have picked out a piece of jewelry.

Slowly, I pul ed away the bow and ribbon and ran my finger under the paper to loosen the tape. I felt my chest flutter when I realized the box was black velvet, its contents real, and I worried that it had probably cost too much.

Then I lifted the lid to the sweetest gift I’d ever received.

The white-gold charm bracelet was a rod and bal type, simple and beautiful, and made me feel incredibly special.

“Do you like it, Momma?”

I glanced up at Lizzie who was on her knees, bouncing in her seat, eager for my reaction, and answered in complete honesty. “I love it.”

I traced a finger over it, unhooked its snap from the box, and held it up in the air over the table. Three silver bead charms slid to the bottom, one with an emerald for Lizzie’s birthday, one with a yel ow topaz for mine, and another simply engraved with Mother.

Christian leaned over the table and reached out. “May I?”

Smiling, I nodded and passed it to him. I stretched my arm across the table and couldn’t ignore the tingles that spread out over my skin as Christian’s fingers worked the bracelet around my wrist and screwed the locking clasp in place. He twisted it, wet his lips in concentration as he did, and then glanced up at me through his long lashes and then back down to finish his work.

He murmured, “You know you can add to this, right?” He ran the tip of his forefinger down the sensitive skin of my wrist.

It sounded nothing like a question but an invitation.

My face reddened, but I refused to look away.

Lizzie gushed as she nearly climbed on top of the table to admire the bracelet now dangling from my wrist. “Oh, it’s so pretty!” My sweet child looked up for my approval, hoping to find I liked it as much as she wanted me to.

Fingering the charms, I smiled back her, told her again how beautiful I thought it was and that I would wear it with pride.

“My turn.” Christian produced an envelope, larger than a normal card. It was thick and rectangular and it spiked my nerves with the way it shook in his trembling hand.

“Happy birthday, Elizabeth,” he said with the softest of smiles.

I returned an uncertain smile, hesitated as I held the card between us, and realized I didn’t want to be scared.

Just for one night, I didn’t want to be scared.

So I ripped it open. At first I was confused as I looked at the brochure and reservation slip in my hand until my mind final y came to recognition.

When I snapped my head up in surprise, I found Christian’s eyes burning into mine. His words more hopeful than any I’d ever known, impassioned as they passed through his lips. “Come to New York for Christmas with me, just you and Lizzie. I . . . I want her to see the tree . . . to show her where she was born . . . where we met.” In his expectation, I lost al reason and threw al sanity aside because I actual y wanted to go. I pretended I didn’t know what Christian meant when he asked me to go to New York with him, lied to myself again, and assured myself anew that nothing had changed.

Because by the look on Christian’s face when I released the breath I’d been holding and nodded that I would go, I knew everything had changed.

For a few moments, a new heaviness hung in the air, a new fear vying for my attention, imploring with me to pay it heed.

I pushed it aside and laughed through my embarrassment as our server suddenly appeared at the edge of our table and shouted over the clamor of the room, demanding attention as he cal ed out, “We have a birthday in the house!”

Christian’s eyes glinted with deep satisfaction as he sang me the birthday song along with the rest of the restaurant. He seemed to make his own wish when I blew out the single candle stuck in a massive piece of chocolate cake.

“So how does it feel to be twenty-nine, Ms. Ayers?” Al teasing from earlier aside, Christian’s eyes softened as he asked, truly wanting to know.

Like you missed too many years, I thought much too quickly before I had the time to dismiss its meaning.

Before I answered, I glanced at Lizzie, my reason for living, and back at the man who had somehow snaked his way back into my life and had become such an important part of my family. I realized in al honesty that it felt amazing.

For the first time in many years, I was truly happy. Even if being with him took great restraint, at times tore me apart and turned me inside out, it was worth every second. I swal owed and answered, “It feels . . . real y . . . great.” Christian grinned and touched the tip of his shoe to mine under the table, a gentle caress, chaste affection.

I blushed, flicked the bangs from my face, a subconscious tic, and knocked my bal oon hat from my head.

Squinting, Christian suddenly leaned forward as he tilted his head to one side. “How’d you get that scar above your eye?”

He reached across the table to brush my bangs aside, and instinctively I jerked away. I shook my head and forced out a feeble it’s nothing.

Christian frowned, and slowly withdrew his hand with my reaction.

“Shawn was mean to Mommy.”

Christian’s head whipped in Lizzie’s direction as she spoke the words before fiery eyes darted back to me, and I watched as a storm raced in, violent and destructive. And just like that, the peace of our evening was gone, leaving in its place a Christian I’d never seen, didn’t know.

He put distance between himself and Lizzie, sitting rigid in the booth and saying nothing as he paid the bil . He wouldn’t look my way, not even when I whispered, “Thank-you for dinner.”

He just stood and ushered Lizzie from the bench, never looked up from the ground as he walked behind us out to the car, and gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white.

It took only seconds for Lizzie to fal asleep in the backseat of his car. Christian stared ahead and left me alone to suffocate in his seething silence. He said nothing as he rose from the car and col ected our slumbering daughter from his backseat. He stood aside and waited for me to unlock the front door, and took her up to her room.

I waited at the bottom of the stairs to give him space.

I understood he was angry, not with me, but with Shawn.

Minutes later, he emerged from Lizzie’s room and stared down at me with raging torment.

Something inside him had fractured, ruptured.

“Christian . . . ,” I cal ed out, my tone quiet, pleading for him not to make a big deal of this. It was something I’d not wanted to delve into with him. I had no desire to resurrect old ghosts, and had been thankful to have dodged the subject when Christian had asked about Shawn at the beach. What happened with Shawn was long over and done with, something I’d dealt with emotional y, had come to terms with, and had vowed to never repeat.

Unable to escape from the intensity of Christian’s gaze as he slowly took the stairs, I knew there was no way to evade it now.

On the last step, he stopped inches from me and clenched his fists. “Shawn who?” I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Over.

Done.

Forgotten.

Christian studied his feet, palmed the back of his neck, pushed past me, and paced my living room. Coming to an abrupt halt, he turned and glared at me. “It doesn’t matter?” His voice rose. “It doesn’t fucking matter? Are you kidding me, Elizabeth?” He flung his arm out in a wild gesture at my head.

I didn’t cower, didn’t flinch. I knew none of the fury flooding from him was directed at me.

This time he begged, wanted me to agree, “That asshole hurt you, and it doesn’t matter?” He turned away, buried both hands in his hair, and hid his head as he released his torment toward the floor. “I can’t believe I let this happen to you.”

Taking a step forward, I placed a cautious hand against his back and pressed my palm into the warmth of his body. Tremors rol ed through his muscles with the contact, and my explanation came in hushed tones and fil ed the otherwise dark, silent room. “It doesn’t matter because I’ve healed, Christian. He means nothing to me, meant nothing to me, and he paid the price for what he did.

The only part that hurts me now is dealing with the fact that my daughter had to witness it.”

Christian’s shoulders slumped further, Lizzie’s involvement another blow. Defeated, he choked over more guilty words, “I’m so sorry, Elizabeth.” I caressed his back, ran my hand up his spine, and twisted my fingers in the fine hairs at the nape of his neck.

“You can’t blame yourself for everything that happened while you were away.”

He looked at me over his shoulder. His beautiful face was il uminated by the light on the stairs and contorted in what could only be physical pain. “How can I not?” This time, I reached for him, turned him, and wrapped my arms around his neck.

He exhaled his burden, groaning from somewhere deep within his chest when he wound a single arm around my waist and tugged me flush against his body. With the other, he brushed away my bangs, tucked the heavy lock of hair behind my ear, cupped my face, and ran his thumb over the long healed scar.

My heart thrashed, protested its chains, loosened its binds.

Dropping his hand from my face, he brought it to my hip and dug in his fingers to draw me closer. He massaged his way up my back and to my neck and buried his hand in my hair.

Held me.

Rocked me.

Loved me.

The clock against the wal chimed midnight.

Christian pressed his heated cheek to mine and

whispered, “Happy birthday, Elizabeth.”

As Lizzie posed in front of the ful -length mirror in my bedroom, she slicked bright red lipstick across her lips, smearing more of it around her mouth and over her teeth than on her lips, and teetered in a pair of four-inch heels three times too big for her tiny feet.

I laughed under my breath from where I watched her out of the corner of my eye and wondered where I’d left my camera.

“Look at me, Mommy. Don’t I look pretty?” She spun in place, twirling the old red skirt I’d discarded on the floor as I’d dug through my closet for something to wear.

Crossing the room, I took both of her tiny hands, whirled her around, and dipped her in an old-fashioned, impromptu dance. “You look absolutely gorgeous, darling.” Then I tickled her and kissed her solidly on the cheek.

She howled with laughter, her face red from both the lipstick and her surprise. She sobered, reached out, and touched my cheek as she searched my face with observant eyes.

“You look real y pretty too, Mommy,” she said in quiet assurance, surely having noticed my nerves as I’d hunted through my clothes, tossing aside the modest outfits I typical y wore to work for something Natalie and my sisters would find appropriate for the night.

I’d settled on a too short, black, tiered skirt, coupled it with a white ruffled blouse that showed just a bit too much cleavage, and, of course, a pair of much too high black heels. Even though it made me a bit self-conscious, I didn’t even bother to dress in something more conservative.

Natalie would have just marched me straight back upstairs to change.

Before I could thank Lizzie, the doorbel rang, and she wriggled from my arms and bolted out the door and down the stairs.

Christian.

A tremor of apprehension rol ed through me, flared, and bal ed in my stomach as I heard his voice drift up from below.

Sleep had evaded me for most of last night. I’d chased it, only to drift to the edges of unconsciousness to find myself back in his arms surrounded by his presence, begging for his touch. Panic would bring me back, jolting me up in bed, leaving me gasping for air as blood pounded through my veins.

Those immeasurable minutes spent in Christian’s arms had felt so good, so right, like peace and eternity, made me feel as if I would choose to stay.

Then the solace offered in my arms had shifted, and we’d both felt it—when it’d become more—when the heat of his body had washed over me in waves, hot and hard, nearly drowning me in his desire.

I wouldn’t have had the strength to say no.

It had only taken him untangling himself from my hold and forcing himself out my front door for me to slip back into fear, to question what I’d done—what I’d agreed to.

In six weeks, I was supposed to go to New York with Christian, and I had no idea what that meant, what he expected, or what I could give.

I shook my head, smoothed out my shirt, and adjusted my skirt, wishing not everything had to be so complicated. I wished that I didn’t have so much hurt buried inside, so many deep-seated fears. I wished I could trust in him and believe that this time he wouldn’t let me down.

Most of al , I just wished to give up and give in.

God, I wanted to give in.

I clutched the railing for support at the top of the stairs as I looked down over my living room where Christian gazed up at me, hugging our daughter in his arms.

He was in dark low-slung jeans and a black T-shirt, his hair unruly, his eyes intense. It was as if the moment our eyes connected our bodies picked up on where we’d left off last night. The energy was dense, swirling with need and dripping with want. It rained down, sucked us in, and urged me forward.

Christian settled Lizzie onto the couch so she was Christian settled Lizzie onto the couch so she was facing the television, not in neglect but as if this were something she could take no part in, the moment too intimate, not to be shared.

As I edged down the stairs, I watched him as he watched me, didn’t shy from the touch of his gaze, but welcomed it as it traveled down, kissed my body, and caressed my legs.

His lips parted; tacit desire cal ed my name.

I stopped a foot away.

He hesitated and swal owed deeply before he final y took a step forward, assailing my senses as he placed a heated palm against my cheek. With the pad of his thumb, he caressed my jaw.

I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch as the sweet of his breath washed over my face. I waited, wanting more than I should.

His movements were tentative as he slanted forward and brushed his nose along the opposite cheek. He ran it to my ear and whispered, “You are so beautiful.” His words sent a thril rushing over my skin. He ghosted his lips over the same line and pressed his mouth against my jaw.

I gasped and clutched his shoulders for support, unprepared for the onslaught of emotion—for the ache.

For the first time, I was completely defenseless, subject to Christian’s mercy.

Somewhere inside me, I knew he would hurt me; that once again he’d stolen my heart and held in his hand; that he had taken control and I didn’t know how to get it back.

I recognized it in the panic I felt when he pul ed away, in I recognized it in the panic I felt when he pul ed away, in the way my nails burrowed into the skin of his shoulders and begged him— don’t let me go.

Christian dropped his arm completely and stepped away. A low ahem made me turn my attention to a red-faced Matthew standing frozen in my doorway. He looked down and cringed over an apology.

Natalie popped up on her tiptoes, peeking over Matthew’s shoulder to find what it was that had caused her husband to stumble to a standstil .

I didn’t want to let go—ever.

Elizabeth’s fingers burned into my skin and anchored in my soul.

Did she understand how much I cherished her? As I pressed my mouth to her jaw and held her face, did she know that I was praising the goodness of her heart and her ability to forgive, and that I fel in love with her more and more each day?

It took everything I had to pul away, to step back, but I knew where we were heading; and the last thing I wanted was an audience for the first kiss Elizabeth and I had shared in six years.

Elizabeth was so wrapped up in the moment I’m sure she hadn’t even realized Matthew and Natalie were standing in her doorway with their mouths gaping.

Spreading a frustrated hand through my hair, I looked to the opposite wal , hoping to quiet my thundering heart, to quel the roar screaming through my veins, demanding Elizabeth.

When I looked back, Matthew remained frozen in the doorway and appeared to be studying Elizabeth. Natalie broke through the tension, pushed under her husband’s arm, and entered the room to embrace Elizabeth as if she hadn’t just walked in on one of the most pivotal moments of our lives. “Happy birthday, Liz. You ready to go?” I watched as Elizabeth nodded and returned Natalie’s hug before she gathered her purse and black sweater from the entryway table. She looked back at me warily. Once again, the two of us were propel ed back into the unknown, unsure of where we stood.

I offered her a gentle smile, one that I hoped told her I understood, that I was scared too, but that I was finished wasting time—done wasting nights without those I loved.

I’d boarded the flight from my father’s funeral with a newfound resolve, an unvoiced pledge to my daughter and to Elizabeth that I would final y make this right.

It was time to take back my family.

Natalie approached with a knowing smile, wrapped an arm around my waist, and grinned up at me. Draping an arm around her shoulder, I hugged her to my side and smiled down at the girl who had become my friend, my confidant, the one who seemed to get both Elizabeth and me. I dropped my arm from her shoulder to shake Matthew’s hand. His grip was firm but lacked any animosity. His eyes darted to Elizabeth before they rested on me as he shook my hand. It was clear he knew exactly what had been taking place between Elizabeth and me when he’d walked through the door. He squeezed once before he dropped my hand and nodded almost imperceptibly, seeming to be giving me both a blessing and a warning—a statement that he wouldn’t stand in our way; but it was also clear with whom his loyalties rested.

His protectiveness didn’t bother me because my loyalties were in the very same place. I met his eyes with a nod.

Natalie and Matthew smothered Lizzie in love and goodbyes, made her giggle as they teased her, and told her to make sure she took good care of her daddy while they were away.

Elizabeth took Lizzie in her arms, hugged her close, ran a tender hand through our daughter’s hair, and whispered, “Have a great time with Daddy.” Elizabeth seemed uncertain when she stood and turned to me. Vacil ating emotions flickered across her face

—need and love and too much fear. I’d recognized it in her touch when I’d stepped away, the fear that was rooted deep and clung to her like a disease.

I’d spend my life driving it out.

Extending my hand, I reached for her, pul ed her to my chest, and murmured against her ear, “I’l be waiting.” Reticent, I released her hand with a heavy breath and watched as the three of them filed out the front door. I prayed they’d be safe, counted on Matthew to bring my girl home safely to me, refusing myself the sudden surge of possessiveness I felt when I realized I wouldn’t be the one there to witness her on the dance floor with her friends or there to celebrate her birthday. It was shocking how badly I craved to be the man on her arm. But the last thing I had the right to was jealousy, so I forced those thoughts away and glanced at Lizzie who studied me with an astute curiosity from where she leaned over the back of the couch.

I smiled at my precious daughter. “Guess it’s just you and me tonight, Lizzie.”

Lizzie trailed me into the kitchen and helped prepare our dinner, a box of pasta, white sauce, and fresh cut broccoli florets. She grinned at me from across the table as we ate our simple meal. Affection swel ed as I shared the evening with my sweet, sweet girl. I listened to her simple words, so honest and pure, and thanked God for grace because I knew there was nothing I’d done to deserve the sublime. Lizzie asked about New York—what it would be like and what we would see. Then in a quiet voice she asked, “Wil you hold my hand on the plane? I’m a little bit scared, Daddy . . . I’ve never been on a plane before.” I smiled at my daughter, brushed a hand through her bangs, and answered, “Only if you hold mine.”

After dinner, I helped her into her sweater, and we stepped out into the crisp evening air. Hand-in-hand, we fol owed the sidewalk to the smal park at the end of the street. I pushed her high on the swings, chased her over the grassy hil s, relished in her laughter as I caught her at the bottom of the slide. My spirit danced as we played, rejoiced in this gift, my heart forever devoted to this precious child.

When Lizzie began to shiver, we returned home and went upstairs where I bathed her in her mother’s alcoved bathroom. I fil ed the tub with bubbles and her smal bathtub toys and didn’t mind when her rambunctious play soaked my shirt. I let her splash and dunk until her fingers had shriveled and the water had turned cool.

“Come here, sweetheart,” I gently prompted, helped her safely from the tub, and wrapped her in a huge, fluffy white towel. I ran it over her damp skin and dried her hair, wondering how I’d become so favored that in less than a year, my life had gone from completely empty to overflowing.

“I love you so much, Daddy,” she professed as she peeked up at me through the towel wrapped around her head and body as I carried her to her room.

Leaning down, I kissed her forehead and pressed her to my chest. “I love you more than anything, Lizzie.” Keen eyes probed my face as she whispered, “But you love Mommy, too.”

My feet faltered, frozen, amazed at my young daughter’s poignant perception, far from oblivious, always aware.

I should have known she would have noticed the change between Elizabeth and me in the last week, the newfound affection, the embraces, our timid touches.

Swal owing the lump in my throat, I nodded and met her hopeful gaze. “Yes, Lizzie . . . I . . . I love your mother very much.”

I’d never spoken it aloud to Lizzie before, afraid of getting her hopes up, worried Elizabeth and I would never reconcile, and that we’d go on as partners in Lizzie’s parenthood— friends

as

Elizabeth

had

somehow

considered us.

Even if Elizabeth had claimed it, she should have known there was no chance that we could just remain friends.

She was mine, had always been, and I’d always been hers. Despite what I’d done, the wounds I’d inflicted, she had always been mine. When I’d lain with other women and she with other men, our hearts had been tied, our bond one that neither of us could ever escape.

I think I’d known al along that one day we would be together again, and as my mother had said, it would just take time and patience. When Elizabeth had realized it, I wasn’t quite sure. Maybe she’d realized it somewhere along the way as we’d shared our daughter, as she’d taught me how to be a father and what loyalty and commitment real y meant. Maybe she’d felt it when my father died and her heart had bled so freely for me or perhaps in the embrace she’d met me with on my return—certainly by the time she’d kissed me that same night.

It’d taken every ounce of resolve for me to lie stil , to keep from tugging her body against mine, to pretend that I remained asleep, to pretend that the warmth of her fingers hadn’t brought me to consciousness, and to pretend that I hadn’t felt her mouth upon mine.

I’d been strong enough to give her that moment and al ow her the space to deal with the emotions that could no longer be contained. I’d listened to her cry in the room above me as I tasted the salt of her tears on my lips, silently promising her again and again that one day I would erase that pain.

Lizzie rubbed her nose into my chest and peered up at me with a sadness I wished my five-year-old daughter didn’t know and made me wish she hadn’t witnessed the things she had when she said, “I don’t want Mommy to cry anymore.”

It took two seconds for me to shift her, to bring her chest to chest, to promise her that everything would be fine, and to tel her we were al going to be happy—together.

I tucked Lizzie into her bed, smoothed her damp hair from her face, and told her again that I loved her.

Yawning, she snuggled down in her covers as I pul ed them to her chin and murmured, “Night, Daddy. See you in the morning.” It made me dizzy with joy with the idea of her proclaiming that each night.

“Sleep wel , Lizzie.”

At her door, I watched as she drifted off to sleep before I flipped off the light. I left her door ajar and walked downstairs. I glanced at the clock on the microwave as I grabbed a bottle of beer from the refrigerator.

Only ten o’clock.

Patience.

I’d waited for months—for years, real y—I could wait a few more hours.

I slid the back door open, left it open a crack in case Lizzie woke, and dragged a chair to the edge of the patio. I leaned back to look up at the night sky that was a jaundiced haze with the glow of lights and tipped my beer to my mouth as I listened to the hum of the city—dogs barking at passersby, the whirr of the highway a few miles off, an ambulance blaring in the distance.

I wondered what Elizabeth was doing, worried if she was safe, and wished she were home.

I thought of the scar above her eye, the one that had twisted me in knots last night, made me sick with rage, and starved for vengeance before her words from months ago had come to mind.

Nobody has ever hurt me as badly as you hurt me, Christian. No one.

Never had I hated myself more than then, knowing I had scarred her deeper than the disfigured evidence of abuse on her skin.

But somehow, her heart went deeper than that, deeper than my betrayal, and she had comforted me.

Breathing in the damp air, I drained my beer, stood, and went inside to get another.

Only eleven.

I dropped onto the couch, turned on the television, flipped through channels, and listened to a newscaster drone on. I sipped from my bottle, letting it ebb at my restlessness and soothe my impatience.

On my third trip to the kitchen, I heard the rattle of keys, the slide of metal, and a rush of laughter as it flooded the room. I popped the cap from the fresh bottle of beer and tossed it aside as I moved to lean with my forearm against the archway to watch Natalie wobble in, giggling with Elizabeth who was close behind. Matthew fol owed them in, shaking his head in what appeared to be slight amusement, his hands ful of gift bags.

I couldn’t help but grin.

Matthew glanced in my direction and rol ed his eyes when Elizabeth and Natalie fel into another fit of laughter and looked back at them with unquestionable affection. “I think our girls may have had a bit too much to drink tonight,” he said while setting the bags aside.

Natalie held onto the back of the couch and tried to regain her balance in the ridiculously high-heeled boots she wore, laughing as she accused, “You’re just mad ‘cause you were DD.”

Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his waist, kissed his cheek. “No, seriously, thank-you for driving, Matt. I had a great time.”

She grinned up at him as he kissed her atop her head.

“No problem, Liz. Happy birthday.”

Natalie laughed for what seemed no reason at al and swayed in the middle of the floor.

“Whoa there.” Matthew was immediately behind her, supporting her as he drew her back to his chest. He hugged her and splayed his hands over her stomach as he hooked his chin over her shoulder. “I think I’d better get this one home.” He nuzzled her neck and made her giggle before he motioned with his head in my direction. “You stayin’ here tonight?”

I waved my half-empty bottle in the air and nodded.

“Yep. I’ve had a couple of these.”

Not that I was going anywhere anyway.

“Good.” No bitterness, no distrust.

Natalie tottered forward, hugged me, and stepped back to pucker her lips and squeeze my chin before she turned to kiss Elizabeth on her cheek.

I suppressed a chuckle. Matthew was definitely in for it tonight.

I shook his hand and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Drive safe.”

“Sure thing . . . see you two tomorrow.” With a final happy birthday wish to Elizabeth, he wound an arm around Natalie’s waist and led her out the door.

In their absence was a charged silence. Elizabeth looked to the ground, fidgeting in trepidation, timorous.

I didn’t want her to feel this way, pressured or coerced, and I knew right then our reunion couldn’t be tonight. Even though we both knew she was mine, that I was hers, it was obvious she stil wasn’t ready.

Patience.

“Did you have a good time?” I asked to break the tension as I crossed the room and gathered her bags to take them into the kitchen. I gave her a gentle smile.

It’s okay, Elizabeth, I already know.

I set the brightly colored bags on the kitchen table and snooped through wads of tissue paper, bottles of wine, soaps, scented lotions, and lingerie. Elizabeth spoke from behind me where she lagged at the archway. “Yeah . . . we had a lot of fun.” She giggled mostly to herself. “But my feet real y hurt. I’m getting too old for this.” Chuckling at her assertion, I poked around some more through her things. I wished I could have been there to see her open her gifts and somehow have been with Lizzie at the same time.

I pul ed a bottle of red wine from a gift bag, inspected the label, turned to her, and held it up. “Shal we?” I knew we probably shouldn’t, that we’d both had enough to drink, but I didn’t yet have it in me to tel her goodnight.

Her mouth twitched at one corner. “You know Scott got that for me?”

I looked between her and the bottle and cocked an eyebrow.

“Wel , then we definitely should.” For some reason, my teasing seemed to relax her, and I saw the strain drain from her eyes and melt from her muscles. She shook her head and laughed lightly as she crossed the room and hoisted herself onto the kitchen counter.

I swal owed and tried to orient myself, to maintain control.

She was so beautiful. Many times I’d seen her sitting on that counter, chatting with Natalie and laughing, but never dressed like that.

I tried not to stare as I dug through the drawer next to the sink for a corkscrew, though I couldn’t help but steal glances. She leaned forward with her hands holding the edge of the counter, her long, slender legs exposed al the way to her thighs. She swung them slowly, and the backs of her black heels thudded rhythmical y against the cabinet beneath her, the swel of her breasts peeking out the top of her white blouse—a near irresistible temptation.

She wore a shy smile as she watched me opening the wine, her head tilted to face me, blond curls fal ing to one side. I poured two glasses, handed her one, and whispered, “Happy birthday, Elizabeth.” I clinked my glass to hers.

She sipped while looking up at me through her long eyelashes. “It’s not my birthday anymore.” I closed my eyes, struggled to breathe, and took a step away to put some distance between us.

It was clear what was simmering just under the surface, what hung in the air. I knew I should end this and tel her goodnight.

Instead, I glanced over at her and smiled and found an excuse to keep her for a few minutes more. “Tel me about tonight?”

I watched the movement of her mouth as she told me about her party, her friends, family, the things that were said, and the things that were done. I watched as she brought the glass to her lips again and again. Time ticked on, topics changed, drifted to old col ege stories, the places we’d been, the fun we had shared. We laughed, we teased. I refil ed her glass, refil ed mine, opened another bottle, listened as her words began to slur just as my mind became slack.

I was too relaxed, felt too good—loved the sound of her voice. I was drawn and edged closer, wanting more.

I found myself facing her and standing between her legs. I set my wine aside and pressed my palms onto the countertop. My thumbs gently brushed the outside of her thighs, her calves grazing my jeans as they slowly swished back and forth. Her mouth was seductive, her eyes dark.

Needing to see her, I reached out and pushed away the veil of hair obstructing her beautiful face. She leaned her head into the movement, inviting the contact. I ran the back of my hand down her cheek, over her lips, and breathed her name. “Elizabeth.”

She trembled as she hesitantly lifted her fingertips to touch my face and then cupped my jaw. Our breaths fil ed the room, heavy and hungry. Her eyes flickered over my face, resting on where she touched me. Under her touch, my skin burned like fire. She looked back at me almost in awe as if she’d forgotten the power of our connection—

forgotten that together we felt like this.

We’d have been fools to think it could ever be contained.

“Elizabeth?” I asked, this time a petition.

Please.

I needed her and was desperate to feel her.

Don’t be afraid.

She brought her other hand to my other jaw, held my She brought her other hand to my other jaw, held my face, and wet her lips.

As she leaned in, I inched closer, tilted my head, and gently brushed my lips against hers, kissing my girl for the first time in over six years. Her lips were soft, just as I remembered, tasted like wine and the potent sweetness of Elizabeth’s spirit. My heart leapt, tangled with hers as her fingers tangled in my hair. Our lips were tentative, cautious, and slow.

I wanted more.

My tongue tested, and I groaned into her mouth as the tip of Elizabeth’s tongue brushed across mine.

Yes.

Hit with a wave of lust, I sank my fingers into the bare skin of her thighs and tugged her to the edge of the counter, my mouth aggressive against hers.

Mine. Finally she was mine.

Her hands created the worst kind of desire as they roamed my body, over my shoulders and down my back.

She drove me to the edge of sanity as she pressed her palms into my chest and down my stomach, then snaked her hands under my shirt as she wrapped her legs around my waist.

I was gone, losing al control in a fog of alcohol and lust and pent-up desire, my body starved for hers for far too long. Her flimsy skirt was bunched over her hips and her black lace panties pressed against my jeans as my mouth sought out every exposed inch of her heated skin.

Stil , I wanted more.

I yanked at the top of her blouse, exposed the rosy bud of her perfect breast, and took it in my mouth.

More.

My hands rushed up over the silky smoothness of her legs, my thumbs running desperate circles on her inner thighs as my fingers dug into her supple skin.

Elizabeth moaned and tore my shirt over my head.

More.

I panted into her mouth as I slipped two fingers under the edge of her panties and into the warmth of her body.

She gasped, bracing herself on my shoulders. I pul ed back just a fraction, searching her face while my fingers searched her body.

Do you want this?

She answered by attacking my belt and rushing through my button fly.

I found enough sensibility to whisper against her mouth, “Not here.” My mouth crashed back to hers as I pul ed her from the counter. She wobbled as I set her feet on the floor. I held her up, my hands on her hips as I pushed her backward and pressed her against the opposite wal , kissing her hard. She ground out my name, strung it along, and sent my heart crashing in my chest. “Christian . . .

please.”

I spun her again. Frantical y I kissed her as I backed her through the family room. I fumbled through the buttons of her blouse as we stumbled up the stairs and toppled to her bedroom floor.

Somewhere inside of me, I knew it should be different from this. I knew I shouldn’t be pushing her panties down her legs and her skirt up her waist. I knew her blouse shouldn’t be left hanging open, her bra stretched beneath just one breast, my jeans shoved down to my thighs.

I knew I shouldn’t thrust inside of her, frenzied, moaning at how good she felt.

I should have heard something in her smal cries of pleasure, buried somewhere below the surface. Even in the shadows of her darkened room, I should have read it in her face as she came, found it in the horror in her eyes that fol owed.

I knew the beauty of Elizabeth shouldn’t be wasted, that she should be savored and cherished.

But I was too distracted, too consumed by her skin, by her softness, by her heat—by everything she final y was giving me—what I could no longer live without. I drove into her fast and hard, a quick release. I cried out into the darkness of her room and col apsed on top of her, gasping for air.

I kissed her closed mouth, ran my hand through her knotted hair, and wished I had thought to tel her I loved her long before now.

I murmured it against her mouth.

She silently nodded in return.

I opened my eyes and squinted against the low rays of early morning light streaming in through the slatted blinds in the otherwise darkened room. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed the heel of my hand into my left one in defense of the sharp, stabbing pain that felt as if it were splitting my head in two.

I tried to sit up but the room spun and pinned me back down. Blinking, I tried to orient myself. Memories of last night flooded in and swept over me in waves of nausea and shame—the kitchen counter, the bedroom floor.

Oh, my God came as a cry from deep within my soul.

Heat blistered my skin, his bare chest scorching my back where we touched, his arm slung over my waist.

Deep, heavy breaths sounded against my ear and spread out over my face, his pulse a steady thrum.

Oh, my God. I pressed my hand harder to my mouth to stifle a cry.

I tried to untangle myself from his grip without waking him. I froze when he tightened his hold. Unintel igible mutterings spil ed from his mouth, and I held my breath as I slipped from his grasp and stood from the bed. I held my head in my hands to combat another rush of dizziness.

Christian groaned and mumbled, rol ed to his stomach, and buried his head in my pil ow. The sheet covered him to his waist, dipping to reveal the edge of his black boxer briefs and exposing the defined contours of his broad shoulders that tapered to his narrow back.

Oh, my God.

With weak knees, I steadied myself with my arm against the wal . I looked down at myself in disgust, unable to remember how I’d ended up in a tank top and underwear, unable to remember how I’d made it into my bed.

How could I have al owed this happen, al owed him to treat me this way? I should have known he was just the same and that he would never change.

In my shame, I stumbled to the bathroom, shaking as I wrapped my trembling body in a black robe that covered my legs to my knees. I knotted the belt, and then clung to the bathroom doorway as I stared back out at the beautiful man sleeping in my bed.

I felt my heart break again.

Why? Why did he have to ruin everything? I’d seen this coming like a storm churning out in the middle of the sea, only days until landfal . He’d turned us upside down, smiled with dishonest intentions, pushed until I’d fal en over the edge, waiting to strike until I trusted again.

I’d known al along where that trust would lead, that he’d laugh in my face as he threw it away.

Was it al just a game?

I looked over at the spot where he’d treated me like trash, where he’d fucked me on my bedroom floor. Like garbage to be tossed aside, he’d spil ed into me without a second thought.

Just like years before. We’d been out at a col ege bar, drank until we’d staggered back to his apartment laughing, kissing, reckless. We hadn’t even thought about what we’d forgotten until it was over. Christian had shrugged it off as if it was nothing, and I’d pushed it to the back of mind until I could ignore it no longer.

He’d leave me, just like he had before.

And once again, I’d be alone.

I’d trusted him implicitly right up until the moment he’d driven me away, and I knew I could expect nothing different this time.

Forcing myself down the hal , I slid my palm across the wal for support. I closed Lizzie’s door with a soft click and felt something splintering inside as old wounds ripped wide open. I could barely stand under the deluge of memories, the burden I’d carried, every internal injury meted out at Christian’s wil .

Everything spun as I clutched the railing and slowly Everything spun as I clutched the railing and slowly took each step downstairs. My head throbbed with the pulsing and pounding of blood in my ears. It turned my stomach and soured my mouth.

I raced across the family room and purged my guilt and hangover into the downstairs toilet as I berated myself for being such a fool to have given in.

I shouldn’t have expected anything different or anything better.

On unsteady feet, I stood and held onto the basin as I splashed cold water on my face and rinsed my mouth. I tied my matted, tangled hair back with a band before I hunted through the medicine cabinet for a bottle of ibuprofen.

Shaking, I placed four tablets in my mouth and cupped my hands under the running faucet to chase them down.

Tears stung my eyes as I looked back up into the mirror and wiped my mouth with a towel, unsure if I’d survive this time.

I lumbered out and was met with the remnants of the night before—two empty wine bottles, two glasses left half ful , Christian’s shirt discarded on the floor.

Bending down, I picked the shirt up and closed my eyes as I pressed it to my mouth, to my nose, inhaling the sweet of the man who would never stop breaking my heart.

I stiffened when I felt his presence, and then heard the heavy release of air that sounded something like relief from across the room. His movements were subdued as he moved across the kitchen floor.

I flinched when he wrapped his arms around me from behind, buried his nose in my neck, and whispered, “Good morning.” It felt like a caress on my skin.

I whimpered, my mouth trembling as I made a decision before it was much, much too late, forcing out a barely audible don’t touch me. The old pain was fresh, tormenting my weakness, insulting the mistake I’d made in al owing him into my home and back into my life, mocking how easily I’d handed over my heart.

He stiffened but didn’t back away. I felt him shake, swal ow, understand. “Please, Elizabeth, don’t do this.” My hair brushed across his bare chest as I slowly shook my head. For the briefest moment, my desire confused my resolve, the continuous fire that roiled between us, a reminder of just how badly this was going to hurt.

But I would be strong enough to end this now before he completely destroyed Lizzie and me, while Lizzie stil had a chance to recover. In time she would heal, though I knew I would not. No amount of time could undo the devastation I felt as I turned on him and wrenched myself from his grip, spitting venomous words as I inched back toward him and slammed his shirt against his chest.

“I want you out of my house . . . out of our lives.” He seemed to sway, to lose his balance. His face contorted in agony as he first looked at the wadded up shirt fisted in his hand and then back at me. Is that what I’d looked like when he’d cast me aside? Is that what the shock of heartbreak looked like? Could he ever feel the way he had made me feel? Could he ever understand?

His expression shifted and set in determination as he clenched his jaw. “No.” He shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere, Elizabeth.”

I closed my eyes, refusing to see the commitment on his face as I wheezed the words get out.

I opened my eyes, dragging to the forefront the memories of what he had done. I remembered the cal used expression on his face when he’d told me to choose him or my daughter. I remembered how it had felt to be alone, sick, and scared; remembered what it felt like to fight for my child’s life.

I’d given up my goals, not because of my daughter, but because he had been too much of a coward to stand up for what was right, because he had refused to take responsibility for his family. I clung to long suppressed secrets of shame. I’d hidden from my family just how bad off Lizzie and I had gotten. When I’d already asked my family for far too much, I’d gone hungry because I couldn’t afford to feed both of us. The time Lizzie and I had been evicted from our smal apartment and I’d driven through the night, feeling too ashamed to tel my mother and Matthew that I’d failed again, and I’d stil ended up at Matthew’s house at four in the morning. It was then that Matthew and Natalie had taken us in to live with them. I held fast to the memories of their sacrifice—a sacrifice Christian hadn’t been man enough to make.

I stalked forward, backed him into the next room, and let everything boil over. “Get out!”

This time he pled, reached for me, and attempted to restrain me in his arms. “No, Elizabeth. I won’t leave you, not this time. I love you . . . oh, my God, please don’t do this.”

I fought against him and twisted out of his grip, refusing to al ow him to convince me of anything different than what he’d shown me the night before—remembered the five-minute exchange on my bedroom floor where he’d reminded me just how little I actual y meant to him and let that anger bleed free.

“I hate you.”

He jumped back, releasing me as if he’d been stung.

I didn’t stop, but spewed my anger. “How dare you come in here and turn my life upside down . . . lead me on .

. . make me believe you’d changed. I trusted you, and the second I was vulnerable, you took advantage of it!” His eyes were wide with shock when they flew up to meet the tortured fury in my own. “What?” he demanded in a low voice as he took two steps forward. “Is that what you think last night was?” His eyes narrowed, and I cowered as he took another step that had me backed against the wal .

“Don’t you dare stand there and act like you didn’t want it every bit as much as I wanted it, Elizabeth . . . pretend that this”—he gestured wildly between us—“wasn’t already happening. Yeah, things got a little out of control last night, but it doesn’t change anything.” He was right. Nothing had changed. He was just the same. He would promise his heart until it no longer suited him. He would take what he wanted and toss aside what he didn’t.

He will never stay.

Defeated, I slid down the wal and buried my head in my hands, unable to stop the rush of emotion. He will never stay. I felt myself breaking apart as tears poured unchecked down my face and the reality of my foolishness sank in and became real, and I whispered again, “I hate you.”

Christian leaned down, his nose nearly touching mine, his voice fire. “You’re a liar.” He glared down at me with heartbroken rage and pointed up toward Lizzie’s room. “I love you, Elizabeth, but you need to know . . . I wil fight for her.”

Squeezing my eyes shut, I put back up the wal s he had torn down, wouldn’t listen to what he said. I lost myself in self-pity, in my mistakes, in his betrayal. In my mind, I saw him as the selfish boy who had ripped me apart.

He will never stay.

My tortured cries did nothing to drown out the echo of Christian’s feet as he walked away, taking with him the last piece of my heart. The front door grated on its hinges as it opened, taunted, He’s leaving you.

I couldn’t have imagined anything could have hurt worse than what had just transpired, that there could be anything more painful than cutting Christian from my life.

But I should have known better, known that it would only compound.

I fought for resolve, for a way to stay strong when Lizzie suddenly appeared on the stairs, panic in the clamor of her feet and in the flood of hysteria from her mouth.

“No! Daddy, don’t go!”

Christian turned in the doorway as if in slow motion. Al color drained from his face as he dropped to his knees to catch Lizzie in his arms. She clung to his neck and cried again, barely coherent as she begged, “Don’t leave me, Daddy! Please don’t leave me!”

The nausea from before made a resurgence as I lay limply against the wal , disconnected, and watched my daughter fal apart while Christian tried to hold her together.

He rocked her, whispered against her head, and promised, “It’l be okay. It’l be okay.” He pul ed back, faked a smile. “I’l come back, sweetheart. It might take a little while, but I promise I’l come back.”

Lizzie held him tighter. “Please stay with me, Daddy.” He choked over her plea and hugged her to his chest.

Over her shoulder, he begged me with his eyes.

I looked away.

He will never stay.

I had to end it now for her sake—and mine.

“I can’t right now, princess. Mommy and Daddy just need a little time apart.” His eyes flitted over her face as he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Try not to be sad and just remember that, no matter what, Daddy loves you.” Then he stood and walked out the door.

With the click of the latch, a sob erupted from Lizzie,

and she rushed to the window. She pressed her face against the glass, her voice smal and broken. “Daddy.” It escalated with each breath as she repeatedly cal ed for him, “Daddy . . . Daddy . . . Daddy!” When he backed his car from the driveway and his tires squealed on the road, she slid to the floor where her cries became muddled and distorted, an echo of my own heartbreak sounding out from my baby girl who rocked herself in a bal on the floor.

For a fleeting moment, I thought I might die, that my heart would falter in my chest, seize as the ultimate punishment for what I had done.

I’d broken the two people I loved the most. I’d destroyed my daughter, destroyed Christian, had ruined what I knew Christian and I could have had—what I knew somewhere beneath the fear that we had already built—

broke my own heart.

Christian was right. I didn’t hate him. I hated myself.

Lizzie stared at the untouched plate of food in front of her.

She hadn’t said a word the entire day but had lain on the floor for uncountable minutes or hours as I’d done the same, unresponsive from the impact. Sometime during the day, she’d moved to her room and had shut the door and shut me out. I’d given her space because I’d needed it too. I had cal ed her downstairs when I’d realized the sun had set more than an hour ago and she hadn’t eaten al day.

“Lizzie, baby, you need to eat,” I said, my voice cracking from the hoarseness of my voice, and pushed her plate closer to her. Please.

My request was met with silence, no reaction, as if I hadn’t spoken at al .

I turned away to hide the tears that gathered in my eyes. I blinked and they fel . I wiped them with the back of my hand.

My cel phone rang from inside my purse on the kitchen counter.

I closed my eyes, but not before they had instinctively sought out the clock on the wal .

Seven fifteen.

The night was long and lonely, fil ed with restlessness—too many thoughts and too much hurt. Christian chased me down in my dreams, haunted, hunted, woke me as he shook me, and demanded to know why.

I’d left Lizzie’s door wide open, hoping she’d cal out for me, need me. Instead, the same quiet distress as my own had seeped from her room. She’d tossed, turned, and whimpered through her burdened sleep. In the early morning, I found her awake, sitting up in bed glassy-eyed and staring at nothing while she rocked the dol Christian had given her in her arms.

I cal ed in to work, barely able to form a coherent sentence as I told Anita I wasn’t feeling wel . She laughed and teased that I must have had too much fun on Saturday night to stil be suffering the effects on Monday morning. I mumbled a weak something like that before I hung up the phone and hung my head, having no idea how to deal with what I felt inside.

My gut twisted in guilt when I dropped my daughter at school, stil mute, her face expressionless—numb.

But I left her as I couldn’t stand to stay to face what I’d done.

Our beach was nearly deserted on a Monday morning in November. I sat at the edge of the water with my arms wrapped around my knees. The wind stung my face as it licked at my tears. I clutched my phone as it buzzed, the wind and waves drowning out the sounds erupting from my throat as I wept when his name lit up the screen again and again.

I pul ed up in front of Matthew and Natalie’s house at five. The door opened a second later, and Matthew stepped out. Pressure seemed to drain from him when he saw me before it changed, and the corners of his eyes creased in worry masked with anger. He met me halfway down the walkway, demanding to know what was wrong with Lizzie, why she wouldn’t speak, and why I hadn’t returned their cal s al afternoon.

I stared at him and whispered, “Christian’s gone.” I felt another piece of myself wedge itself free when I admitted it aloud.

Christian is gone—because of me.

I closed my eyes. No, Christian did this, I thought, unconsciously clenching a fist as I tried to stand up under the guilt eating me from the inside out.

“What?” Matthew stepped forward and put his hands on my shoulders. He shook me lightly, forcing me to look at him. “What are you talking about, Elizabeth?”

“He’s gone,” I said again, felt myself sway. Matthew caught my waist, held me up, and helped me inside.

I sat silently on their couch al evening, huddled under a blanket. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t explain. Matthew left the house in a whirlwind of indignation and returned two hours later, weary. He took his bal cap from his head and ran his hand over his face and through his short hair as he looked down upon me in both compassion and disappointment.

I turned away, knew where he’d been.

Natalie took his hand and led him down the hal . From their bedroom came hushed voices as they whispered my secrets. I hid my head under the blanket and covered my ears like a four-year-old child. I didn’t want to hear, to know what he’d said, the excuses he’d made, to listen to the part that I knew was my fault.

Stil Lizzie wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t eat. She sat at the opposite end of the couch, clinging to the neck of her dol , and cried in her sleep.

They say cowards run in the face of danger or pain.

I supposed that’s what I was, what I’d become, too fearful to love, too fearful to be loved, too afraid to live—so I ran.

The week passed in a blur of darkness worse than I had ever known. I’d tried to go back to work on Tuesday.

Anita had sent me home. She said to come back when I’d resolved whatever it was I was dealing with.

I spent long days at the beach lost in guilt, anger, and remorse, and I spent the even longer nights torturing myself with his messages. Like a masochist, I pressed his broken voice to my ear and listened to him again and again.

Sometimes he begged me to cal him and said he didn’t understand what he had done, but he was sorry for whatever it was. He told me too many times that he loved me.

As time went on, the messages became fil ed with anger and accusations, demanding to know how I could do this to him, do this to our daughter. He implored with me that if I wouldn’t al ow him to speak to Lizzie then to at least have the decency to tel her how much he loved and missed her, that he was thinking of her every second of every day.

Other messages were fil ed with silence, though the pain of his presence was thick enough to speak for him.

Each day, I stood aside and watched my little girl suffer, the one person I was supposed to love the most, the one I was to protect and care for. I told myself that I was doing this to protect her, and then had to ask myself when I’d become such a selfish liar. She had withdrawn inside herself. She stil wouldn’t speak and could barely eat—

didn’t cry except in her restless sleep. Her eyes were sunken, their sweet intensity deadened, her vibrant spirit snuffed out and trampled under. Her teacher had cal ed ful of concern, saying Lizzie wasn’t acting like herself, and that she was worried.

I’d given her some pathetic excuse that we’d just had a hard week and promised that Lizzie would be fine.

Friday I pul ed up to Matthew and Natalie’s house at five just as I had every day of the week. Sitting in the car at their curb, I tried to compose myself and pul myself together. I felt cold, chil ed to the bone from the day spent with my feet submerged in the cold autumn water of the Pacific Ocean. I closed my eyes and held the steering wheel, wil ing away the sickness in my stomach, the ache in my heart, the fog clouding my mind, but there was nothing that could chase them away.

Sensing movement, I looked up to see Matthew had emerged from the house with Lizzie in his arms. Her face was buried in his neck, and he held her protectively while he glared over her shoulder at me. He’d attempted to talk to me al week but each time I had shut him down. I told him I didn’t want to talk about it—I already knew what he would say.

I rose from the car to meet them, but Matthew pushed by me, gently placed Lizzie into the backseat of my car, and buckled her into her booster seat. He kissed her head and told her he loved her. She said nothing, stared ahead with vacant eyes. He paused for a moment, and then placed his palm on her forehead as if he were checking for a fever. He mumbled something before he stood and shut her door.

For a moment, he stared at me. His expression told me everything I needed to know. He was furious with me—

blamed me.

I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin defensively.

He shook his head at my reaction and started up his He shook his head at my reaction and started up his sidewalk without a parting word. Halfway to his door, he paused and shifted before he turned around with his eyes narrowed.

“Don’t you think you’ve let this go on long enough, Elizabeth?”

I shook my head and scrunched my brow, pretending I didn’t know exactly what he was talking about.

Matthew scrubbed his face, agitated as he forced the air from his lungs. It was as if he had to regain control before he could even look at me.

“You have to put an end to this, Elizabeth.” He pointed at Lizzie sitting in the back of the car. “She’s miserable.” He punctuated both words with an angry jab of his finger though they sounded sad and desperate.

“You don’t even know what happened . . . what he did to me!”

He laughed in an almost incredulous way. Coming from Matthew’s mouth it stil sounded a lot like sympathy.

“What? You two slept together? Did you real y not see it coming, Elizabeth? Because the rest of us sure as hel did.” His voice softened, and he took a step forward. “I get it, Liz

. . . why you’re upset. The timing was wrong, and he should’ve waited . . . he knows he should have . . . but you know as wel as I do it was going to happen, and it’s not right to make Lizzie pay for it.”

I flinched and stepped back against my car, both embarrassed that Christian had told him outright and confused that it hadn’t angered Matthew.

My throat constricted as I, once again, used my daughter as a way to justify my fear. “He’s just going to end up hurting Lizzie.”

Matthew snorted in disbelief and took another step forward, lowering his head to look me in the eye. “I think it’s about time you questioned just who you’re protecting, because it sure as hel isn’t that little girl.”

“I thought you were on my side.” Tears wel ed in my eyes, hurt because I’d believed Matthew would always stand by me but more so, because I knew he was right.

He glanced at the ground, then back at me, and took the last step to bring us face-to-face. His words were intense as if he wanted to shake me to make me understand. “I am on your side. Al I’ve ever wanted was what’s best for you and Lizzie, and if you’d stop being so goddamned scared for once in your life, you’d see that it’s Christian!”

With that, I broke. The tears flowed, and I fel into Matthew’s arms. He held me up just as he always had. He rocked me, shushed me, and told me, “It’l be okay, sweetheart.” He ran his hand through my tangled hair and whispered again, “It’l be okay.”

He stepped back, gripping my upper arms with both hands and squeezed me in reassurance as he pled, “It’s time to al ow yourself some happiness, Elizabeth. You’ve loved that man since the day I met you, and running from him now isn’t going to change it.”

I gasped and tried to catch my breath as I admitted, “I don’t know how.”

He kissed me on my forehead and squeezed me again. “Yes, you do.”

Then he touched my cheek and left me standing there while he walked back into his house.

Reeling, I sank down into my seat. I wiped at my tears with the back of my hand and glanced at Lizzie through the rearview mirror. For the first time since her father had walked out our door almost a week before, her expression was something other than numb, and tears stained her precious round face.

In silence, I drove us home. As soon as I pul ed into the garage, I hurried to Lizzie’s door and gathered her into my arms desperate to erase the distance I’d placed between us over these last few horrible days.

I felt sick, final y realizing what I’d done, that I’d kept my daughter at arm’s length when she needed me most. And I’d done it to shield myself from the blame—and from her pain.

I stood in my garage, holding my child. I breathed her in, nuzzled her with my nose, and kissed her for the first time in a week. I ran my hands through her hair, her father’s hair, and apologized again and again, “I’m so sorry, baby girl. Mommy is so sorry.”

She dug her fingers into my skin and wept.

I swayed us in an attempt to console the inconsolable little girl in my arms.

She hiccupped, climbed up higher as she wrapped her tiny arms around my neck, and spoke for the first time. “I miss my daddy.”

I released a heavy breath and drew her closer.

“I know, baby. I miss him too.”

Leaving Lizzie that way was the hardest thing I’d ever done.

The door slammed behind me harder than I’d intended, and I’d felt the intensity of Lizzie’s stare through the window as she watched me walk away from her. I couldn’t stop the sound of her begging me to stay from persisting in my ears.

The muscles in my chest coiled and constricted, and I had to force myself to get in my car and drive away.

At the end of the street, I stopped, buried my face in my hands, and tried to make sense of how everything had fal en apart and how in one hazy night my near-perfect life had been destroyed. It was a life that I’d known only for a handful of months, but one that had erased every lonely day I’d had before it began.

How could I have been so stupid? Why did I have to push and take when I knew she wasn’t ready?

I’d wakened to an empty bed with the taste of stale alcohol on my tongue and a hint of Elizabeth on my skin. It al rushed back, how the night had escalated out of control and had erupted in pent up passion, fast hands, and impulsive reactions. I was hit with the magnitude of the mistake I’d made. I hadn’t even asked but had come undone inside of her, careless and irresponsible. I should have known where Elizabeth’s mind would go, what it would remind her of. I’d stumbled from her bed and downstairs to seek her out. I’d wanted to reassure her of my love, to show her that no matter how imprudent our actions were from the night before, I was there to stay. I’d felt a fleeting sense of relief when I’d come upon her holding my shirt to her face.

That relief had been shattered when she’d pushed me away, demanded that I go, accused me of taking advantage of her.

She thought I’d used her.

“Damn it, Elizabeth,” I said aloud in the confines of my car as I rammed my head back against the seat. I contemplated turning around and going back to her house.

Instead, I turned out onto the main road.

While I drove back toward my condo, I tried to convince myself that Elizabeth just needed some time to calm down, and just like so many times before, any measure of progress we made was met with a step back.

Somehow, though, I knew that this time it was different. I’d touched Elizabeth in a place that never should have been touched, had unleashed something deeper than I’d ever acknowledged existed—something I’d created in her many years before.

There was no other explanation for her reaction. This woman was one of the best mothers I knew. She was a woman who loved our daughter just as deeply as I did.

Something had to have snapped inside of Elizabeth for her to put Lizzie through what she had this morning. I’d wanted to shake her, to grab her by the shoulders and demand that she wake up and see what she was doing to Lizzie—to open her eyes so she could see the fear in Lizzie’s.

Instead, I was left struggling to comfort our daughter the best I could, to promise her that it would be okay even when I real y wasn’t sure that it would.

Never had my condo felt more desolate than when I stepped through the door this Sunday morning. My head pounded with the remnants of last night’s excess, a reminder of my indiscretions. I crawled under the cold sheets of my bed and forced my lids closed, hoping for escape, a few minutes reprieve. Behind them I only saw my daughter’s face and heard the echo of Elizabeth’s words, I hate you . . . I want you out of our lives.

And I didn’t know who to blame.

I’d messed up, I knew. I should have been more cautious. Elizabeth was fragile and should have been treated with care. But I knew, even stil , even after everything that had been said, that she had wanted me just as badly as I had wanted her. It had been building for weeks, for months.

Besides that, no matter what Elizabeth and I had done to each other, regardless of any mistakes we may have made and whatever consequences we had to face, there was absolutely no excuse for making Lizzie suffer because of it.

Eluded by sleep, I sat up and cal ed Mom. I just needed someone to talk to, someone to offer me hope in a time when I felt entirely hopeless. I told her everything with as little detail as possible.

She sighed, whispered, “Oh, Christian.” Her disappointment was clear. I could see her shaking her head, sad and worried, as she told me, “Give her some time.”

Time. Always more time.

I tried, but it was nearly impossible.

The hours ticked by, second by excruciating second.

The sun fil ed the sky and then dove toward the ocean, al the while I sat static on my couch, waiting.

At seven fifteen, I cal ed, and a new fear gripped me when it went to voicemail. Seven fifteen wasn’t about Elizabeth and me. It was about Lizzie. Would she real y try to keep me from my daughter?

I want you out of our lives.

A stunning pain tore through my chest as I listened to the unbearable silence on the other end, and I final y pled low, “Please, Elizabeth, don’t do this.” I prayed she would come to her senses.

I’d almost forgotten what insomnia felt like, the exhaustion coupled with a racing mind and thundering heart; only now it was so much worse than ever before. In place of nagging guilt and what-ifs was agonizing loss.

Shadows that had once concealed an unknown child were replaced by the face of my precious daughter, by her glowing spirit and the pinked roundness of her cheeks, by the trust in her smile and the faith in her eyes when I promised her I would never leave her again. Those images blurred and mixed with thoughts of Elizabeth, the woman with the sweet, insecure smile and wary heart that I’d come to know over the last months, the woman I loved even more now than the girl I’d fal en in love with years before, only because I’d grown to be capable of that kind of love.

As much as I ran from the memory, I couldn’t help but think of the way Elizabeth’s skin had burned under my hands the night before and how perfect she had felt; and even though it had been wrong on so many levels, it stil had been completely right—because we were right.

Groaning, I rol ed over in bed and gave up on getting any sleep. I stood and stretched my sore muscles when the first light seeped through my bedroom windows.

I went into the office early and left just as soon as I’d come. I couldn’t focus on anything but the relentless throbbing in my chest.

From my car, I cal ed Elizabeth again and again. I knew I shouldn’t, that I should give her time, but I begged her to cal me. I told her I had never intended to make her feel used, that she and Lizzie meant the world to me, hoped if I told her I loved her enough she would final y believe it.

Matthew showed up at my condo that evening. I buzzed him in and wasn’t surprised at al to see the rage set deep in the lines of his face when I opened the door. It drained when he saw me, catching him off guard before he stepped inside and demanded to know what the hel was going on.

I didn’t spare him the details I had spared my mother.

“Goddamn it, Christian. What in the hel were you thinking?”

That was the problem—I wasn’t thinking.

I sank onto my couch, buried my head in hands, and looked back up at him. “I love her.”

He scratched at the back of his neck in discomfort, softened his demeanor. His commitment would always be with Elizabeth, but I also felt somewhere along the way we’d become friends and he believed me when I told him I loved her.

“That was real y stupid, Christian . . . you should have known you needed to take it slow with her . . . she’s . . .

she’s . . .” He turned away and blew out a long breath. “You real y fucked her up, man.” He cut his eyes back to me, and I knew he wasn’t just talking about what happened this last weekend.

“I know.”

“Give her a couple of days . . . she needs some space.

She’s not doing so great right now.”

I nodded, and I real y did try.

But it didn’t take long for the guilt I felt over Saturday night to transform and for my anger to grow.

I couldn’t believe Elizabeth would al ow this to happen to our daughter. I sat outside Lizzie’s school on Tuesday afternoon. I expected Natalie to be there, that Elizabeth would have asked her to pick Lizzie up rather than me as I had for so many months, but I needed Lizzie to see me, to understand that I did not intend to leave her.

Looking at Lizzie was like looking at ghost. My child was missing and in her place was a shel with an ashen face, pale and wan. She plodded along dragging her feet, her only lifeline the dol she clutched protectively to her.

From the car, I watched her from across the street.

Only when she felt me did her numbness subside, a second’s recognition and a flicker of life. Natalie trailed her gaze to mine, and smiled sadly, as she nudged Lizzie forward and into her car.

For the first time, my cal s to Elizabeth were not fil ed with apologizes but with accusations.

As much as I loved her, I hated her for placing our daughter in the middle of something that was so obviously about the two of us.

My anger and concern only grew as the next days passed, and by Thursday when every cal I’d made had been unreturned, I made a cal I had never wanted to make.

A few hours after first speaking with him, my attorney Lloyd Barrett cal ed back and laid out what he had found. I sat at the smal table in my kitchen with my elbows grinding into the tabletop, palming the back of my head as I listened to him first read through the record of eviction during the first year of Lizzie’s life just months after Elizabeth had moved to San Diego. I hadn’t known about it and was stil trying to digest the information when Lloyd continued. His next words were like daggers that went straight through my chest as he read word for word the police report of the 911

cal from a little girl screaming for someone to help her mommy, the beaten woman identified as Elizabeth Ayers, the paramedics, and the arrest of Shawn Trokoe.

With a hint of disappointment he said, “That’s al we have, but it should be enough to at least provoke some doubt in her judgment.”

That’s all?

I cursed myself, wanted to curse him and ask him how either of these things didn’t reflect upon me and my judgment.

Lloyd pushed on through my silence, knew me we wel enough that he sighed through the phone as he offered advice. “Listen, Christian, I know this is rough on you, but with your history, you’re going to have to use this, or you won’t have a leg to stand on. You had no contact with this child for five years, and that’s not going to sit very wel with any judge that I know.”

I sat with my phone to my ear, saying nothing, having no idea how to proceed. The last thing I’d wanted to do was drag Elizabeth’s name through the mud, shed her in a negative light, and paint her as a bad mother, because I truly didn’t believe that she was. I just wanted mediation, a legal agreement saying I had some right to see my daughter.

“Chances are we’l settle this thing out of court, and we may not even need to use this, but you have to have

somewhere to start.” I knew he meant it as encouragement, but he real y didn’t understand the consequences of what he was asking of me, because I knew, giving the go ahead on this would seal our fate. Elizabeth would never forgive me, and I’d never be given another chance to prove to her how much I real y loved her. It destroyed me to think of shutting that door forever, but the truth was she had broken my heart—had broken my daughter’s heart.

I didn’t want to break the promise I’d made to never put her through a custody battle, but I would never break the promise I’d made to Lizzie; that as long as I lived, I would never leave her.

Matthew’s and Mom’s voices played loudly in my mind, Give her time . . . give her time. I just didn’t know how much time I had left, how much longer I could tolerate watching my little girl suffer.

I raked a hand through my hair and slumped further onto the table. “Just . . . give me a couple of days, and I’l let you know what I decide.”

Thursday night was fraught with nightmares I wasn’t entirely sure were dreamed as I wrestled with the decision that had to be made. I contended with the part of my heart that said I would wait for Elizabeth forever, the part that loved her so much it caused me physical pain.

I pushed that part aside as I rose from my bed Friday morning so fatigued and drained that I could barely stand. I went into the office in a haze with no idea how I would survive this, but knowing for Lizzie, I would let Elizabeth go.

By late afternoon, I felt myself ripping apart, coming unglued. The pain and guilt and anger I’d shouldered al week had become too much. The last bit of hope I’d held onto withered when I entered the hol ow space of my condo.

I shed my suit for jeans and a tee, wishing for the Friday before when Lizzie and I had shopped and made plans, how she’d buzzed in excitement as I’d helped her dress for her mother’s birthday. It was the same night Elizabeth had agreed to go to New York with me—the night she held me in her arms at the foot of her staircase.

Instead, I sat on the couch with my phone in my hand building up the nerve to make the cal that would sever Elizabeth from my life forever. I looked out at the boats bobbing in the bay and pictured Lizzie’s face and hands pressed to the window, could hear her sweet voice as she counted them, and knew there was no other choice to make.

The light tapping at my door stopped me in mid-dial. It was a tiny sound coming from low on the door—a knock I knew could come from no other person than the one I wanted most.

Crossing the room in two steps, I tore the door open.

For a moment, I froze as I came to the realization that I wasn’t hal ucinating, and Lizzie and her mother were actual y standing in my hal way. Lizzie stared up at me. She looked sick, her little body weakened with the wear of the week. Her deadened expression was gone, though, her cheeks pink and chapped and stained with tears. The emptiness had vanished from her eyes; in its place was both hope and despair. I lowered myself slowly, reached for her, and pul ed her into my arms.

She wrapped her sweet arms around my neck and stuttered over the tears that began to fal , “Daddy.” The emotions I’d repressed the entire week in my shocked grief now fel free in an overwhelming surge of relief, and I sobbed into her neck as she sobbed into mine.

I chanted her name, hardly able to believe she was real y here.

“Lizzie,” I said again as I pul ed away just enough to see her and to wipe the tears from her cheeks. I held her face between my hands, probably a little too tight. “I missed you so much, baby girl. Do you understand how much I missed you?” I stressed the words desperate for her to understand I’d never wanted this separation. She nodded and cried as she spoke in her soft angel’s voice, “I missed you so much too, Daddy.” She scraped the nails of her fingers against my skin, dug in, and hung on.

Exhaling heavy and deep, I brought her against my chest, and she locked herself to my neck. I squeezed her with one arm around her waist and a palm on the back of her head, looking up at Elizabeth over Lizzie’s shoulder.

I was almost shocked to see she looked like death, as if she’d been to Hel and taken me with her. The fatigue, worry, and hurt marring her face, the perfect partner to mine. Her jaw quivered and shook from where she stood, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She swal owed and looked away as tears streamed down her face.

I stood and pul ed my daughter up with me. Lizzie latched her legs around my waist just as tightly as she wound her arms around my neck and whimpered as if she were terrified I might let her go. I shushed her, ran my hand through her hair, and promised she wasn’t going anywhere

—that I wasn’t going anywhere. I did not intend to let her out of my sight anytime soon.

I turned and left the door wide open. Elizabeth could stay, or she could go. At this point, I couldn’t bring myself to care. The only thing that mattered right then was the shaking little girl in my arms.

I carried Lizzie across the room to the adjoining kitchen and rested her on the counter, the distance of the large room and my back to Elizabeth our only privacy. I didn’t go far, just inched back enough so I could drink in her eyes, read her expression, and understand what she felt.

With her hands in mine, I asked her, “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

Were any of us okay?

Would we ever be?

Lizzie shed a new round of tears, trembled under my hands, and said, “You left me, Daddy . . . I was so scared you might never come back.” I had no idea how we would ever be al right or if I could ever forgive Elizabeth for what she’d done.

I pressed my lips to her head, smoothed away the matted locks of hair sticking to her cheeks. “I’d never let that happen, princess.”

She captured the solitary tear sliding down my cheek, rubbed it between two fingers, and whispered intuitively as her eyes burned into mine, “Mommy is so sad, Daddy.” It was my child’s plea for me to somehow make this right.

This time I had no clue what to say, had no answers, and could make no more promises. I only whispered,

“Daddy is sad too.”

I held her there for the longest time, and while she cried a week’s worth of tears out against my shirt, I murmured every reassurance I could find. I told her that I had been thinking of her every second, promised her that no matter what, her mother and I would make sure this never happened again.

I felt Elizabeth’s movement from behind, the sound of the door close, and the soft shuffle of her steps over the hardwood floor. When her weight settled on my leather couch, I knew she had chosen to stay.

Honestly, I had no idea what to do with her as she sat silently in my living room, had no idea whether I wanted to scream at her or thank her, whether I should tel her to leave or her beg her to stay.

When Lizzie final y settled down, I pul ed away and smiled at her, touched her nose in a playful way, desperate for some sort of normalcy with my daughter. “Are you hungry, baby girl?”

She nodded and smiled a real smile of tiny gapped teeth and dimples.

“Come here.” I helped her from the counter and led her to the refrigerator. There was little there, mostly delivery leftovers I’d ordered and hadn’t been able to stomach over the last week. In the microwave, we heated up orange chicken and rice from the Chinese place down the street while we shared smal smiles and tender embraces that stil bore the sadness of our separation. I fixed her a plate and set it in front of her. Kissing her on top of her head, I whispered, “Here you go, sweetheart.”

She grinned up at me. “Thanks, Daddy.”

We ate together side-by-side with my arm wrapped possessively over her shoulder. We sat with our backs to Elizabeth because I wasn’t ready to face her any more than she was ready to face me. Between bites, Lizzie and I murmured words of love and encouragement to each other and little things I hoped would restore her confidence.

She’d smile up at me while she chewed, though I could stil sense her wariness in the way she clung to the hem of my shirt and watched me as if I might suddenly disappear.

I swal owed down the anger it provoked, reminding myself that I had to accept the fact that part of this had been my fault too.

Lizzie ate her entire plate plus a bowl of vanil a ice cream that had been left over from the last dinner we’d shared here when we’d laughed and made sundaes. She fed me little bites with her spoon and giggled, and for the first time, I smiled, unrestrained and uninhibited as I leaned in to tickle her tummy.

“I love you so much, Lizzie.”

She climbed onto my lap, kissed my cheek, sat back, and grinned. “I love you even more, Daddy.” I laughed with the game she wanted to play, knowing I had already won because there were no bounds to how much I loved my child, but teased and poked her bel y anyway. “Nu-uh, I love you more.”

“Wel , I love you this much, Daddy.” She spread her tiny arms wide, and I wrapped her in mine.

I flipped off the light switch in the smal second bedroom.

When I had bought this place, I could never have imagined it would eventual y become Lizzie’s room. There was a warm glow resonating through my body, a peace that she final y was here. I’d lain beside her until I was sure she was in a deep sleep, sure that she felt safe and loved and secure. When the fists curled in my shirt final y loosened, and her soft breaths spread out in an even rhythm over my face, I’d slowly risen from the tiny twin bed, pul ed the covers up to her chin, and kissed her for what seemed the mil ionth time that day. I would have been content to watch her sleep al night, but it was time to confront what was waiting for me in the other room.

At the end of the hal , I stopped and looked out to where Elizabeth sat at one end of the couch in the muted light of my living room. Her back was to me, though I saw her face reflected in the darkened panes of the windows—

so sad and forever beautiful.

I swal owed, and she looked up and caught me staring at her in the glass—so incredibly sad. I wanted to wipe her sadness away, but I now doubted that I ever could.

I moved to the opposite end of the couch, sat on the edge of the cushion, and slouched over my thighs with my hands dangling between my knees. There was so much to say, but I had no idea where we’d ever begin, and I feared that this may very wel be the end. Minutes passed by while nothing was said, the room quiet except for the sound of our breathing in the sadness and apprehension that hung stagnant in the air.

“I’m sorry, Christian,” Elizabeth suddenly said, her raspy voice cutting through the strained silence. She looked down at her fists clenched in her lap and whispered lower,

“I’m so, so sorry.”

From the side, I appraised her curled up in a tight bal on my couch, appearing so smal and defeated, and I wished desperately to believe what she said.

“Are you?” I lashed out, my tongue unexpectedly sharp and severe.

She winced with the words, pressed the pads of her fingertips deep into the hol ows beneath her eyes, and wiped at the tears that seemed to have fal en endlessly since she’d walked through my door hours before. “Yes.” I searched her face for honesty and found no deceit, just a broken girl who was hurting just as badly as I was.

“What did I do wrong, Elizabeth? I . . . I thought we . . . ,” I begged.

She pinched her eyes shut, her beautiful face wasted and worn, my offense aged and old. “You left me.” I leaned against the back of the couch and dragged both hands through my hair, as I blew the air from my lungs toward the ceiling. I looked back at her and gave my surrender through a whispered apology. “I know I did, Elizabeth, but I can’t take it back. God knows, I wish I could, but I abandoned you, and there’s nothing I can ever do to change that now.”

As painful as it was, I ignored the part of me that wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort her, to take away her sadness, the part that loved her and wanted to beg her to give us a chance. It was time to give up that piece of my heart and accept that I’d done too much damage, it would never be erased, and I’d never be forgiven.

“I can’t do this anymore, Elizabeth . . . you run every time we get close. I . . . can we just . . . just forget about what happened last weekend? Go back to being friends for the sake of Lizzie? Because I won’t live without her, and I refuse to al ow what happened this last week to ever happen again.”

What appeared as grief rocked her body, and she wheezed over broken, strangled words. “Is that real y what you want?”

“God, Elizabeth . . . I . . . of course not . . .” I looked at her and touched my chest in sincerity. “I’m in love with you.

Do you stil refuse to believe that?” I shook my head, pushed forward through the anguish of my concession, the devastation that blazed as I let go of the only woman I had ever loved—the only woman I would ever love. “But Lizzie’s happiness comes first . . . before you . . . before me.” For a few painful moments, we sat in silence, Elizabeth’s mouth twisted in shame before she final y swal owed, licked her lips, and labored through halting words. “I love you, Christian . . . so much . . . and . . . and I don’t want to give that up . . . I don’t want to give us up.” Her eyes were closed eyes as if shielding herself from my reaction or maybe from her own admission.

My heart stuttered with her confession, both heartbroken and overjoyed. For so long, I’d wanted to hear those words fal from her lips. I’d just had no idea that in those words there would be so much sadness, that they those words there would be so much sadness, that they would be tainted by years of her sorrow, and that my own thril in final y hearing her say them aloud would be tarnished by the immense amount of resentment over what she had done.

She opened her eyes stil heavy with tears, and she angled toward me. Her expression was altogether intense and scared but, for the first time, was completely laid bare.

There was nothing left for either of us to hide. Her mouth and hands shook as she continued. “What happened on my birthday . . . I wanted it . . . I wanted you. But when I woke up next to you, I panicked. Everything I’d gone through after you left me the first time came rushing back. The way it happened . . . the fact that we’d been drinking. It made me feel cheap . . . dirty, and al I could think was that you’d leave me again. Even when I knew that morning you weren’t lying when you said you loved me.” Her voice cracked and she paused.

“I knew I was wrong the entire week, Christian . . . the whole week. I watched our little girl fade away while I clung to my fears and insecurities and tried to convince myself I was doing it for her. What I put Lizzie through this week . .

.”—Elizabeth closed her eyes as if she were protecting herself from the memory—“. . . I pushed my own child away when she needed me most, and I don’t know if I’l ever be able to forgive myself for it, but I can promise that it wil never happen again. She’s my life, and I’l never again let my issues get in the way of my responsibility to her . . . my love for her. But I’m tired of running, Christian . . . tired of running from the only man I’ve ever wanted. If you can somehow forgive me . . .”—she wet her rose-colored lips

—“. . . I want to find a way to forgive you . . . I want to let you love me and not be afraid when you do.”

Maybe now I real y understood why Elizabeth had run from me al of these months, why she would never al ow herself to believe. A love as intense as the one we shared, one that had not dimmed through years of betrayal but had only grown, was terrifying. We had the power to destroy, to devastate and ruin, to lay the other to waste.

But I wasn’t running.

I reached for her hand and pul ed her to my chest. With the connection, the silent tears she’d cried al evening erupted. She clung to me just as tightly as Lizzie had and wept just as hard. She whispered muddled pleas into my shirt while I ran my hands through her hair. “Don’t leave me, Christian . . . please don’t ever leave me.” I shushed her, kissed her on top of her head. “I’m not going anywhere, Elizabeth.”

I laid us down on the couch on our sides, held her close, and let her cry. Her body quaked as she sucked in shuddering breaths and buried her face in my chest. I cradled the girl I had broken, ran my hand up and down her back, and through her hair. She curled up closer, molded herself to me, and I held her tighter. On the cusp of sleep, she whispered, “Don’t ever let me go.”

I tugged the throw from the back of the couch, draped it over our bodies, and drew her closer stil . “Never.”

I’d known when I’d woken up the next morning with Elizabeth stil wrapped in my arms that things were different. She didn’t push me away when I hugged her and murmured good morning against her forehead. Instead, she had pressed her lips to my chest and looked up at me with a smal , timid smile.

It was then I knew we were going to make it.

That was the last night I’d slept at my condo. I’d spent the rest sleeping on Elizabeth’s couch.

Over the last five weeks, Elizabeth and I had spent every second we could together. I met her every day for lunch, and we actual y talked. There was no skirting or softening, just honesty—even when it hurt. In the beginning, there were constant tears and a lot of anger. But she final y opened up and told me how devastated she had been when I’d abandoned her, everything she’d gone through, and how badly she had needed me. While it crushed me to hear it, I welcomed it because I knew we could never truly move on until we actual y faced our past. As the weeks went on, those tears began to dry as a firm future came into view—our future.

We spent our evenings together as a family, mom and dad and daughter. As much as we laughed and played, we devoted a lot of time talking with Lizzie, giving her reassurances and straight answers for what we had done, for the ordeal we had put her through. Even then, we had started taking her to a counselor once a week to help us weed out the seed of abandonment that had been planted, just as Elizabeth and I had started to see a counselor as a couple.

We were doing everything we could to make this work.

The nights—the nights were perfect and entirely tortuous. We spent hours on Elizabeth’s couch making out like teenagers with tangled tongues and wandering hands.

When she’d final y groan and rol off me, I’d chase her upstairs and kiss her senseless against the wal outside her bedroom door. Weak-kneed, she’d careen into her bedroom, giggling and mumbling under her breath something about me being dangerous.

When I’d curl up each night on her worn couch with my senses overwhelmed by Elizabeth, my body throbbing and craving more, I couldn’t imagine feeling more satisfied.

Movement from upstairs caught my attention, and I looked up. “Okay, we’re out of here.” Natalie held Lizzie’s hand as they descended the stairs, Matthew fol owing close behind. Lizzie had her backpack on her shoulders, her dol tucked under her arm, and the sweetest grin on her face. I went to her, knelt in front of her, and touched her sweet cheek. “Mommy and Daddy wil be at Aunt Natalie’s and Uncle Matthew’s first thing in the morning to pick you up, okay?”

She nodded, and wrapped her arms around my neck.

“I know, Daddy. I’m so excited! I can’t wait!” I smiled down at her. “I can’t wait, either. I love you, princess” I brushed my lips across her forehead and stood.

Natalie popped up on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around my neck, and whispered against my ear, “I’m so happy for you guys . . . I love you al . . . you know?” She stepped back, looked up at me as if to see if I understood.

I squeezed her hand. “I love you too, Nat.” Lizzie grinned and swayed from where she waited at our sides.

Matthew shook my hand, his words a touch pensive.

“Take care of my girl.”

I nodded. Always.

Matthew drew Lizzie into his arms and ushered Natalie outside. I watched them until the door closed behind them. I looked up when I felt her. She stood at the top of the stairs wearing a fitted blue button-up dress that tied around the waist, flowed over her hips, and flared at her knees. Her hair was curled in soft waves, and her face seemed to glow. She looked both modest and sexy, and she absolutely took my breath away.

I waited at the bottom of the staircase and smiled softly as I watched her every step as she came to meet me downstairs.

She stopped a foot away.

I swal owed deeply and reached for her hand. “You look amazing, Elizabeth.”

She blushed. “Thank-you.” Her attention wandered down over my maroon button up, black slacks, and back up to my face. “You look amazing, too.”

I helped her into her coat and led her out to my car. I kissed her softly before I opened her door and settled her into the front seat.

The ride was quiet, fil ed with anticipation and thrumming hearts. I held her hand the entire way, kept stealing glances at the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.

I parked and went around and helped her out, popped the trunk to grab the blanket and the picnic basket Lizzie and Natalie had helped me prepare earlier in the day.

With clasped hands, we made our way up the pathway and over the embankment. Elizabeth stopped to pul her heels from her feet when we hit the sand. Maybe it had been sil y for us to dress for a nighttime trip to the beach, but we’d dressed for a celebration—tonight we would celebrate us.

The moon was high and lit up the beach, the waves gentle in their swel and rol , a peaceful calm. The tepid San Diego air of December chil ed our skin as it rushed over the water and against our faces, and Elizabeth hugged her coat to her body. She shivered and curled up closer to my side as she walked barefoot over the cool sand.

When we reached the spot where she’d first shared this beach with me, I spread out the blanket and pul ed her down beside me. We laughed as we fought against the wind. It whipped around us while we shared our meal of fruit and cheese and champagne in smal plastic cups over timid smiles of expectation.

Neither of us could stop grinning by the time we’d finished.

“Come here.” I extended my hand and helped her settle between my legs so she could lean against my chest.

I hugged her close as we looked out over the darkened water that rippled and gleamed in the moonlight and whispered against the back her head, “I love you so much, Elizabeth.”

She nodded against my chest and clasped her hands over mine that held her to me.

I turned her and pul ed her up to her knees, before I shifted to bow in front of her on one of mine. We both knew why we were here, and I already knew what her answer would be, but it didn’t keep my hands from trembling as I fumbled through my coat pocket and drew out the smal , black box. I lifted the lid, held out my modest offering, and with it, forever promised my heart.

“Be my wife.”

Tears flowed down Elizabeth’s face, but this time they were different—fil ed with joy and hope and a love no longer kept hidden and restrained. She nodded and whimpered a little as I took the simple platinum solitaire from its box and slid it onto her finger and to its rightful place—six years late and bittersweet—but sweet nonetheless.

We both stared at her hand for a few moments, absorbing the moment, realizing the commitment we had just made. My smile was one of devoted elation as I looked back up at her. Hers was soggy and irresistible. Tugging her to me, I wrapped my arms around her back and kissed her. I held her face in my hands and whispered, “I love you.” She didn’t hesitate. “I love you, Christian.” We gathered our things, anxious for home. As always, the neighborhood was quiet as we pul ed onto her street.

Houses sparkled with Christmas lights. Plastic Santa Clauses and reindeer stood glowing in front yards and on roofs, and fake snow that would never fal in San Diego decorated windows.

Tomorrow, Lizzie would see real snow for the first time.

I parked in the driveway and rushed around to help Elizabeth from the car. We walked hand-in-hand to her door and locked it behind us. It took only a split second for desire to grab hold of us, to swal ow us in silence, to leave us staring at each other with quickened pulses and pounding hearts. Elizabeth said nothing but tugged on my hand and led me upstairs and to her room.

I stopped at the threshold, turned her to look at me, and held her face in my hands. “Are you sure, Elizabeth?” There would be no more assumptions, and I would take no more of what she wasn’t ready to give.

She placed her hand on my chest, ran it up to the back of my neck and into my hair, and pul ed me down to her mouth. Her kiss was slow and maddening, and she whispered softly against my lips, “I’m yours.” My hands found her hips, and I kissed her, gentle as I edged her back into the muted light of her room. Our movements were slow, tender, and adoring. Standing in the middle of the room, we slowly undressed each other.

Careful y, I picked her up and cradled her in my arms, laid her down on her bed—our bed.

My condo had been put on the market a couple of weeks before, and we’d live here until Elizabeth’s house sold. We both wanted something similar, a comfortable home where Lizzie could run and play but closer to our beach and a couple of rooms larger so we could fil them with a brother or sister or two. My spirit soared as I thought of another addition to this family, as I thought of watching Elizabeth’s bel y grow with another child, of standing by her side, and of being there when it was brought into this world.

I could only imagine the doting big sister Lizzie would be, her amazement at a new life, the wonder that would fil her eyes.

That would have to wait, though. Elizabeth and I would marry this summer, and we needed to take time for the three of us to learn how to be the family we were always supposed to be before we added to it.

I stared down at where I’d laid Elizabeth on our bed, the curves of her naked body ful y exposed and entrusted to me. Her body was thinner than what I had known before, the cut of her legs and shoulders defined, though her stomach was no longer perfectly flat, and smal , silvered lines were barely visible on her pelvis where Lizzie had permanently left her mark.

Love and devotion pumped through my veins as she so freely bared herself to me.

“You are so beautiful, Elizabeth.”

She gazed up at me, her eyes damp and steeped in emotion. She extended her hand and beckoned me to her.

I climbed onto the bed, hovered over her with my hands cradling each side of her head, and dipped down to kiss her deeply. Her hands were firm and like fire as they moved up my back and down over my sides.

I pul ed away to whisper her name, “Elizabeth.” I moved to kiss her over her heart and murmured, “Thank-you.” Once again, I found her mouth and lowered myself down to her. I wrapped her up in my arms, chest to chest, skin to skin, rested on my elbows so I could hold her precious face between my hands. I pushed her hair away from her face and let it bil ow out over her pil ow, stunned again by her beauty. My eyes bore into hers, seeking understanding, praying that she ful y and final y believed. “I love you so much, Elizabeth.”

She brought a trembling hand up to my face, ran her fingertips over my lips, her ring shimmering prominent and proud, and whispered, “I know.” Her eyes glistened as I smiled softly down at her and pressed a closed-mouthed kiss against the sweetness of her lips, brought her palm to my face, and kissed her there. Her heart pounded against my chest as I shifted and settled between her legs. Her breaths came short and rapid, the pulse in her neck drumming under my hands. Swal owing, I gripped her shoulders and slowly slid into her body, made us one. Her mouth dropped open in a soundless gasp; her fingers

burrowed in the skin of my back. For a few moments, we remained stil , locked to each other, body and soul, our eyes intense and fil ed with this desire that had never escaped us, brimming with a love that should have died in its affliction but had only seemed to grow.

Elizabeth raked her fingers up my back and to my shoulders, setting me aflame and in motion. I moved in her slow and hard as she rose to meet me with shal ow moans and murmurs of love, our bodies speaking of unshakable commitment

and

eternal

faithfulness,

a

reverent

consummation.

Never would I take what I’d been given for granted. I’d never look at her through indifferent eyes, listen to her fears and worries with distant ears, or touch her with impassive hands. Elizabeth was a gift, and Lizzie was my treasure. I would adore my family until the day I died.

No longer would I live in regret, striving to make up for what I’d done. I’d live for the day, each one set out and purposed to be the best father and husband I could be. And no matter what life brought our way, I would never walk away.

The plane sat at the end of the runway, rumbled and whined as its engines wound and roared. Lizzie sat beside me, her body vibrating with both excitement and anxiety of the unknown. Her eyes were consuming as she looked up at me with trust through her fear. I extended my hand, palm up, and she placed her tiny hand in mine, one that now bore a delicate gold ring. While Elizabeth and I had made promises to each other last night, this morning we had made promises to our daughter.

As the plane barreled down the runway, I clasped my hand around Lizzie’s and grinned down at her while she smiled anxiously up at me. Elizabeth shifted, rested her head on my shoulder, and her left hand on my chest, watching the vibrant diamond as it danced. She smiled over at Lizzie and then up at me. I brushed my lips across her forehead and couldn’t contain the smile on my face.

We sped, lifted and dipped, and ascended toward the sky. Lizzie giggled with the sensation, looked back over at us with wide eyes, and said, “Here we go!” I squeezed my daughter’s hand.

Here we go.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title

Copyright

About the Author

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Chapter 01

Chapter 02

Chapter 03

Chapter 04

Chapter 05

Chapter 06

Chapter 07

Chapter 08

Chapter 09

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16