Page 83 of Not How I Saw That Going

“I went to each of their funerals,” I say. “But I couldn’t stand to see the pain I caused. I couldn’t even say their names, so I tattooed their ID numbers right here.” I pat my chest.

She looks at me, those beautiful blue eyes framed with thick black lashes. “May I?”

I nod.

Her fingers graze over my chest, tracing each number, lifting the pain I’ve carried beneath that black ink for years.

“That was Duncan.” I shudder as I say his name out loud for the first time in six years. “We called him Sasquatch because he had the hairiest feet I’ve ever seen.” A laugh finds me, and it pulls me from the pain, if only for a moment.

“Who was this?” Lyndi traces the next number.

“That was Scooter, and that one was Gavin. They were cousins, but complete opposites. Scooter made sure he made someone smile every day. Gavin just wanted to get home to his kids.” Another tear escapes and I make no effort to hide this one from her. Lyndi uses her casted hand to wipe it away. “That was Bobby,” I say when her fingers find the last row of numbers. “He was just a kid. He was barely eighteen and had enlisted to help provide for his family.” My voice cracks and I choke on the emotion.

“I should have known. I should have gotten my team out of there the second I felt how off it was.” I grip a throw pillow in my fists as if it can take away the memory of that fateful day.

Lyndi looks up at me. There’s no blame in her eyes, no pity, just compassion. I don’t deserve it.

“That’s why I became a fireman. I thought I could right my wrongs, maybe pay for an ounce of the damage I caused. But it never feels like enough.”

Lyndi tucks her feet beneath her, bringing her closer into my side.

She has no idea how much I need her right now, and that scares me.

“If we could predict the future, nothing bad would ever happen, but we can’t, which means it’s not on us to do so.” Her voice drops a little at the end. She’s got regrets too. We all do. I’m not a fool to believe I’m the only one.

“I know.” I scrub a hand over my face. “But knowing that still doesn’t take away the pain. The memories.”

She nods, agreeing with me. “It doesn’t ever go away. But hopefully, we find things that make it easier.”

I look at her, those beautiful blue eyes searching mine.

I drop my head into my hands. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to atone for my sins.”

She grabs my face, gently lifting my head. “You didn’t kill them, Ward.”

I try to hold the emotion back, but it’s been buried so long it refuses to stay hidden anymore. A sob, completely embarrassing and as unmanly as it gets, bursts out of me, and she pulls me into her arms. I don’t think about what I should do, what I need to do. For once, I just let it out.

When the tears stop, my confessions don’t. I tell her everything. Things I swore I’d never speak aloud. The things I saw, the people I met, the mistakes I made. She just listens, running her fingers along my chest until my eyes close, and peace finds me.

Twenty Nine

Lyndi

Sweet,sandybeachesstretchinto broad plains of hard-packed sand beneath my palm. I stretch out, soaking up the warmth as waves rush upon the shore. I’ve never been so relax—

“Mom!”

No, it’s not time to leave the beach.

“Mom. I want mac ‘n cheese for breakfast.”

My eyes flit open, and I remember where I am. In Ward’s arms. Ward is still asleep, softly snoring into the armrest of the couch, his bare chest moving rhythmically up and down. After telling me about his buddies last night, he’d confided in me about his nightmares. Right now, his face is peaceful, happy even, and I don’t want to ruin that for him.

I sit up, gently trying to untangle myself from Ward, my wrist screams as I take Crew’s little face between my hands, studying the stitches and the bruising around his eye.

I got up twice last night to check on Crew, but found myself coming back to this same spot with Ward.

“Did you sleep okay?” I whisper. “Does it hurt?”