“Hey, look at this way,” she replied, with a bit of forced humor in her tone. “If we never live together, then when the hot sex wears off, we won’t have to worry about someone moving out.”

  No, but... “What about when one or the other of us moves on?” At the moment, the thought of her with another man...

  “Like you said, we’re still looking for a way to make it work.”

  Right.

  “My mother used to tell me not to borrow trouble,” she offered then, and he wondered if that was before or after her mom had started drinking. Maybe someday he’d feel like he had the right to ask such a question.

  Maybe someday he wouldn’t think of questions like those.

  Maybe, but he doubted it.

  Because, with all of his self-honesty, he’d come to realize something else that had been growing on him. He didn’t just want to have sex with Wendy Alvarez. Or go into business with her. He wanted to be her partner in life. To share her ups and downs. To be by her side when she was hurting, to bring her joy on Christmas morning. Maybe even to make babies with her.

  He was head over heels in love with the woman.

  He loved her so deeply that he’d rather die than risk exposing her to the darkness that lived hidden within him.

  * * *

  Wendy rode Greg as though it was the last ride she’d ever take. If she stopped, she’d have to get off, and...

  He moved, igniting her, making her need for this the only reality, and she drove them both on until the explosion happened. Her eyes squeezed so tightly shut she saw stars. Her entire body felt the glorious waves pulsing inside her, all the way into her soul. Sex with Greg was that good, and she told herself that life didn’t get any better than that.

  Even after he left, taking Jedi with him, and when Goldie jumped up to lie at the end of her bed, Wendy was okay. Floating in lethargy and endorphins. Liking life just fine.

  She lay there, letting the day slide over her. The revelations, the life-changing agreement she’d made to go into business with Greg...

  It was all so...overwhelming.

  And partly wonderful.

  He’d seemed so sure his father would help.

  She couldn’t even imagine asking hers.

  She couldn’t help thinking of her family as it had been before Michael’s time in the service, and afterward. Coupled with something Greg had said earlier that night.

  Having to admit you’re disappointed in yourself isn’t a comfortable thing. He’d spent the past several years refusing to see who he’d become.

  He hadn’t been refusing to admit to her that he needed help, that he needed Jedi, he’d been refusing to admit it to himself.

  And what about Michael? Had her brother seen himself as she’d seen him? Her memories were that of a fourteen-year-old girl. How could she possibly know?

  What if Michael had seen himself differently than she’d seen him, the way that Greg had done? What if he’d seen the scarred, misshapen skin, been horrified by it, and thought he was horrifying her, too?

  A memory surfaced. Her parents hadn’t liked to leave Michael alone, and that late afternoon duty of keeping him company had kind of tacitly fallen to Wendy. The fact that she’d come running straight home from school hadn’t been at the behest of her parents. She’d just been that eager to get home to her big brother, thinking that he needed her.

  Needing him to need her.

  It was the only thing about the tragedy that had made sense to her. Michael finally needing her like she’d always needed him.

  And when her mom had seen how much it meant to Wendy to tend to her brother, to spend that time with him, she’d started scheduling her own necessary errands during those hours, leaving brother and sister alone to have that time as just the two of them.

  One day, Wendy had gotten out of school early and had come home to find her brother changing the bandage on the bad half of his face. She’d been so taken aback by the extent of the damage. It had hurt her to imagine the unbearable pain he had to have been suffering every time he chewed or talked. Just the thought of it had brought tears to her eyes. She must have sucked in air from the shock of it. He’d heard her, turned and screamed at her to get out and to never come back to his room without announcing herself first.

  She’d refused to leave. Wanting to help him.

  He’d been at his cantankerous worst, but after months of dealing with him, she was used to the verbal abuse. And when his face was rebandaged, when she brought him a chocolate milkshake half an hour later, he’d apologized. He’d said that he’d been trying to protect her from the ugliness.

  She’d cried again, as she’d assured him that when she looked at him she didn’t feel horror at the way he looked. She explained that her reaction was because she was imagining his pain.

  But what if he hadn’t been able to believe her?

  What if the man he’d seen was so distasteful to himself that he couldn’t conceive of any other way for others to view him?

  He’d taken his life shortly after that.

  And as she lay there in the darkness, she wondered, what if Michael hadn’t killed himself because she hadn’t done enough? What if it wasn’t because her love hadn’t been enough for him to hang on?

  What if he’d been trying to spare her, or rather, spare any of his loved ones from the horror he’d surmised he’d become? Thinking others saw him as he’d seen himself?

  Goldie lifted her head, resituated her body and laid her head back down on Wendy’s foot. The weight felt good. Deep pressure therapy...

  What if Michael’s suicide hadn’t been any reflection on her at all?

  Had Michael, like Greg, been disappointed in himself? So much so that he’d been unable to go on?

  She’d never know, of course. What-ifs were just possibilities that hung around but weren’t solid enough to hang your hat on.

  And the rest... Her mother discovering in alcohol the oblivion she sought, and then sinking into it. Her father’s affairs and absences. Her parents had lost a child. She couldn’t imagine the devastation that had to have wrought. A pain that no one could be prepared to endure.

  But they’d had another child, too. Another being of their own creation. One that was very much alive, right there trying to help, to grow up, to make them happy again. Make them proud. And the promise of her, the light that was her life, hadn’t seemed to be even a candle in their darkness.

  Her mom had lost Michael and her will to live.

  And her dad had moved on to other people who could bring whatever he needed to his life. Whatever joy he found, whatever love, he hadn’t been able to find it or share it with Wendy.

  Her love hadn’t been enough to salve his wound.

  The story was the same as it had always been, brought her to the same place. She hadn’t been enough to save her family. And yet...the story was different, too. Maybe, just maybe, the insights Greg had shared with her had given back to her a piece of the brother she’d lost. The only piece that, in the end, really mattered.

  Perhaps Greg had given her back her belief in her brother’s love. There was a chance Michael ended his life not because her love hadn’t been enough but because his demons had just been too much for him to handle. Finally, she had an explanation that didn’t diminish the love she’d been so certain she’d shared with her big brother.

  So, yeah, life wasn’t perfect. But that was why service was needed. And she knew she could find fulfillment in that, in serving those who were in need.

  She could work to save the lives of soldiers like the one she’d loved and lost, to give another sister the gift of having her brother stay alive and heal.

  She could be special friends with a wounded soldier and, with him, create a national organization that would give new life to thousands of veterans, instead of just hundreds. Could find loving, appreciative homes for thousands of rescue dogs who were as happy to serve as she was.

  Her normal, happy, perfect world had imploded at fourteen. She’d ceased being a typical teenager the afternoon she’d come home to find her brother dead in front of his computer.

  But she could still reach for the stars. Know moments of ecstasy. Contribute joy and hope to the world.

  She could still be happy.

  And so she would be.

  Getting up long enough to pull on pajamas, she sent a quick text to Greg, saying good-night to him and Jedi, curled up on the bottom of her bed, cuddled up to Goldie and fell asleep.

  * * *

  Nowhere to run. To hide. People everywhere, soldiers down. One jolts. Flies backward. Another slumps forward. He has to stop it. Stop all of them. Fire. Explosions. Red-hot pain. Ignites fire within him.

  He listens but can’t hear for the screaming and sirens and explosions. Can’t see. Too many flashes. Fire. Darkness.

  It’s up to him. Only him. His friend is down—Duke needs him. He has to fight his way out. Their way out.

  Gun in hand gets knocked away. His finger hits the trigger as it goes. Gunfire. But they won’t get him. Won’t win. Won’t take everyone from him.

  He swings. Swings again. Hitting air and...

  Hearing a bark?

  Dying of heat, of the pain in his leg, Greg swung his head, looking for a dog in the rubbish, and saw one. Sitting at the side of his bed, peering over the mattress at him.

  Jedi.

  A dog he knew.

  Head moving slowly, eyes peering, he glanced around him. Recognized the dresser. The doorway. The walls.

  His home.

  He was dripping with sweat. Reached for a tissue from his nightstand and saw the phone sitting there. Had Wendy ever answered his text? He’d fallen asleep waiting...

  Wendy. She’d texted good-night.

  He’d replied—with a question she hadn’t answered. Not yet, anyway.

  Jedi was right there, staring at him.

  Another nightmare. Not surprising, considering all of the lives he’d lived the day before. The memories. The heightened emotions.

  His unanswered text.

  And Jedi.

  The dog’s bark had woken him. Jedi was safe.

  But Greg had swung. He’d hit nothing but air.

  If Wendy had been in bed with him, he’d have hit her.

  If Jedi had been in bed with him...

  The reading he’d been doing on nightmares the day Jedi had nudged him out in the yard had said that in order for a service dog to be most effective against nightmares, he had to sleep in the bed with his owner. It was the only way for the dog to sense the symptoms in time to wake his owner before the nightmare got in full swing.

  Jedi had known but not soon enough to stop the nightmare from blossoming in his mind.

  He’d woken him.

  Too late.

  But what if he’d allowed the dog on his bed?

  When he’d first climbed into bed, Jedi had jumped up and lain down. Greg, afraid he’d hurt the dog unknowingly, had ordered him off.

  Rightfully protecting the dog? Or stubbornly refusing help?

  He grabbed his phone. Set his fingerprint to unlock it. And saw the text screen he’d left open.

  His own message, Are we making a mistake here?

  Still with no response.

  His leaving Wendy to come home and sleep alone hadn’t been a mistake. He’d known that with certainty even before the nightmare. But Wendy being left? That felt wrong.

  When he’d done it, he’d known she deserved more.

  When he’d sent the text, he’d been ready to tell her that, too.

  And lying there after the nightmare, he still knew it. He sucked in air. Tried to even his breathing—always the first step of recovery.

  Called Jedi up. Praised the young dog. Pet him. Watched the sun start to rise.

  And heard his phone ding with an incoming text.

  Dreading the answer that might be awaiting, he took a couple of seconds before looking. Jedi, eyes closed, gave a long sigh.

  After having his night’s sleep interrupted, the German shepherd deserved his rest.

  His hand still running lazily alone the dog’s back, Greg lifted his phone.

  Read.

  Having second thoughts about the business?

  Damn. Jedi glanced up when Greg pulled his hand swiftly from the dog’s fur. Of course not, he typed as fast as he could.

  Then, what?

  You. There alone. You deserve better. More.

  I’m not alone. Goldie’s here.

  Oddly enough, he got that. Jedi’s here.

  Good.

  He meant to reply. Was considering what to say next, discarded all of the sexy or emotional responses that came to mind and woke up an hour later with his phone still in his hand, Jedi snoring beside him.

  Once upon a time, he’d wanted a wife. Kids.

  What his parents had.

  But that wasn’t his life. It was theirs.

  So he loved a woman he couldn’t marry. It wasn’t ideal, but he could still be the best friend she ever had. And maybe someday, if he had ample proof that Jedi could catch nightmare symptoms in time, he’d even agree to spend all night in her arms once in a while.

  Or, better yet, he’d be a good enough friend to be able to help her find a way to open her heart to a man who could spend every night in her bed, holding her in his arms, letting her feel how very much she was loved.

  Even as he had the thought, he knew that was what he had to do. During his time with Wendy, he had to help her let down her walls so she could let in the man that had to be out there, waiting to give her the love she’d been seeking since she was fourteen years old.

  And on his side, if he could be a man who could give up the love of his life so that she could be her happiest self—then, he would finally be a guy he could be proud of. He could live with being the man who was strong enough to love a woman so much he’d willingly put her happiness above his own.

  It was time to be that man.

  To live his best life.

  Chapter Twenty

  Greg’s father was eagerly on board with their new nonprofit business. Greg would serve as executive director for the time being. He’d get the paperwork done and file what had to be provided to the government. Randolph was already putting out feelers with the military to get the necessary contacts lined up. And Wendy had started a much broader list of shelters who’d notify her anytime they might have a dog come in that fit her basic requirements.

  A little over a week after Greg had first suggested that they go into business together, Wendy was sitting at her desk in town after her last appointment, Goldie on the floor beside her while she sent out emails to shelters all over the country. She needed to get it all done before she had to head off for her dinner plans.

  Greg’s parents had driven up to his place for a couple of days—a downside of which was he hadn’t been to Wendy’s. But tonight, the three Martins were coming into Spring Forest to have dinner with Wendy at Veniero’s, the elder Martins’ treat. They wanted to meet their son’s business partner and discuss the national venture in person.

  The upscale Italian restaurant was new to town, and though she’d heard wonderful things about its excellent and authentic southern Italian dishes, that Thursday night would be the first time she’d ever eaten there. Had she and Greg been an item, she might have been more nervous, but since they were just business partners with fringe benefits that no one knew about, she was kind of looking forward to the evening—curious to meet the couple who’d borne and raised Greg.

  Her nerves came to life the second Greg walked into the restaurant and saw her standing there, waiting for them. Due to the dressiness of the place, she’d worn a red, figure-hugging Lycra and cotton dress to work that day, and with the way he was looking at her, she might as well have been naked. The heat in his eyes matched what she was feeling as she took in the sight of him. His long legs and broad shoulders in a suit didn’t do a thing to calm her.

  “You ever do it in a public restroom?” Greg whispered to her as they followed his parents to the table his father had reserved.

  Even more heat shot through her body, landing simultaneously in her face...and her crotch. She was only able to partially pull herself together by the time his mother, in a stylish sleeveless cotton black-and-white dress, turned to direct Wendy to the seat next to Greg, directly across from his father. Like they were a family. Realizing how they must look to the other diners around them, she quickly sat and hid her tightly clenched hands in her lap beneath the white tablecloth, thankful for the candlelight that cast shadows on everyone.

  Greg’s knee nudged hers. She nudged him back, not gently. Conversation continued. Greg’s mother chattered much of the time. Wanting to know what everyone was going to eat. Analyzing the menu. Asking Wendy how long she’d lived in Spring Forest and where her office was located. Meanwhile, Greg and his father sat, mostly silent. And Greg’s knee seemed to develop a twitch that kept it in touch with hers much of the time.

  After dinner they talked about the new nonprofit, and Wendy was gratified, and also a bit shocked, to hear how much work Randolph had already done, what he was proposing to take on and the reading he’d done on both veterans in need of service dogs and dog training as well to prepare himself for the work. The man rarely spoke but managed to express a whole lot.

  He reminded her of Greg in many ways. In just that quick hour she saw a connection between father and son, a deep respect that ran equally between them, a bond that she’d never seen between Michael and her dad. Randolph didn’t hover; he didn’t try to take over their business or have a say in major decisions. He deferred to Wendy and Greg on every issue he raised. But he gave them the benefit of his astuteness and his backing and was clearly eager to put action behind that support.

  Maybe if Michael had had some of that same male familial guidance... Not that she blamed her father for her brother’s death, but maybe, if Steve Alvarez had been more aware of others’ needs...