“Yeah.”
“But your wife’s in Boston.”
“Yeah, she’s a trauma doctor at Massachusetts General.”
“How does that work? I mean, the two of you living apart, is it hard? And knowing what you do, does she worry? You almost died tonight. Will you tell her? Can you tell her?”
“I can tell her I was injured. Not how or why.”
“Will you?” She offered him half the energy bar, and he took it.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s pregnant and I don’t want to burden her.”
“Oh! Congra—”
“The baby’s not mine.”
Eve swallowed too quick, and granola got stuck in her throat. “Oh…” She coughed. “Oh shit…” More coughing. “I’m so sorry, Jamie. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Don’t sweat it.” He lifted her water and waved it under her nose. “Kosamina and I have been discussing a divorce for about a year now, neither one of us expected a baby to complicate things.”
She snagged the bottle out of the air. “Jesus, that sucks.”
He snorted. “Yep.”
“A year is a long time.”
“Yep.”
“Do you want a divorce?”
“It’s not about what I want. We were young when we got married, and we agreed to prioritize our careers first. Ko is…dedicated to her job. And I’m a shitty husband.” Jamie shrugged. “If you’re asking me if a relationship with someone in the JTT can work, my answer is yes. If the couple in question is willing to make sacrifices. Does a long-distance relationship make things harder? Also, yes. But again. My marriage isn’t the example to go by.”
He turned his head to look across the aisle, and Eve followed his line of sight. Her seat reclined, Gray slept soundly.
And yes, Eve understood what Jamie was telling her.
If Adam wanted her, and she chose to stay, a lasting relationship wouldn’t be easy.
But it’d be worth it.
Twenty-two hoursafter putting Eve on the plane, Adam walked into the room he shared with her and once again gave thanks to the lamp left on in the corner. She looked beautiful when she slept. Her hair a tangle of reddish-blond on the gray sheet, he wanted nothing more than to bury his nose in the soft waves, breathe her deep, and fall dead asleep.
Crossing to the bedside table, he pulled the little velvet box from his pants pocket, dropped it in the drawer, stripped off his clothes, and slipped his tired body under the covers. With his arm coming to rest around his woman’s waist, he was home. His heart resumed beating. The ache in his chest lessened. His mind quieted. And the sweet scent of her soothed.
She healed him. Made him stronger. Gave him life.
Half asleep, she turned to face him, and when those cobalt-blue eyes opened, his soul felt peace. “Are you okay?” She kept her voice low and her touch gentle as she laid her palm flat over the purple bruise on his pec.
Warmth spread over his skin and sank deep. “Never better.” Their disagreement at the airport forgotten, they’d been chatting back and forth by phone and text ever since she landed back in Montana.
He’d reassured her about the state of his health—multiple times.
And he’d do it a thousand more if she needed him to.
