“Wow! These are so cool!” Daniel shouts about all the wooden figurines in the box on the floor.

Seeing his excitement over something I’ve always cherished makes my damn insides giddy like a girl. After what happened earlier, I’ll definitely take the giddy stomach versus my heart feeling like it was being ripped from my chest.

When I ran in that barn and saw Kelsey in front of Bandit, my stomach bottomed out, and I damn near fell on my ass with the force of it. She looked so damn small compared to the huge animal. One wrong move and she would have been gone. Not wanting to spook the horse into doing something fatal, I had to force myself to stay in place, then force Gwen to do the same when she barreled into the room after me. Having no other choice but to watch Kelsey look death in the eye was one of the scariest things I’ve ever had to face. Knowing the love that Gwen has for her children and that she had to do the same thing, made it ten times worse.

I fucking hated just standing there, feeling like a worthless human being, as Kelsey teetered between being a healthy, beautiful girl and a dead one, but we had to be careful. Bandit is so unpredictable and has a violent streak, so using caution was a must. Dark memories of not being able to save Clara and Rayne tried pulling me under, but with iron will, I pushed the visions back. I had to stay focused. If I didn’t, Kelsey would have suffered.

But then the damndest thing happened. It both shocked the shit out of me and left me mystified. The fucking horse, the one that damn near took off my hand the other day, took the apple out of Kelsey’s hand with gentle movements. Then the bastard proceeded to pet her with his head. If it wasn’t for the huge amount of relief I felt at Kelsey being safe, I would have been pissed. All this time, the fucking animal’s been playing me.

Fucking prick.

Even so, I’m so fucking grateful he chose that moment to be mellow. I’d take him biting off all my limbs over and over again versus him attacking Kelsey.

“You make sure you take really good care of them, okay?” Gwen says firmly, bringing me back to the present.

Daniel nods solemnly. “I will.”

My eyes move to Kelsey, who’s sitting on the floor with several of the puppies curled up against her legs. She’s not paying them any mind, but every so often I see her petting one. She has the new crossword puzzle book I made her in her lap. When I gave it to her, the smile she gave was small, but it was there nonetheless. It was her eyes that were more expressive. She was happy about the book. Coming from someone who doesn’t show happiness often, the look was a big deal. Each new smile from her makes my own pain lessen. I’ve come to realize that making Kelsey smile or even show just a hint of joy is something I enjoy doing.

It’s Christmas Day, and while I was surprised to find Gwen in my house earlier and just a bit angry that she would be there on one of two days a year it’s not wise to be around me, I’m glad they’re here. The darkness of my regrets still lingers in the back of my mind, but having them here has been a good distraction. I know I shouldn’t use them as such, but damn, I don’t want them to leave.

Gwen moves from her position on the floor by Daniel and comes to sit beside me on the couch. With Kelsey leaning against the couch, she’s forced to sit right beside me. Her leg brushes against mine, and I feel it behind the zipper of my jeans.

The damn woman is wreaking havoc on my emotions. I’m trying so fucking hard to keep my thoughts pure when it comes to her, but it’s nearly impossible. Catching her in my room earlier after jacking off in the shower because thoughts of tasting her wouldn’t leave me, left me in a befuddled state for several moments. Right after I came all over the shower floor, guilt started plaguing me. Not because I felt like I betrayed Clara because I was thinking of another woman—I know Clara would want me to move on—but because I’ve got no right thinking about another woman when I couldn’t even take care of the one I had before. One that I loved with my whole heart. One that I had a baby with that I couldn’t protect either.

I’m a heartless bastard who should have his balls kicked into his throat.

Then the anger came on when I saw her standing there. I wanted to lash out at her to make her leave. Between the anniversary of Clara and Rayne’s death looming close and the guilt of what I just did in the shower, my emotions were raw and there was no telling what might happen. I’d wanted her gone at the same time my mind screamed at her to stay.

Then she had to say the kids wanted to see me, the look in her eyes silently saying she wanted to see me too. I couldn’t turn them away.

Things changed when I gave my consent. The look in her eyes turned carnal as she ran them down my body. Fuck if I didn’t want to march straight to her and plunder her mouth with mine. To lift her in my arms and carry her to my bed. Only pure force of will held me back.

Gwen shifts beside me and my dick starts to stiffen. I jackknife off the couch so fast that Gigi jumps up from her perch on the floor and barks once. Leaving the three in the living room, I head to the kitchen for a glass of water.

It’s getting harder and harder being around Gwen and holding in my emotions. The woman makes me feel things that I don’t want to feel. Having her kids here makes me want things I don’t want to want.

Like a family and a life filled with laughter.

My eyes land once again on the bottle of Jameson when I open the cabinet for a glass. I’ve never been one to drink excessively, but the urge to do so now is strong. Anything to make these unwanted feelings disappear.

I turn from the sink after filling my glass with water, and find Gwen standing in the doorway, watching me curiously.

“Would you like me to heat up some of the food Mrs. Myers sent over?” she asks, coming to stand opposite me and leaning against the counter.

I shake my head instead of answering her verbally. I’m not sure how steady my voice will be at the moment.

She glances down at her feet, then brings her head back up.

“What did you mean when you asked Daniel if he remembered what you said about Bandit?”

I take a swallow of the cool liquid, then set it down on the counter before crossing my arms over my chest. She briefly looks at my arms before flicking her gaze back up to mine.

“He’s been trouble training and hasn’t been the nicest horse to be around,” I tell her. I’ve been waiting for this question.

Her eyes widen, and a hint of fear flashes across her face. Before she has a chance to respond, I reassure her.

“He was never close to him when I had him out there with me, Gwen. I wouldn’t put him in danger.”

It only takes a moment before she nods. “I know.”

The rope around my neck loosens with her words. I don’t like her thinking I would be so careless as to put either of her kids in danger. Those kids have wormed their way into my heart and I’m not sure there’s a way for them to get out again. Already I know I’d put down my life for them.

“I saw that you started tearing down the house,” she states softly.

The reminder of what I was doing before my shower earlier lodges a sharp pain in my chest. It seemed fitting to start tearing down the house I was supposed to share with my family on the eve of when they died. I started it, then stopped when my back suddenly gave out. Part of it was due to my total lack of finesse tearing it down, the anger I felt making me clumsy and uncaring of how my back would be affected. Now that I’d started, I wanted it done and over with.

“Yeah,” I answer gruffly.

She moves away from the counter and comes toward me. The closer she gets the more tense my body gets. I left the living room to put some much-needed space between us, and here she is now closing the gap.

Once she’s standing in front of me, she puts her hand on the arm with scars and looks up at me with concerned eyes. I feel the touch everywhere. It’s like, now that my desire for her has slipped by my defenses, it wants to consume me. Or rather, I want to consume her. I’ve gone years without any form of intimate contact, I haven’t wanted to touch anyone, but now it’s damn near all I can think about when I’m around her.

My jaw tics and my hands grip the counter behind me as I fight back the urge to reach for her.

“Are you okay?”

My smile is tight when I respond. “Yes.”

She frowns, and damned if it doesn’t make my chest tighten. The hand she still has on my arm is warm, and I look down at it. Her fingernails are cut short and painted a soft pink color. Her hands are so small that they’d be dwarfed in mine if I were to lace them together.

She must see something on my face as I look down at her hand, because seconds later, she jerks it away. I bring my gaze back to her and see a bright flush on her cheeks, and I know she must have felt the connection too. It still amazes me that she’s not affected by my scars. I’m not jaded enough to believe that all people will be repulsed by them, but it’s as if she doesn’t see them at all.

When she moves to take a step back, I reach out and seize her wrist before I realize what I’m doing. Our eyes lock the minute my hand touches hers and from the silent communication between us, we both know the other felt the electrical zap at contact.

“Don’t,” I whisper, and gently pull her toward me. “I like it when you touch me.”

I’m an idiot for asking for more from her, and I have no idea why I am, but the thought of her not touching me now is something I just can’t comprehend. Even the innocent touch of her hand on my arm is something I need. I’ll regret it later and feel like a bastard, but right at this moment the longing is much too strong to ignore.

I lean back against the counter and widen my stance. She watches with cautious eyes as I continue to pull her toward me. With shaky hands and shallow breathing, I put my arms around her waist and pull her chest against mine. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. Before Clara, I had had my fair share of women, but this feels different somehow.

With her so close, we lose eye contact. Her arms go around my waist and she rests her head against my chest.

The embrace is both innocent and intimate. Feeling the warmth of her body, her soft curves against the hard muscles of mine, sends blood rushing to my cock, but it also feels comforting. I squeeze my eyes closed at how good this feels, how right it feels to have her in my arms, like this is where she’s supposed to be. I want that to be true so fucking much, but I know it can’t be.

I hold Gwen in my arms and concentrate on memorizing the feeling of having her there. I wish we could stay like this forever, but it’s not possible. Not with the guilt I still carry. Not knowing I let my family down. Gwen and her two kids are too important. I won’t take that chance with them. There’s too much to lose.

So instead, I’ll soak up every single second I have with her and Kelsey and Daniel, and keep these moments locked away and only let them out when the pain gets to be too much.

We stand like this for several minutes, enjoying the feeling of being in each other’s arms. I want to put my fist through the wall when the moment is interrupted by my phone ringing. Gwen pulls back before I’m ready for her to and looks over at my phone sitting on the counter. When I make no move to grab it and instead tighten my arms around her, she looks up at me.

“Are you going to get that?”

“No,” I tell her, never moving my eyes off her.

When the phone stops ringing, her forehead lands on the center of my chest, and her hands clench the back of my shirt tighter, like she doesn’t want to let me go either. A growl leaves the back of my throat when my damn phone starts ringing again. I’d love nothing more than to chuck it against the wall.

“Alexander,” Gwen calls, pulling my murderous gaze from the phone. I lose the glare when my eyes land on her. “Maybe it’s important.”

Right now, I don’t care if it’s important. All I care about is keeping Gwen where she is. But I know that’s not being rational.

Reluctantly, I loosen my arms and she takes a step back. I stalk over to the phone and snatch it from the counter. Looking at the screen, I release a tired sigh.

It’s my mom, and I know there’s no way I can put her off anymore. It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve spoken to her and she knows what tomorrow is. She’s a mother and her natural instinct is to worry about her kids. She knows how tough the anniversary of their deaths is. If I don’t answer now, she’ll only continue to call back until I do. Or even worse, call the sheriff and have him come check on me. Yes, she’s done that before when I went weeks without answering her calls.

Pulling in a deep breath, I swipe my finger across the screen.

“Hey, Mom,” I answer.

Gwen’s eyes widen when she hears who’s on the phone. A moment later, she leaves the kitchen, I assume to give me privacy.

“Alexander,” my mom breaths through the phone. I can tell she’s surprised I answered.

“How are you?” I ask, leaning against the counter and crossing my ankles.

“Much better now that I’ve heard your voice.”

“Mom, I’m—” I start to apologize.

“No, Alexander,” she interrupts. “Your dad and I have been talking and he’s made me realize something. I know I hover too much. I know I’ve smothered you over the years since….” She trails off, not needing to clarify. “I just worry about you. I hate knowing you’re in pain,” she finishes quietly.

I twist my neck from side to side, trying to relieve the tension I always get when I talk to my mom. She doesn’t mean to add more stress, and I’m sure it would upset her if she realized how much she’s caused me with her worrying. I haven’t had the heart to tell her because I know she’s only doing it out of love. That, and the fact it wasn’t just me who lost Clara and Rayne. She lost a daughter and granddaughter.

“I get it. I really do, but you’ve got to stop worrying so much, okay?” I hear her sniffle on the other end of the line and it makes me feel like a dick, but I press forward. “I’m fine. Yes, it still hurts to breathe sometimes, but I’m getting there.” I pull air in my lungs and let it out slowly, knowing this is going to hurt her, but also knowing it needs to be said. “I love you, Mom, and I know you mean well, but when you constantly call and ask how I’m doing, it helps keep that wound open.”

Her hiccupping sob guts me, and I close my eyes. When I open them, they meet Gwen’s over the bar. She’s standing on the other side of the couch with one of the puppies in her arms, watching me. I’m not sure if she can hear what I’m saying, but I’m sure my expression says enough.

“Oh, Alexander, I’m so, so sorry, baby,” my mom cries softly, her voice tearful. “I never meant to make it harder on you.”

Still keeping my eyes on Gwen, I console her. “I know. And I love you for caring so much.”

She sniffs again and then there’s a shuffling sound. Next comes the deep murmur of my father’s voice talking to my mom before he gets on the line.

“Son.”

“Hey, Dad. How is she?”

“She’ll be fine.” He sighs. “I heard what you told her and it was something she needed to hear. She can’t keep smothering you. She needs to let you heal.”

I feel like an asshole because I know my mom wants me to heal, she’s just not giving me what I need to do so. I’m not entirely sure I deserve to heal after what I’ve done.

“How are you doing?” my dad asks.

You’d think that after upsetting my mom to explain that her constant worry wasn’t helping me that having my dad ask the same thing would bother me. There’s a difference between my mom asking versus my dad. I love my mom just as much as my dad, and I appreciate both of them worrying, but whereas my dad takes my answer for what it is and leaves it at that, my mom will dig and dig, thinking if she gets deep enough I’ll reveal my true feelings.

Knowing he’s asking because of what tomorrow is, I say honestly, “I’m doing the best I can.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then says quietly, “You need us, you call.”

“Will do, Dad. Thanks.”

He clears his throat, then changes the subject like I knew he would. It’s not that he doesn’t care, it’s that he knows not to push.

My eyes are still glued to Gwen, who’s now holding the puppy closer to her face. She watches me curiously.

“Your mom wants to come for a visit. I’ve put her off for as long as I can, but I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to.”

I break my gaze from Gwen and turn around. It’s hard to think about anything other than Gwen when I’m looking at her. I think that’s part of the reason I want to keep her here so badly. The guilt and pain don’t consume me as strongly when she’s here.

It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen my parents, and I know it hurts my mom that it’s been so long. As much as she bugs the hell out of me, I miss them both.

“Give me a couple weeks and tell her to plan a trip.”

“You sure?” my dad asks.

“Yeah.”

We talk for a few more minutes about nothing in particular before we hang up. I keep my back turned to the living room, trying to gather my thoughts before facing Gwen again. The woman has me wrapped up in feelings I haven’t felt in a long time, and I have no idea what to do with them. With fear of sounding like a pansy-ass, Gwen’s put me through the emotional wringer.

Instead of going back to the living room, I opt to make myself a plate of the leftovers Gwen brought with her. Mrs. Myers only lives a few miles from me and there’s been several occasions she’s called on me for help around the house. Both of us, along with a couple more houses, are the only people out this far from town. I don’t mind the times I’ve had to help the little old lady out, and whenever I make one of my rare trips to town, I always call her to see if she needs anything. A couple times when I went by her place she insisted I stay for dinner. She’s a really good cook, so when I bite into the homemade mashed potatoes and the oven-roasted turkey, my taste buds nearly explode with pleasure. I scarf down the plate of food in no time.

When I walk back into the living room a few minutes later, I only find Daniel and Kelsey.

“Where’s your mom?” I ask Daniel.

He pauses in playing with the puppies with a couple of the wooden figurines and looks up at me. Shrugging, he says, “She said she was going to the bathroom.”

My eyes immediately move to the hallway, where I have a view of the bathroom door. It’s open with the light off. Not caring that she uses the bathroom in my bedroom, but finding it weird that she would do so, I make my way down the hallway to the door down at the end.

When I step through the doorway, I’m both surprised and pissed at what I see. Gwen’s sitting on the bed with the pictures from my nightstand in her hand. I don’t know why it makes me angry that she’s looking at them. It’s not that she went through my nightstand. Yes, I’m a private guy, but with Gwen I’ve been more open than I have with anyone else in a long time. It’s just… I don’t like her looking at what’s caused all my pain and heartache, knowing I’m the reason I’m going through it.

“What are you doing in here?” I ask, my tone harsher than I intended it to be.

She jumps up from the bed, startled both by my presence and tone. She looks down guiltily at the pictures still in her hand before bringing her eyes up to meet mine. I’m trying to rein in the anger, but I know some of it seeps through. I’m sure she didn’t purposely come in here to snoop, I just don’t know why she is in here.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her face drawn down into a frown. “I was looking for my earrings I left on the nightstand. I thought maybe they fell in the drawer.”

My hand, already in my jeans pocket, fingers the earrings I have in there. For some insane reason, I’ve been carrying them around with me since the day James saw them on the bar. Maybe it makes me feel closer to her having them so close to me. Or maybe I’m just fucking weird. For whatever reason, when I get undressed at night, I place them on the nightstand, then put them in my pocket the next morning.

I pull them from my pocket and show them to her.

“Oh,” she says. She doesn’t ask why I have them in my pocket, and I don’t offer the information. “Thank you.”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment and makes no move to take the earrings from me. She simply looks down at the pictures. I grind my teeth, holding back the urge to snatch them from her hands and stuff them back in the drawer. I know exactly what she’s looking at, I just don’t know what she’s thinking.

“She’s beautiful,” she says softly, rubbing her finger over one of the pictures. “They both were.” She looks up at me and sadness lines her face.

My gaze drops to the photo. It’s the one I was holding outside the other day. I swallow thickly, trying to push my emotions back. I don’t say a word as I stand there and watch her look at the next one. It’s like I’m frozen on the spot, even as my mind screams at me to take them from her and hide them. I still love my lost family, but I’m ashamed of what happened to them. What I did to them.

The next photo is of Clara and me standing in front of the fireplace. She was six months pregnant. I was holding the sonogram we had done earlier that day that finally showed us the sex of our baby against her rounded belly. The first couple times she was being stubborn and not showing her goods to the doctor, but that time we got lucky. At the bottom of the picture, Clara had printed the words Our First Family Photo.

The last image is the sonogram itself. It’s not often I bring the photos out anymore—it’s too painful to look at them—so to see them now and tomorrow being what it is, makes me feel like one giant pincushion with thousands of needles being pushed into it.

Her head finally lifts, and there’s tears glistening in her eyes. After blinking a few times, she turns and gently sets the pictures back in the drawer and closes it. I pull in a few deep breaths while she has her back turned.

When she does turn back around, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “You should leave.”

I regret the words as soon as I say them, but I don’t take them back. I need to be alone. My reprieve has come to an end, and she and the kids need to leave before I completely lose it. I feel the threads of my control snapping, and I don’t want them to see me like that.

The pain that crosses her face has the ache in my chest escalating. I hate myself for putting it there.

She nods, then looks down at her hands. After a moment, she walks toward me. I want to reach out to her and apologize as she passes me, but I don’t. If I do, I know I won’t let her go, and she needs to.

I follow her, but stay at the mouth of the hallway as she tells the kids to gather their things. Daniel grumbles and looks sad. I look at Kelsey, and the expression on her face says it all: Disappointment and despair. Between Gwen’s and the kids’ reactions, I want to stab myself in the chest. It’ll likely hurt less than the pain I’m feeling now.

Gwen gives me a sad smile as she and the kids walk to the door. I walk behind them and step out onto the porch. After Daniel says goodbye and Kelsey looks at me blankly, Gwen tells them to go to the car.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snoop,” she says, hurt evident in her voice.

“I know.” I stuff my hands in my pockets to keep from touching her. “I just….” I clear my throat and look out across the yard. “I need to be alone.”

She lifts her hand like she’s going to reach out to me, and I hold my breath, both hoping she doesn’t and silently begging her to. Making her decision, she drops her hand.

“Thank you for letting the kids and me stay for a bit. They really enjoyed spending time with you.”

She nods and tries to smile, but it falls away too quickly to be real. I wonder if she enjoyed it as well, or if she regrets coming. I know I’m giving her mixed signals, and I feel like shit doing that to her, but I’m so fucked-up right now, I have no idea what I’m doing. I want to grab on to her and never let her go. I want to cherish her kids and love them like they should be loved. I want to care for Gwen like she deserves. I want to be the man they need, but I’m so damn scared of failing. I so afraid my past won’t allow me to be the person they should have.

Looking over to the car and seeing the kids occupied, I do what I know I shouldn’t, but am unable to stop myself. I step closer to Gwen and cup the side of her face. Her skin’s so soft compared to mine, and I wish I could feel it against me all the time.

I dip my head and very gently lay my lips across hers. I hear her breath hitch as she holds still, letting me do what I both want and need. I don’t take the kiss far, giving us both just enough. My lips slide across hers and she tastes like vanilla, just as I remembered from yesterday. We open our mouths at the same time, and I meet her tongue with mine.

The kiss is soft and gentle, and I pull back before it can go any further. I hurt from the loss, and from the look on her face, she does too.

Without another word from either of us, she turns and walks down the steps to the truck, and I’m once again left watching what could have been drive away. My hands slide inside my pockets and brush against the earrings I never gave back to her.

* * *

I drive down the small embankment and park my truck at what is the location of all my heartache. I turn the truck off, and with a pain so sharp it feels like I’m being stabbed to death, look at the two crosses hammered into the ground. It wasn’t my doing. I’m not sure who did it, but they’ve been there for a while. I see them every time I go to town, but it never hurts so much to see them as when I’m this close. I try to avoid them as much as possible, but there’s no avoiding them on this day.

Taking a deep breath, I reach over and grab the bottle of Jameson and get out of the truck. It’s ironic, because normally this time of year the water is pretty low; however, the year that Clara and Rayne died, we’d had an unseasonably warm and rainy winter, so the water was pretty high. Had it not been….

I wipe the thought away, because there’s no fucking sense in thinking about what-ifs. It won’t change a damn thing.

I sit down and lean against the pillar. Before I can stop them, my eyes land on the spot where everything was taken from me. Every year, on the day they died, I come out here and spend the night, using only my jacket and alcohol to keep me warm.

Memory after memory flood my mind, and I try to chase them away with the Jameson. It never works, no matter how much I drink, and that’s why I always end up plastered. Their ghosts haunt me the most when I’m here. This is my penance for not saving them. It’s what I deserve, and the very least I can do is suffer for them.

I take a big swig from the bottle, then another, and another. It burns going down my throat, but after the first few swallows the pain fades. Raising my knees, I rest my arms on top of them and let the bottle dangle between my legs. My head clunks back against the concrete, and I close my eyes. As soon as I do, the screams of pain and the wails of my baby girl swarm me, pulling me into a dark abyss that I wonder if one day I won’t be able to escape from.