Jonathan tossed the keys onto the small table by the door then stood there, his gaze on Sammie as she moved around the living room. She dragged her hand along the back of the recliner, fingered the edge of one of the throw pillows tossed on the sofa. Moving around the room, not bothering to take off her coat, not bothering to sit down.

Jonathan hesitated, thought about making a joke of inviting her to have a seat then thought better about it at the last minute. He couldn't judge her mood any better now than he could last night when he'd dropped Clare off. She was definitely preoccupied, but it was more than that. She seemed almost…shy. But it was more than that, too. It was like she was thinking, hard, and not coming to any conclusions.

At least, not any that she seemed happy about.

He moved through the living room and into the kitchen, pulling out coffee and filters then setting up the coffee maker. A few minutes later, the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee filled the kitchen. It would be a few minutes more before enough was brewed to drink, so he moved back to the living room and propped his shoulder against the wall.

Sammie had stopped pacing but she was still wearing her coat—and a frown of concentration.

"Coffee should be ready in a few minutes if you wanted to take off your coat. Have a seat."

She jumped, as if she hadn't heard him come in, then turned to face him. Her smile was just a little too forced, her shoulders just a little too tense as she shrugged out of her coat.

"I can still take you home, you know. It's no trouble."

"No." She shook her head and lowered herself to the sofa, perching on the edge of it. She draped her coat over her lap then stared at it, her fingers toying with the zipper as she slid it up and down.

His gut twisted at the expression on her face: confused, lonely. The only thing he wanted to do was rush to her side and pull her into his arms. Hold her. Kiss away the frown. Just kiss her, until she forgot about everything except them, the way they were together. The way they used to be.

The way he wished they could be again.

But he didn't move. Gut instinct told him the worst thing he could do was go near her right now.

So he stayed where he was and forced a smile to his face and tried to infuse his voice with a little bit of humor. "Are you sure? Because you don't exactly look like you want to be here."

The humor fell flat, even to his own ears. He doubted Sammie noticed though, not with the way she kept staring at her hands, the way she kept playing with the zipper of her jacket. Up and down, over and over, the sound almost hypnotic.

And then she stopped and looked straight at him, the look in her eyes both sad and determined. "Why did you come back, Jon?"

He should have expected the question. Hell, he had expected it, wondered why she hadn't asked him two months ago when he first showed up. But she hadn't asked and he had stopped expecting it, thinking she didn't want to know, figuring she wasn't ready for the answer.

Was she ready now?

He ran a hand through his hair then down along the back of his neck, blowing out a deep breath. He took a step forward, stopped, stepped forward again then hesitated before he finally dropped into the recliner.

Was that disappointment in Sammie's eyes? Had she been expecting him to sit next to her? No, he shouldn’t read anything into that, not now. He couldn’t afford to.

"Jon? Why did you come back? Was it for work?"

"No." He shook his head to reiterate the answer then stared down at his clasped hands. "No, it wasn't for work. Daryl wanted to set the office up in northern Virginia. I convinced him here would be better."

"Why?"

Jonathan raised his head, his gaze moving to hers. Holding it, refusing to let her look away with the sheer force of his will—

And a ton of prayer.

"Because I wanted to be near you and Clare."

"But why? It's been almost three years, Jon. How did you know I would even agree to see you? That I would agree to let you see Clare?"

"I didn't."

"Then why? Why take that chance?"

"Christ, Sammie. Really?" He pushed out of the recliner, ran both hands over his head as he paced around the small table. He came to a stop, jammed his hands into his pockets, and stared down at his ex-wife. "Because I love you. I never stopped. I told you that."

"But for all you knew, I had remarried."

"I knew you didn't."

Surprise widened her eyes. "You checked on me?"

Should he feel guilty? Yeah, probably. But he didn't. And he told her as much. Was that a mistake? He didn't know, couldn't tell because she was looking down at the coat in her lap. Playing with that stupid fucking zipper again. What should he do now? Take her in his arms? Kiss her until she realized how much she still meant to him? Tell her that he wasn't going anywhere, that she could take all the time that she needed?

That he'd still be here, no matter what she decided?

What would he do if she decided she wanted nothing more to do with him? Fuck, it would kill him. Just thinking about that possibility made his gut clench and bile creep up the back of his throat.

But he wouldn't force her to decide, wouldn't play games with her to make her give him another chance. This—whatever she decided, whenever she decided—had to be up to her. It had to be her choice. He'd taken that away from her once, he'd be damned if he'd do it again.

Even if he had to wait the rest of his life for her.

He stepped back, needing to put a little more distance between them before he did something totally hypocritical, like pulling her off the sofa and kissing her senseless. Yeah, as tempting as that was—because fuck, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again, touch her, hold her—he couldn't do that to her. He couldn't do that to either one of them.

"Come on, I'll take you home."

He expected her to nod. To stand up and shrug into her coat and walk to the door. Instead, she tossed her coat off her lap and stood up and walked toward him, not the door. One step. Two. Another and another until she was standing in front of him, so close he could feel the heat from her body brush against his. And it would be so easy to reach out, to brush that silky curl from her cheek and tuck it behind her ear, to lean down and kiss her. So fucking easy. But he didn't. He couldn't, not when he was afraid to move, damn near afraid to breathe.

It was Sammie who finally reached out, pressed the palm of her hand against his chest, right over his heart.

Her heart. It had always been hers. Had he ever told her that? Yes, years ago. A lifetime ago. Did she still know? Or had she forgotten?

"I hated you for so long, for what you did." Her voice was a ragged whisper, the words slicing through him. The breath hitched in his chest and his vision blurred. He blinked, trying to bring everything into focus, but it was no good. The only thing he could see was Sammie, staring up at him with tears in her eyes.

"Sammie—" He wanted to stop her, needed to tell her that he knew, that she didn't need to say the words. If he heard them, actually heard her tell him how much she hated him, it would kill him on the spot. But his throat wouldn't work and the words wouldn't come, no matter how much he struggled to say them.

"I thought I'd hate you forever. I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But…" Her voice trailed off. Hope flared to life in his chest, melting some of the icy fear that had been strangling him.

"But—?"

Sammie gazed up at him, tears filling those wide beautiful eyes, so deep he could lose his soul in them. He had lost his soul in them, years ago.

No, he corrected—he had found his soul.

"I'm scared, Jon. Scared that I don't hate you, when I know I should. Scared that I trust you, when I know I shouldn't."

"Sammie—"

Her hand drifted up his chest to his mouth. She placed two fingers over his lips, silencing him. "And I'm scared of what I feel. Terrified of how much I still love you."

"Sammie. God. I—" Jonathan cleared his throat, trying to clear the lump permanently lodged there. He finally moved, stepping closer, and reached out to cup her face between his hands. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, brushing away the single tear marring her perfect skin. "You're not the only one who's afraid. Loving someone that much—that gives them so much power over you. You've always held that power. Don't you know that?"

He reached for her hand and guided it to his chest, held it over the frantic beating of his heart. "Can't you feel it? My heart has always been yours, for as long as I can remember. God, Sammie. Without you, I'm nothing. I have no soul without you because you are my soul. You always have been."

"Then how could you have walked away like that? How could you have turned your back on us?"

"Because I was afraid. I thought you'd be better off without me. Thought you deserved so much more. I—I thought part of me had died over there, Sammie. After everything I did…I didn't want you to be stuck with someone half-dead."

"Jon, what you did over there, you did because you had to. You did to survive. To save lives. How could you possibly think that would change how I felt?"

"I—I don't know. I just—God, Sammie, things were so fucked up. And I couldn't bear the thought of coming home and having you look at me like I was some kind of monster, knowing what I did—"

"You're not a monster, Jon. You never were. And I just wish—" Sammie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling from the force of it. She opened her eyes and another tear fell, the sight of it tearing him apart. "I wish we could have that time back. That those years were never gone. But we can't get them back."

"No, we can't." Could she see what it cost him to admit that? See how much those lost years ate at him? He tightened his hand around hers and pressed it even closer, holding it tight against his heart. "But we can start over, can't we? Start over and make sure we live every minute for all we can."

"I—" Sammie hesitated, staring up at him while she chewed on her lower lip. He told himself to stay quiet, to not say a word. This was her decision to make. Her choice.

But his resolve to stay evaporated between one breath and the next. He couldn't stay quiet, not when there was so much riding on this. Sammie was too important to him, he couldn't risk staying quiet.

"I love you, Sammie. I never stopped. I wasn't lying about that. And I want you in my life. You and Clare. But if you can't—if you decide you don't want—" His voice cracked and he stopped talking for a second, cleared his throat and forced himself to keep going.

"If you decide this isn't what you want, I'm still going to love you. No matter what. And I'm always going to be here, waiting. Days. Weeks. Years. It doesn't matter. What I feel for you—it doesn't die. It never will."

Had he said too much? Had he scared her by telling her how he felt? Jonathan couldn't tell, not when she just stood there, staring up at him. He started to pull back, tried to tell her that he understood, that she could take all the time she needed.

Sammie stepped closer, leaning into him as she slid her hands around his neck. "I already know what I want, Jon. You. It's always been you. That's what scares me so much. And I don't want to wait. We've already wasted too much time. I don't want to waste anymore."

"Are you sure?"

Sammie nodded, the truth of her words—of her love—shining in her damp eyes. Jonathan leaned forward and captured her mouth with his. Soft, tender. Showing her with that one kiss how much she meant to him.

But it still wasn't enough. It would never be enough. He picked her up and carried her back to his bedroom, tried to show her with more than just kisses. More than just words.

And knew that a lifetime of loving her still wouldn’t be enough.