I stare sightlessly across the room as I fold clothes. Memories of Alexander’s face yesterday when he caught me looking at the photos plague me. He looked so broken and torn. And angry. There was a tic in his jaw and his body was tense, like he was seconds away from pouncing. I get his anger and his sorrow. I shouldn’t have been in there. I should have waited until he was done with his phone call and asked. I didn’t realize the ramifications of looking in his drawer. When I saw those pictures, sorrow slammed into me like a sledgehammer. I had no connection to the woman and baby, but for some reason, I still felt the loss of them as if I did. That feeling grew when I saw the pain on Alexander’s face.

Although I understood his need to be alone when he told me I should leave, the rejection still hurt. His wounds were wide open because of the impending anniversary of their deaths, and I wanted nothing more than to be with him, to show him comfort and not let him be alone during his grief. No one should ever have to go through such a heavy emotion alone.

The need to see him now, to reassure myself he’s okay, is strong, and the more I sit here and stew over it, the stronger it gets.

I look up when Kelsey walks into the living room. My eyes fall to the standard crossword puzzle book she has rolled up in her hand. I lift my gaze to hers, confused, because ever since Alexander gave her the one he made, she hasn’t used the other ones.

I drop the towel I was folding in my lap and ask, “Did something happened to the book Alexander made you?”

She looks at me for a moment before shaking her head and looking down at the book in her hand.

“Why aren’t you using that one?”

She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t need to. I saw the answer in her eyes before she managed to clear it away. She’s hurt from him turning us away yesterday.

“Come sit.” I pat the cushion beside me.

She comes to the couch and sits down stiffly. I turn so I’m facing her and make her look at me.

“I know you’re hurt from yesterday.” When I get nothing from her, I forge ahead. I want her to better understand Alexander’s behavior so she doesn’t think it has anything to do with her, Daniel, or me. “Something happened a few years ago that hurt him terribly.”

Understanding dawns on her face, and I get the sense that she already knows he’s hurting, she just doesn’t know why. The look doesn’t surprise me. It’s said that those who are going through pain recognize it in others. I’ve seen the way Kelsey looks at him. Even at such a young age, there was sympathy and recognition of mutual anguish.

“He lost his wife and baby, who he loved dearly.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders when her eyes start to water. “I’m not saying this to hurt you. I want you to know he’s in pain, and I don’t want you to think his actions have anything to do with you or Daniel.” I wipe away the single tear that slides down her cheek. I hate knowing this is hurting her. She’s too young to be going through so much pain. Losing her father was enough, and I know hearing about Alexander hurts her even more.

She looks at me with questions in her eyes, and I hold my breath, hoping beyond hope that she’ll speak. Disappointment has my shoulders sagging when the look disappears and she turns her head away.

“Hey.” I call her attention back to me. Once I have her eyes again, I tell her quietly, “You know how you’re really sad about losing your dad?” Although the therapist said to not shy away from bringing up Will because Kelsey needs to learn that it’s okay to talk about him, it still hurts when I do. Every time he’s mentioned it brings fresh pain to her face, but this is the best way to get her to understand Alexander’s situation.

She nods once, though her face drops with the movement.

“Sometimes people react differently than others when they lose someone they love. Alexander’s very sad for losing his family, but he’s also angry because they were taken from him. Sometimes it’s hard to hold that anger in and we may accidentally hurt the ones we care about.”

I stop and give her time to process what I’ve said, and she frowns as she thinks it over.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” I ask after a few moments.

Her head dips down, indicating she does. I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear and lean closer so our eyes are level.

“It doesn’t mean he doesn’t care, he just wanted us to go so he wouldn’t hurt us. He needed to be alone for a while.”

Leaving him behind, knowing of the heartache he was going through, was hard, but I understood. Especially when I saw his face when we pulled away. I saw the turmoil. He wanted us there, but for some reason I think it made it harder on him. I know he didn’t want us to see him in the state he was headed for. I could have dealt with it, but like him, I didn’t want the kids to see it either. So we left, even though it tore me apart to do so.

I lean forward and kiss Kelsey’s cheek, then pull back. “I love you.”

She doesn’t respond, but I know she returns the feeling.

Kelsey goes back to her room, and I return to folding laundry. Or rather, I try to. I’m too distracted, so the clothes are only receiving a half-hearted attempt.

I spot my phone on the coffee table, and it only takes me seconds to come to a decision. I snag the device from the table and speed-dial Jeremy. He answers on the third ring.

“Hey, Jeremy. Can I ask a big favor?”

* * *

Thirty minutes later, I’m turning down the road that leads to Alexander’s land. After calling Jeremy and asking if he could watch the kids for a while, I took off, an unexplainable force driving me to see Alexander.

I make it to the bridge over Hallow’s Creek, and my stomach bottoms out when I see Alexander’s truck at the bottom of the embankment, almost under the bridge. Curiosity and dread have me pulling over and exiting my vehicle. As I walk down the small hill, I thank God that his truck shows no sign of an accident. My eyes catch on two crosses that have been placed in the ground, one smaller than the other, and I know they are for his wife and daughter. An ache forms in my chest, because this is the reason he’s here.

Looking around, at first I don’t see him, but I know he has to be here. When I do finally spot him, he’s hunched over with his arms resting on his raised knees and his head hanging between his legs. The position is telling enough, but when I call his name and he looks up at me, my heart feels like it’s been pierced with a serrated knife.

His face is wet with tears and his eyes are bloodshot. A bottle of alcohol dangles from one hand, and it looks to be about three-quarters empty. The temperature isn’t quite freezing, but it’s still cold enough and he’s only wearing a light jacket. I get the feeling this isn’t the first time he’s done this. I’d even go so far as to say he does this every year on the same day. This is the place he lost everything. The thought brings tears to my eyes.

Cautiously, I walk over and get down on my knees in front of him. Even through my jeans, the ground is cold. He watches me with bleary eyes. When I take the bottle from his hand, he blinks at me slowly, like he’s unsure of what’s going on. A gust of wind swirls around us, and I feel it in my bones, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Alexander,” I say in an agonized whisper. Seeing him like this tears me up inside.

“What?” he grunts.

“What are you doing to yourself?” I ask the question that I’m pretty sure I already know the answer to.

When he answers, his voice is strong and much clearer than you’d think coming from someone who’s drunk almost a full fifth of whiskey.

“Paying the price the only way I know how.”

He reaches down by his hip and produces another bottle of alcohol, this one full and unopened. I contemplate taking the bottle from him, but decide against it for the moment. As much as it pains me to see him drink his sorrows away, this is his way of coping and who am I to deny him? I saw the beer in the fridge when we were staying with him, but they were pushed all the way to the back, which makes me think him drinking is a rare occurrence.

“Why are you here?” he asks before taking a big swallow of the amber liquid, then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I was worried about you. You shouldn’t be alone.”

He looks at me for a moment, his eyes drooping slightly, before he looks away. His jaw is tight and the hand not holding the bottle balls into a fist. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “But I won’t leave you here by yourself.”

His eyes swing back to me and the look in them reminds me of the day we first met in the market. Despondency, regret, and anger flash in their depths.

“I don’t want you here,” he growls as he leans forward.

Although I know the anger is born out of guilt and pain, I still flinch at his tone. He sees it, and for a moment it looks like he’s going to apologize as torment replaces the guilt and pain, but then the emotion is gone and his face goes blank. His head drops back against the concrete with a thud and he closes his eyes.

Walking on my knees until I’m on the other side of him, I settle my back against the pillar. Our shoulders touch as I wrap my arms around my knees. It’s early evening in winter time, so the sun will be setting shortly. The temperature is sure to drop at least ten degrees, and I’ll likely be frozen come the end of this, but there’s no way I’m leaving him out here alone. He can push and shove all he wants, but it’ll get him nowhere.

We sit this way for a while, neither of us saying a word. I don’t want to interrupt his thoughts, I just want him to know I’m here if he needs me. Every so often, the breeze will pick up, sending a shiver through my body. I try to hold off the shakes, but they end up getting the best of me and I start shivering. His arm that’s pressed against me moves occasionally when he lifts the bottle to his lips.

After thirty minutes, I feel eyes on me and look over. He’s watching me with a frown and the side of his face that’s scarred is pulled tight. I can smell the whiskey on his breath every time he breathes out, and it mixes with his own personal scent.

His frown turns into a scowl and he turns his head away from me with a muttered “fuck” before he clumsily climbs to his feet. I make a move to get up to help, but he shoots me a look and growls, “Stay there.”

I watch as he staggers his way to his truck. His movements are sluggish, but he’s still moving relatively well for having drunk so much.

He slams the truck door, and I’m surprised when he comes back with a blanket.

“Sit up,” he barks when he’s standing in front of me. I ignore the harsh command and do as he says. He unfolds the blanket and places it around my shoulders, making sure to tuck it around the front of me. The gesture is sweet, and I know he’s doing it because he cares, even if his tone and attitude say otherwise.

“Thank you,” I state once he’s back to leaning on the pillar. He doesn’t answer, just takes another swallow of his drink.

Again, we sit in silence. The sun is starting to set behind the trees, leaving behind a beautiful purple and pink sky, and I’m grateful for the blanket. I lean my head back against the pillar and rest my eyes. A few minutes later, I open them when Alexander starts to talk, his voice devoid of emotion. His eyes are closed.

“I met Clara the summer my family and I went to help my aunt and uncle move. They lived a few hours away from here and were moving across the country for my uncle’s new job. On the second day we were there helping them pack up, the family that was buying the house came by to take measurements for a back porch they were going to add on. It was Clara’s family. I had only just turned fifteen at the time, and she was fourteen, but I remember thinking she was the prettiest girl I had ever seen. We struck up a conversation, but they were only there for about thirty minutes before they left again, so I wasn’t able to learn much about her. It bothered me, because I wanted to see her again. I thought I wouldn’t get the chance, but on the fourth day, they came back and then again a day later, which was our last day there.”

As he talks, his expression turns soft. It’s a look I’ve never seen on his face, but one that makes him look devastatingly handsome.

“Each visit was short, but with each one, I dreaded her leaving. She was so sweet and soft-spoken, but also had a sense of humor a mile long. We’d sit outside on the porch and make each other laugh until our stomachs hurt. She was one of the easiest people to talk to. On the last day, I got her phone number and promised to call her. I did as soon as I got home, and for a year and a half, that’s how we communicated.”

He stops for a moment and stares off into space, as if lost in thought, then shakes his head and continues. I keep my eyes on him, not wanting to miss anything.

“The day I got my driver’s license, I begged my mom to let me go see her, but she wouldn’t. She said it was too far to drive with my newly earned driving status. It took me six months to convince her to let me go, and even then, I had to pull over and call her every hour.”

He chuckles, but it sounds dry.

“We talked for a year and a half on the phone, but when we saw each other again in person, we were both so nervous. It was easy on the phone, because we weren’t face-to-face. We finally managed to get over our awkwardness and it felt just as natural as when we first met and then when we spoke on the phone. I visited her once a month and we became really close over the years. We both dated other people, but for me, none of the girls really mattered. I knew I had feelings for Clara, but she lived so far away, so I tried pushing the feelings aside, but it never worked.”

He takes a swallow of his drink, then uses his arm to wipe his mouth. I can’t take my eyes off his face. It’s so animated when he speaks of the girl he fell in love with as a teenager.

He drops one of his legs and rests the bottle on the top of his thigh.

“We attended the same college and it wasn’t until I was a junior and she a sophomore that things changed between us. We started dating and making plans for the future. We married after college, and decided right away to start a family. Her degree was in interior design, so she was able to work from home. It was perfect for us, because she wanted to be at home with our kids. We were both so excited. We tried for months, but she never got pregnant. It took two years….”

He trails off, and I know from the look on his face whatever he’s about to say will be excruciating for him. I clutch the blanket in my fists to keep from reaching out to him, worried the gesture won’t be welcome. His body is tense, as if he’s barely holding himself together.

“She lost the baby when she was two months pregnant,” he says, then stops to clear his throat when his voice cracks. “She was six weeks pregnant when she lost the second.” I suck in a breath and my hand flies to my mouth. Immediate tears fill my eyes. But he’s not done. “At four months, she miscarried our third baby, and at one month miscarried our fourth. After that, I had decided we weren’t going to try for a fifth. Each miscarriage killed us a little inside, and watching Clara go through each one became too much, but she wanted to try one last time.”

Unable to stand the small gap between us, I scoot closer to him. The sun is below the horizon, leaving us in shadows. I know he has to be freezing, but the warmth of the alcohol and the memories he’s facing right now must be giving him the ability to ignore the cold.

I watch the hand that’s not holding the bottle flex back and forth into a fist as he continues to talk, further breaking my heart for him.

“We were so careful. She made it thirty-two weeks before the baby decided to come.” A smile touches his face for a brief second before it slips free. “She was so tiny and incredibly gorgeous.”

He pulls a picture out of his pocket, and I recognize it as one of the ones in his nightstand drawer. It’s the one of them in the hospital. He fingers the photo with reverence, like it’s one of the most precious things to him.

“Due to her being so early and her lungs not being fully developed, after a visit just long enough to snap this picture, she was rushed to the neonatal unit, where she was given the chance to grow stronger. She was there for seven weeks before she was deemed ready to go home.”

The bottle drops from his hand and tips over. The amber liquid spills and runs down the embankment toward the water. My eyes swing back to Alexander to catch him dropping his head in his hands, where he fists his hair. His shoulders slump as he breaks down right in front of my eyes. I get on my knees and move closer to him. I hate seeing him in this state, and I need to reach out to him, but I think he needs me to as well. As soon as I touch his shoulder, his head whips up and he stares at me with anguished eyes. The look terrifies me. His pain has become my pain.

“Alexander.” I have no idea what I want to say, but I need to say something to help wipe the immense pain from his face. Before I get a chance to come up with the right words, he stops me.

“No,” he says roughly. “This is something you need to know.”

I nod and sit back on my legs, but still keep my hand on his shoulder; my need to touch him, to silently let him know I’m here is too great. My heart pounds heavily in my chest. I know what he’s about to say will be devastating.

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, then digs the heels of his hands into the sockets and rubs so hard it has to hurt.

“We were so damn happy we were able to finally bring her home,” he continues, his voice so scratchy it sounds like he’s been screaming for hours. “The weather was rainy and warm for that time of year. I remember looking over and seeing the smile on Clara’s face, knew I had the same big grin of happiness. By the time Rayne was released, it was already dark and the lights from all the Christmas decorations we passed made Clara’s face glow even more.”

I tense, afraid of where he’s going, and I silently pray I’m wrong. My stomach rolls when he starts talking again, his words and the sorrowful way he says them shredding my heart into tiny pieces, then crushing them into dust.

“We were coming up on Hallow’s Creek when a car coming the other way swerved in front of us. I jerked the wheel to avoid hitting him head-on. I could hear Clara screaming in my ear, but I was too focused on trying to keep the car on the road. It was slick and there were puddles. I hit one and hydroplaned. We hit the shoulder sideways and the impact flipped the car over.” His terror-filled eyes move to a spot close to the bridge on the side of the road, and I know he’s seeing where the car started its first roll. “We rolled four times until the car stopped on Clara’s side.”

Tears flood my cheeks and my hand digs into his shoulder. His tone is no longer hoarse, but now blank, revealing no emotion at all. It’s only the tears sliding down his face that show his pain.

“Alexander, please stop,” I croak, not sure I can hear the rest.

He doesn’t stop though, and I force myself to listen to him, somehow knowing he needs to do this, even if it does destroy me. My pain is nothing compared to his, so I can do this for him.

“It was the heat from the flames that brought me to. They hadn’t made it to me yet, but they were close. The tiny wails of my beautiful baby girl were the first thing I heard, but they only lasted a few seconds before they abruptly stopped. I was barely conscious, but the silence scared the shit out of me. I needed to hear her cry so I knew she was okay.”

He stops talking all of a sudden and looks around frantically, a look of panic on his face. I realize what he’s looking for and hand him the almost empty bottle. The relief floods his face when he grabs it and downs the rest. I wish there is more I can do to help dull the pain this is causing him, but all I can do is sit here, helpless.

“My fucking legs and right arm were trapped between the seat and the steering wheel. It was dark outside, so when I looked to the back seat to find my little girl, all I could see was darkness and what looked like water. That’s when Clara came to. She immediately started screaming Rayne’s name and tried to get to the back seat, but she was trapped as well. The dash had crushed her legs. The flames coming from the dash were getting closer to me, but I didn’t feel the heat anymore. My sole focus was to get to Rayne and Clara. Clara looked at me and begged and pleaded for me to get Rayne out. It wasn’t until the water started rising and covering Clara that I realized we’d rolled down the embankment and were in the creek. Fear like I’ve never felt before seized me, and I started jerking as hard as I could on my arm that was trapped. I couldn’t reach Clara or Rayne with my left, and no matter how hard I pulled and yanked, I couldn’t fucking get my right one free.

“Clara was smashed up against her door and the water was creeping up on her fast and there was no way for her to get away from it. She was screaming and crying hysterically, while I kept trying to get free. The flames reached my leg first, and I felt and smelled as my jeans were burned away. Then it hit my flesh and it was excruciating. The pain from being burned tried to pull me under, but I fought to stay conscious. I couldn’t take my eyes away from Clara as the water reached her face and swallowed her up.”

He stops and his breathing becomes labored as he stares off into space. His eyes look wild, and I know he’s reliving the horror of that moment. I grab hold of his wet cheeks, the blanket falling from my shoulders, and make him look at me, desperate for that look to disappear. The roughness of his beard on the left side feels so different than the smoothness of his scars on the other side.

His eyes meet mine and they appear unfocused, as if he’s not seeing me.

“Alexander,” I call, making sure my voice comes out strong when I feel anything but. “Look at me.” I give him a shake.

I don’t know if it’s my tone or the fact I’m so close to him, but he seems to snap out of it. He flinches, but I don’t let that affect me.

“You’re not there anymore,” I tell him quietly. “You’re here with me right now.”

His eyes flick back and forth between mine and he frowns, then gives me a nod. I’m surprised when his head drops from my hand and he lays it against my shoulder. Next, his arms wrap around my middle, and I’m forced to get back up on my knees. He’s hunched over me as he seeks comfort.

His voice comes out muffled and broken when he speaks next. I already know what he’s going to say, but it still hurts nonetheless.

“She begged and begged me to help Rayne up until the water covered her face, and even then, her eyes pleaded with me until she couldn’t hold her breath anymore. I watched her drown, and I couldn’t do a damn thing. I let my baby and wife die.” I’m shaking my head no, but don’t get a chance to voice my objection. “I tried so fucking hard, Gwen, I swear I did, but I couldn’t get free. My arm had gouges from me pulling so hard. When the flames reached my upper body, I wanted it to devour me. I wanted to die. If they couldn’t live, then neither would I. Right as it got to my face, someone yanked open my door. It was pouring outside so the rain coming in helped control the fire long enough for them to throw water on me. I already felt dead inside when they pulled me from the car. The pain of the burns was searing and unbearable, but the pain of knowing I’d lost my wife and newborn baby couldn’t compare.”

My shirt is soaked by the time he’s done. My own face is drenched in tears as well. Even though I was the one giving him comfort, I still cling to him just as tightly as he clings to me. His weight sags against me, and I know it’s not only from the alcohol, but from emotional exhaustion.

We stay this way for a while, him with his arms wrapped around my waist, his head against my shoulder, and me with my head resting on top of his. I pull the blanket around us both.

After a few minutes, he pulls back, and his tired eyes look up at me. I wipe away my own tears and sit back on my legs. My eyes feel swollen from crying and his carry so much pain. I don’t know what to do to help him. There’s really nothing I can do to help him.

“I’m sorry, Alexander.” It sounds so inadequate for what he’s gone through. “I’m so sorry for what you went through. For what they went through. I can’t imagine….” I close my eyes and take a deep breath before opening them again. I can’t even finish the thought because it’s too incomprehensible.

He swallows, then nods. It looks like he wants to say more, but his eyes drop to my shirt and he notices it’s drenched.

“Shit,” he grumbles scratchily. “Sorry.”

It’s a weird thing to notice at a time like this, but I think it’s more of an avoidance thing. Now that he’s told his story and has relived the pain, he’s only too willing to push it aside and try to focus on something else. From the look in his eyes, his attempt isn’t successful. I have a feeling it won’t ever be successful. How does someone recover from something like that?

I shake my head, letting him know I don’t care about my shirt.

“Please don’t apologize.” It almost comes out as begging. I feel restless because there’s so much I want to say, but I know none of it will ever be good enough. “I don’t know what to do,” I tell him honestly. “I wish so much there was something I could do to help your pain, but I know there’s not.”

“You’ve helped me already,” he responds quietly, confusing me.

He looks down at his hands and flexes his fingers. I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders when a gust of wind sweeps over us.

He’s quiet for a few minutes, then turns hazy eyes my way. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it and shakes his head, as if mentally warring with himself. Pulling in a deep breath, he tries again. “I can’t drive.” He looks over to my truck, then back to me. “But we need to get you out of the cold. Can you take me home?”

Pleased that he’s asked, I nod. I’d stay out here in the cold all night if I had to, but I’m glad he wants to go home. I know being here makes him feel closer to his wife and baby, but the way he’s drinking his sorrows and guilt away hinders his grieving process. We’ll never forget the ones we love, they’ll be with us always, but we need to learn to live without them, to not let the pain of their loss rule our lives. Alexander hasn’t been grieving, he’s been living in his pain all these years. He’s not learning to move on, he’s staying in place and immersing himself in guilt.

“Yes.”

I stand, still holding onto the blanket, and wait for him to follow. He doesn’t at first, just sits there and looks around in the dark, as if searching for something. I give him a few minutes as I gather the two bottles of Jameson and a brown paper bag. It takes him a moment, but then he slowly gets to his feet. He’s surprisingly steadier than I thought he would be, but his movements are sluggish as we make our way over to my truck. His eyes linger on the two crosses we pass, and even in the dark I can see fresh heartache on his face.

He climbs inside without saying a word. His eyes appear distant, like he’s not in himself right now. I throw the blanket and trash in the back.

“Do you have your keys?” I ask.

I get a single nod in response. Walking over to his truck, I lock the doors, then go back to mine. It’s cold inside, but thankfully my truck heats up quickly. Neither of us speak as we make the five-minute drive to his house.

He doesn’t ask me inside, but I get out anyway. The only light that’s on is the one by the barn, and it’s dark enough that I have trouble seeing my way to the porch. Thankfully, he walks slowly, and I’m able to follow him. I trip when I make it to the steps, but he turns and catches me before I fall, then guides me up the rest of the way. I have no idea how he’s able to move so smoothly with so much alcohol in his system. My only guess is his highly emotional state must have helped burn off some of the effects.

Keys jingle once we’re standing in front of the door, and a second later, we’re inside. He stops several feet away with his back to me. His head is hanging forward and the defeated posture makes me ache for him.

I walk up and place my hand on his back. Keeping my voice low, I ask, “Are you okay?”

He shakes his head, then answer verbally. “No.”

“What can I do?” I’m whispering now.

He turns and regards me with bleak eyes. “Stay with me,” he answers gruffly. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

There’s no hesitation when I nod. “Okay.” Relief immediately covers his face. “I need to call Jeremy and let him know I won’t be home tonight.”

When Jeremy came by the house to watch the kids earlier, I told him I didn’t know how long I’d be. He told me to take as long as I needed. I didn’t tell him what I was doing exactly, just that I was going to check on a friend, but I think he knew anyway. The kids have mentioned Alexander a few times, and I’m sure he saw something when he picked the kids and me up after the snowstorm. He never said a word, but his eyes held understanding.

Once I get off the phone with Jeremy, who said he’d stay with the kids, I shed my jacket. I find the living room empty and the kitchen the same way. I walk down the hallway, where I see light filtering out of his bedroom. Unsure of what I’ll find, I walk cautiously into his room. Gigi is on her bed sleeping soundly. I find Alexander in the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He’s looking at himself as if he’s disgusted with what he sees. I understand the reaction, even if I don’t agree with it. He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever met, on the inside and out. I just wish he saw that himself.

I walk up behind him, but stay to the side so I can keep him in view. At first, he doesn’t seem to notice me, but when I stop behind him, his eyes flicker to mine. The look of revulsion disappears and something else takes its place. Reverence, maybe? Wonder? Confusion? I’m not sure.

He holds my stare, and I wonder what he’s thinking. What’s going through his head? Before I get a chance to dwell on it, he turns around, grabs my hand, and leads me back into his room, flipping the light off as he goes. We stop at the side of the bed. He pulls back the covers, and without asking, I slip off my shoes and climb in. He reaches back and tugs off his shirt before following me.

Under different circumstances, butterflies would be swarming in my stomach right now. Being in bed with Alexander is something I never thought would happen, but I’ll admit, I’ve secretly wondered what it would be like, especially the last few days. Now though, after everything that’s happened today, sex is the last thing on my mind. Comfort is what he needs right now.

My eyes briefly hit on the scars on his chest before I bring them up to meet his.

“Roll over,” he says deeply.

I roll over, and as soon as I do, a wall of warm muscle meets my back. His arms band around my waist, tugging me against him, and his legs spoon mine. My arms line up against his. The embrace is tight and secure, and I get the sense he needs that right now, to feel connected to someone.

His warm breath blows across the back of my neck. “Thank you.”

My arms tighten against his and tears prick the backs of my eyes at the way his words crack as they leave his throat. He buries his face in my hair, and I hear him take a deep, shaky breath.

I lie there for a long time, going over what he revealed tonight and wondering how he’s coped this whole time. Not because guilt should have eaten away at him, but because of how he lost his family. His baby was only seven weeks old. He never got to have her in his home. And to watch them die right in front of his eyes, knowing there was nothing he could do; and there wasn’t anything he could do, no matter how much he may think otherwise. No man, woman, or child should have to witness something so horrific. For him to do so and still manage to get by just shows how strong he is. But then I wonder how well he is managing. Watching him tonight talk about his family, he looked half dead, like a vital part of him was missing.

I close my eyes and bring one of his hands up to my mouth, kissing the back of it. Learning what he’s been through makes me want to cement myself into his life even more. To love him and help bring him back to the living. To cherish the great man he is and the wonderful father he could be. Something tells me, like a soft whisper in the night, that I was meant to meet this man for a reason. My kids and I were brought into his life not by coincidence, but by fate.

His breathing against my neck has evened out, indicating he’s asleep. I relax my body against him more, wanting no gaps or spaces between us.

“Good night, Alexander,” I say softly into the dark, not expecting a reply.

“Good night, Gwendolyn,” he whispers, surprising me, then kisses the back of my neck.

I don’t know if he did it in his sleep or if he’s fully conscious, but regardless of the reason, it brings comfort to my own beaten heart, solidifying that I’m exactly where I belong.