“Had a buddy, Terry, that liked to drink. Weren’t supposed to have alcohol over there, but…well…as military police, you probably dealt with your share of servicemen who managed to smuggle it in.” Brogan did not have to look at her to know she understood exactly what he was saying. Unfortunately, some service members had no problem finding bootleg anything, and alcohol was just one of the many things.

“I wasn’t the one doing the smuggling but confess that, a couple of times, I imbibed. Didn’t get drunk. I was always afraid we’d get called up, and I wanted to think straight. But I knew he was doing it and did nothing about it.” He heard her intake of breath, but he halted her words before she spoke. “Don’t Ginny. Don’t make excuses. A sin of omission is just as bad.”

Scrubbing his free hand over his face, he felt the vast difference from his rough skin to her delicate fingers resting on his other hand. Light…darkness. Jesus, could we be more different? Determined to get it over with, he continued.

“Terry used to go into one of the local villages and get the hooch from a man who had access to it. Where the local stole it from or bought it from, I never heard Terry say…I didn’t want to know. I really didn’t think much about it being wrong. We were busy with our jobs in a shit part of the world in a shit war. So, a few drinks on the side seemed okay to this twenty-year old idiot.”

Wanting to deny his assessment, Ginny kept quiet, knowing he needed to get his story out. Rubbing his hand gently, she hoped he could feel her encouragement.

“Anyway,” he sighed heavily, “one day, Terry came by and said he needed to go into the village to get more alcohol. Said he had gotten a message for a pickup but hadn’t been able to go right away and he needed some backup to go with him. Come to find out, usually another buddy would go into the village with him, a bit of backup firepower if needed.”

At that, she let a gasp slip out, hating that it did, but she knew how dangerous that could have been. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

He shot her a look that said no apology was needed, that he understood her surprise. “Anyway, a couple of us went. Terry drove to the house where he got the stuff, parked down the road and told us to wait. We just hung out in the vehicle and he went inside. He was gone for a while and I started getting nervous. We then saw a man go into the house and I wondered if Terry had just been in there waiting for him all that time.”

Leaning forward suddenly, Brogan grimaced, his eyes tightly closed as the memories slammed into him. Covering his face with his hands, he sucked in a deep breath. “The next thing we know, Terry comes running out, heading toward us, yelling, ‘We gotta go. We gotta go.’ Swear to God, I thought a bomb was going to go off. I was sure he’d walked into a trap and taken all of us with him.”

“It wasn’t?” Ginny asked, her heart now in her throat as she waited anxiously for the rest of his story.

“No. It was worse.” Silence slithered between the two, only broken by the calls of the seagulls diving into the water. Finally, sucking in another ragged breath, he continued, his voice flat. “The man came out of the house dragging a woman. He began beating her and was quickly surrounded by villagers who began throwing stones at her as well. I jumped out of the vehicle about the time Terry came to us and he grabbed me to keep me from running to her. I fought him, but then two of our other buddies came and grabbed me as well. I might be big, but I was no match for all three of them.

He sucked in a shuddering breath. “Jesus, her screams…I can still hear them at night sometimes.”

Ginny sat perfectly quiet for a moment, afraid to move, sure he could hear her heart pounding. His anguish was so palpable, she felt it to her core. Slowly, she moved her hand back over to rest on his thigh, rubbing gently, hoping he could feel her presence.

“I guess, since you were over there, you can guess what had happened. Terry, the dumbass that he was, didn’t realize that waiting in a house alone with an Afghan village woman would cause her to be immediately accused of adultery. It was forbidden for her to be with a man that was not a relative, but especially not a foreigner.” He paused again, before continuing, “Fucking hell. What a total, complete fuck-up. Terry and the others manhandled me into the back of the vehicle and they took off and didn’t look back until we were through the gates and back on base.”

Brogan opened his eyes and looked over at Ginny, expecting disgust and censure and steeling himself for her rejection. She was leaning forward, her hand still on his leg, staring deeply into his face…with concern? He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it quickly, not knowing what to say.

“Brogan,” she began, still staring intently into his eyes, “I understand the horror of the situation…seeing a woman stoned and not being able to protect her would have affected anyone, especially a man like you. A man who feels right from wrong so strongly…who has a protective nature. But you’ve taken on the actions of someone else and made them your own.”

“You don’t see, do you, Ginny?” he said, sadness radiating from his eyes. “That woman was stoned because, first of all, a friend of mine was doing something he shouldn’t have been doing and, second of all, I was there and didn’t stop it. That woman was stoned to death right in front of me and I couldn’t stop it!” The last statement was roared as he stood, pushing her hand off his leg. Pacing away, he stomped to the edge of the deck, his fists on his hips, and lifted his head, screaming into the wind.

After his primal roar was carried off into the evening sky, he dropped his chin to his chest, his heart aching with the loss of Ginny in his life. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him, but he had been a fool to think that she would be able to live with his past.

He jolted as small hands encircled his waist from behind, reaching around until they met at his front. He looked down, seeing her pale hands against his shirt. Holding firm. Not letting go. Confused, he nonetheless chose not to move, relishing the feel of her hands on him. Warm. Comforting.

After several minutes with her face pressed against his back, Ginny shuffled around, still holding onto his waist, until her front was pressed to his. She remained quiet, her cheek against his heartbeat, hearing it pound. Knowing his pain, she wanted to hold him as close as she could, hoping he would let her bear some of it.

Hearing him swallow, she lifted her face to his. Seeing his agony, she said, “Brogan, what happened was not your fault.” Observing doubt in his eyes and knowing denial was about to spew from him, she reached her fingers up to touch his lips. “You have to listen to me.” A shiver swept over her and his arms instinctively wrapped around her, pulling her in closer.

Brogan hated to invite her in only to have her leave in disgust later, but he wanted her to be comfortable, and it was getting chilly. “Come on, Ginny. Let’s get you out of the breeze.” He turned and walked with her tucked underneath his arm. Once inside, he hesitated, uncertain where to sit.

Ginny walked to the sofa, leading Brogan by the hand and, as she sat, she pulled on his arm. As he plopped next to her, she flipped quickly and straddled his knees, holding him in place. Knowing he could easily dislodge her, she prayed he stayed where he was. Cupping his tense jaws with her hands, she said, “You need to listen to me.” Sucking in a deep breath before letting it out slowly, she began, “Terry made a series of bad choices. Terry. Not you. Terry.”

His eyes jumped to hers but he stayed silent.

“He chose to buy illegal alcohol. He chose to get it from a local village which has so many stupid risks that I can’t even begin to list them all. He chose to go into that house, which could have been rigged with explosives, where God knows what else could have lain in wait for him. He chose to wait in that house with an Afghanistan national female, not thinking of anything but himself. And he chose to run when things got hot. Run straight toward his friends which could have gotten them killed as well. And then he chose to keep you from going to help which, I have to say, at that point, was the only good decision he could have made.”

Brogan’s mouth opened to speak but she shushed him again.

“No, you talked and now it’s my time. Honey, I know that culture. I know that area. I was there. And if you had run back into the villagers’ frenzy, they would have killed you and probably all your buddies. And then there would have been an incident and the Americans would have had to retaliate. Think about it, Brogan…it could have been catastrophic!”

He shook his head slowly, but with less determination than earlier, turning her words over in his mind. She clung to his cheeks, holding him firm.

“Terry made so many bad choices, including dragging you into his mess. But that’s on him, honey, not you.” Seeing the doubt still in his eyes, she said, “Do you blame me for what happened to me?”

Jerking back, Brogan’s eyes turned stormy as he barked, “Hell, no! Of course not. How could you even ask that?”

“Because, if I had kept my mouth shut and just tried to deal with the trauma of the pictures, I wouldn’t have been accosted.”

“Babe, that’s on him,” Brogan argued. “You did nothing wrong. That was all on those assholes!”

Rubbing her thumbs over the rough stubble of his cheeks, she leaned her face close into his, so that their eyes were in a direct line, just inches apart. “I know. I had a lot of guilt about what I did, thinking of all the different things I could have done. But, ultimately, I knew the blame was on those men who made the choice to take pictures and share them. And, then, on the asshole who accosted me. Just. Like. Terry. It’s all on him. All those bad choices.”

“It’s different, Ginny,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “You did what you could to right a wrong, in spite of all the forces against you. I sat back and watched Terry involved in an activity that I could have reported. Then, I could have not gone with him that day, knowing it wasn’t the right thing to do. And then—”

“I’m not excusing what you did about ignoring Terry’s illegal bootlegging, but you were young and, again—that was his activity, not yours. But when he needed someone to guard his back, you were there. When you saw that woman in trouble, your instinct was to save her. You cannot blame yourself for the choices others make.”

Brogan’s fingers flexed on her ass as her words finally penetrated and all his anger and rage finally made sense. He realized how much he had hated Terry over the past eight years. Hated what Terry had been involved in. Hated Terry’s stupid handling of the alcohol pick-ups. And hated Terry for running away from the dying woman. As he sat there with Ginny on his lap, he realized he even hated the husband and villagers for their treatment of women. All this time he thought his guilt was destroying him, but it wasn’t the only thing. Drinking in a deep gulp of air, he let it out slowly, his eyes closed as he willed his mind to settle.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Hearing her soft voice so close, he opened his eyes, surprised to see her face still within inches of his. “Baby, I’ve got no secrets left.”

“Is that the reason you don’t drink?”

Snorting, he dropped his head, his forehead resting against hers. “Fucked-up, isn’t it? A man who owns a pub and doesn’t drink.” Lifting his gaze back to hers, he said, “After that, I can’t stomach alcohol anymore. Yeah, I’ve occasionally had a drink, but rarely and, honest to God, it sours in my stomach. I know alcohol isn’t the problem. I can own, run, and bartend a pub. But I keep a close eye out on those who imbibe too much and have no problem cutting them off. They get pissed and go somewhere else, that’s on them.”

“Yes. That’s on them,” she repeated, her lips curving slightly.

Her small smile warmed him as much as her palms still holding his face. “Yeah…that’s the point you’ve been trying to make, right? I can’t be responsible for the choices of others.” He saw her smile widen and felt the weight on his chest lift slightly. Tilting his head, he added, “But I still fucked up myself. That’s on me.”

Nodding, she said, “Then deal with that part. You’ve learned from it by the way you run your bar, but you haven’t actually forgiven yourself, so it still eats away at you. Keep going to counseling…talk about it…then let it go, Brogan. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

She leaned in, her lips touching his. He held perfectly still for a moment, except for a reflexive twitch of his fingers on her ass again, letting her mouth do all the work. She angled her head before taking the kiss further, licking the seam of his lips and plunging her tongue inside when he opened his mouth on a groan.

He came alive, his hands roving up and down her back from her neck to her ass, before sliding her closer to him. Her core was pressed against his erection and her breasts pressed against his chest, heartbeat to heartbeat.

She leaned back slightly, her eyes glazed with lust and her kiss-swollen mouth moist as she licked her lips. “Brogan, when I told you about me you said you wanted our first time to be about us, not in response to what had happened. But this isn’t like that. I see you, Brogan, and you see me…so, please.”

His hips involuntarily moved upward, his cock eagerly seeking her core. Hands moving back to her ass, he growled, “You’re right. This is different. But you gotta give me the words, baby. I gotta know exactly what you want me to do.”

Smiling, Ginny licked his lips, loving the groan from his mouth that she swallowed as soon as she latched on once more. Mumbling while kissing, she said, “I want you to take me to bed. Make love to me…please.”

Standing with her in his arms, his hands still holding on to her ass as she wrapped her legs around his hips, he grinned, “You don’t gotta beg, honey.”