Cap chuckles, nodding his head. "That's for d.a.m.n sure."

I look at him disbelievingly. Did he just agree with me?

"Are you saying I made the right choice?"

He's quiet for a second before blowing out a quick breath. His expression contorts as if his thoughts aren't something he necessarily wants to share. He relaxes into his chair and folds his arms loosely over his chest. "I told myself to never get involved in your problems, boy, because in order for a man to give advice, he'd better know what the h.e.l.l he's talkin' about. And Lord knows in all my eighty years, I ain't never been through nothing like what you went through. I don't know the first thing about what that was like or what that did to you. Just thinking 'bout that night makes my gut hurt, so I know you feel it in your gut, too. And your heart. And your bones. And your soul."

I close my eyes, wishing I could close my ears instead. I don't want to hear this.

"None of the people in your life knows what it feels like to be you. Not me. Not your father. Not those friends of yours. Not even Tate. There's only one person who feels what you feel. Only one person who hurts like you hurt. Only one other parent to that baby boy who misses him the same way you do."

My eyes are closed tightly now, and I'm doing all I can to respect his end of the conversation, but it's taking all I have not to get up and walk away. He has no right bringing Rachel into this conversation.

"Miles," he says quietly. There's determination in his voice, like he needs me to take him seriously. I always do. "You believe you took away that girl's chance at happiness, and until you confront that past, you won't ever move forward. You're gonna be reliving that day every single day until the day you die, unless you go see for your own eyes that she's okay. Then maybe you'll see that it's okay for you to be happy, too."

I lean forward and run my hands over my face, then rest my elbows on my knees and look down. I watch as a single tear falls from my eye and drops to the floor beneath my feet. "And what happens if she's not okay?" I whisper.

Cap leans forward and clasps his hands between his knees. I turn and look at him, seeing tears in his eyes for the first time in the twenty-four years I've known him. "Then I guess nothing changes. You can keep on feeling like you don't deserve a life for ruining hers. You can keep on avoiding everything that might make you feel again." He leans in toward me and lowers his voice. "I know the thought of confronting your past terrifies you. It terrifies every man. But sometimes we don't do it for ourselves. We do it for the people we love more than ourselves."

chapter thirty-seven.

RACHEL.

"Brad!" I yell. "Someone's at the door!" I grab a dish towel and dry my hands.

"Got it," he says, pa.s.sing through the kitchen. I take a quick inventory of the kitchen to make sure there isn't anything my mother can insult. Counters are clean. Floors are clean.

Bring it on, Mom.

"Wait here," Brad says to whoever is at the door.

Wait here?

Brad wouldn't say that to my mother.

"Rachel," Brad says from the kitchen entryway. I turn around to face him, and I immediately tense. The look on his face is one I rarely ever see. It's reserved for preparation. When he's about to tell me something I don't want to hear or something he's afraid will hurt me. My immediate thoughts fall to my mother, and I'm gripped with worry.

"Brad," I whisper. "What is it?" I'm holding the counter next to me. The familiar fear washes over me that used to live and breathe inside me, but now it's something that only grips me on occasion.

Like right now, when my husband is too afraid to tell me something he's not sure I want to hear. "Someone's here to see you," he says.

I don't know of anyone who could make Brad as concerned as he is right now. "Who?"

He slowly walks toward me and cups my face in his hands when he reaches me. He looks into my eyes as if he's trying to brace me for a fall. "It's Miles."

I don't move.

I don't fall, but Brad holds me up anyway. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his chest.

"Why is he here?" My voice trembles.

Brad shakes his head. "I don't know." He pulls away and looks down on me. "I'll ask him to leave if you need me to."

I immediately shake my head. I wouldn't do that to him. Not if he came all the way to Phoenix.

Not after almost seven years.

"Do you need a few minutes? I can take him to the living room."

I don't deserve this man. I don't know what I'd do without him. He knows my history with Miles. He knows everything we went through. It took me a while to be able to tell him the whole story. He knows all of this, and he's still standing here, offering to invite the only other man I've ever loved into our home.

"I'm okay," I tell him, even though I'm not. I don't know if I want to see Miles. I have no idea why he's here. "Are you okay?"

He nods. "He looks upset. I think you should talk to him." He leans in and kisses me on the forehead. "He's in the foyer. I'll be in my office if you need me."

I nod, and then I kiss him. I kiss him hard.

He walks away, and I'm left standing silently in the kitchen, my heart beating erratically within my chest. I take a deep breath, but it does nothing to calm me. I brush my hands down my shirt and walk toward the foyer.

Miles's back is to me, but he hears me round the corner. He turns his head slightly over his shoulder, almost as if he's just as afraid to turn around and look at me as I am to see him.

He does it carefully. Slowly. Suddenly, my eyes are locked with his.

I know it's been six years, but in that six years, he's somehow completely changed, without changing at all. He's still Miles, but he's a man now. This makes me wonder what he's seeing, looking at me for the first time since the day I left him.

"Hey," he says, treading carefully. His voice is different. It isn't the voice of a teenager anymore.

"Hi."

I lose his gaze as his eyes travel around the foyer. He takes in my home. A home I never expected to see him in. We both stand in silence for a whole minute. Maybe two.

"Rachel, I . . ." He looks back at me again. "I don't know why I'm here."

I do.

I can see it in his eyes. I got to know those eyes so well when we were together. I knew all his thoughts. All his emotions. He wasn't able to hide how he felt, because he felt so much. He's always felt so much.

He's here because he needs something. I don't know what. Answers, maybe? Closure? I'm glad he waited until now to get it, because I think I'm finally ready to give it.

"It's good to see you," I tell him.

Our voices are weak and timid. It's weird, seeing someone for the first time under different circ.u.mstances from when you parted.

I loved this man. I loved him with all my heart and soul. I loved him like I love Brad.

I also hated him.

"Come in," I say, motioning toward the living room. "Let's talk."

He takes two hesitant steps toward the living room. I turn around and let him follow me.

We both take a seat on the sofa. He doesn't get comfortable. Instead, he sits on the edge of it and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He's looking around, taking in my home once more. My life.

"You're brave," I say. He looks at me, waiting for me to continue. "I've thought about this, Miles. About seeing you again. I just . . ." I look down. "I just couldn't."

"Why not?" he says almost immediately.

I make eye contact with him again. "The same reason you haven't. We don't know what to say."

He smiles, but it's not the smile I used to love on Miles. This one is guarded, and I wonder if I did this to him. If I'm responsible for all the sad parts of him. There are so many sad parts of him now.

He picks up a photo of Brad and me from the end table. His eyes study the picture in his hands for a moment. "Do you love him?" he asks, continuing to stare at the picture. "Like you loved me?" He's not asking in a bitter or jealous way. He's asking in a curious way.

"Yes," I reply. "Just as much."

He places the picture back on the end table but continues to stare at it.

"How?" he whispers. "How did you do that?"

His words bring tears to my eyes, because I know exactly what he's asking me. I asked myself the same question for several years, until I met Brad. I didn't think I'd ever be able to love someone again. I didn't think I'd want to love someone again. Why would anyone want to put themselves in a position that could bring back the type of pain that makes a person envious of death?

"I want to show you something, Miles."

I stand up and reach out for his hand. He watches my hand cautiously for a moment before finally reaching for it. His fingers slide through mine, and he squeezes my hand as he stands up. I begin making my way toward the bedroom, and he follows closely behind me.

We reach the bedroom door, and my fingers pause on the doork.n.o.b. My heart is heavy. The emotions and everything we went through are surfacing, but I know I have to allow them to surface if I want to help him. I push the door open and walk inside, pulling Miles behind me.

As soon as we're inside the room, I feel his fingers tighten around mine. "Rachel," he whispers. His voice is a plea for me not to do this. I feel him try to pull back toward the door, but I don't let him. I make him walk to her crib with me.

He's standing by my side, but I can feel him struggling because he doesn't want to be in here right now.

He's squeezing my hand so tightly I can feel the hurt in his heart. He blows out a quick breath as he looks down on her. I see the roll of his throat when he swallows, then blows out another steadying breath.

I watch as his free hand comes up and grips the edge of her crib, holding on to it as tightly as the hand that's wrapped around mine. "What's her name?" he whispers.

"Claire."

His whole body reacts with my response. His shoulders immediately begin to shake, and he tries to hold in his breath, but nothing can stop it. Nothing can stop him from feeling what he's feeling, so I just allow him to feel it. He pulls his hand from mine and covers his mouth to conceal the quick rush of air released from his lungs. He turns and walks swiftly out of the room. I follow him just as fast, in time to see his back hit the hallway wall across from her nursery. He slides to the floor, and the tears begin to fall hard.

He doesn't try to cover them. He pulls his hands through his hair, and he leans his head back against the wall and looks up at me. "That's . . ." He points to Claire's nursery and tries to speak, but it takes him several tries to get his sentence out. "That's his sister," he finally says, blowing out an unsteady breath. "Rachel. You gave him a sister."

I sink to the floor next to him and wrap my arm around his shoulders, stroking his hair with my other hand. He presses his palms to his forehead and squeezes his eyes shut, crying quietly to himself.

"Miles." I don't even try to disguise the tears in my voice. "Look at me."

He leans his head back against the wall, but he can't look me in the eyes. "I'm sorry I blamed you. You lost him, too. I didn't know how else to deal with it back then."

My words completely break him, and I'm consumed with guilt over allowing six years to pa.s.s without letting him hear those words. He leans over and wraps his arms tightly around me, pulling me against him. I let him hold me.

He holds me for a long time, until all the apologies and forgiveness are absorbed and it's just us again. No tears.

I would be lying if I said I never think about what I did to him. I think about it every day. But I was eighteen and devastated, and nothing mattered to me after that night.

Nothing.

I just wanted to forget, but every morning I woke up and didn't feel Clayton by my side, I blamed Miles. I blamed him for saving me, because I had no reason left to live. I also knew in my heart that Miles did what he could. I knew in my heart that it was never his fault, but at that point in my life, I wasn't capable of rational thought or even forgiveness. At that point in my life, I was convinced I wouldn't be capable of anything at all but feeling pain.

Those feelings never wavered for more than three years.

Until the day I met Brad.

I don't know who Miles has, but the familiar struggle in his eyes proves there's someone. I used to see the same struggle every time I looked in the mirror, unsure if I had it in me to love again.

"Do you love her?" I ask him. I don't need to know her name. We're beyond that now. I know he isn't here because he's still in love with me. He's here because he doesn't know how to love at all.

He sighs and rests his chin on top of my head. "I'm scared I won't be able to."

Miles kisses the top of my head, and I close my eyes. I listen to his heart beating inside his chest. A heart he's claiming isn't capable of knowing how to love, but in actuality, it's a heart that loves too much. He loved so much, and that one night took it away from us. Changed our worlds. Changed his heart.

"I used to cry all the time," I tell him. "All the time. In the shower. In the car. In my bed. Every time I was alone, I would cry. For those first couple of years, my life was constant sadness, penetrated by nothing. Not even good moments."

I feel his arms wrap tighter around me, silently telling me he knows. He knows exactly what I'm talking about.

"Then when I met Brad, I found myself having these brief moments where my life wasn't sad every second of the day. I would go somewhere with him in a car, and I'd realize it was my first time in a car without crying at least one tear. The nights we would spend together were the only nights I wouldn't cry myself to sleep. For the first time, this impenetrable sadness that had become me was being broken by the brief, good moments I spent with Brad."

I pause, needing a moment. I haven't had to think about this in a while, and the emotions and feelings are too fresh. Too real. I pull away from Miles and lean back against the wall, then rest my head on his shoulder. He tilts his head until it's resting against mine and grabs my hand, intertwining our fingers.

"After a while, I began to notice that the good moments with Brad began to outweigh all the sadness. The sadness that was my life became the moments, and my happiness with Brad became my life."

I feel him exhale, and I know he knows what I'm talking about. I know that whoever she is, he's had those good moments with her.

"For the entire nine months I was pregnant with Claire, I was so scared I wouldn't be able to cry from happiness when I saw her. Right after she was born, they handed her to me, just like they did when Clayton was born. Claire looked just like him, Miles. Just like him. I was staring down at her, holding her in my arms, and tears were running down my cheeks. But I was crying good tears, and I realized at that moment that they were the first tears of happiness I had cried since the day I held Clayton in my arms."

I wipe my eyes and let go of his hand, then lift my head off his shoulder. "You deserve that, too," I tell him. "You deserve to feel that again."

He nods. "I want to love her so much, Rachel," he says, breathing out the words like they've been pent up forever. "I want that with her so much. I'm just scared the rest of it will never go away."

"The pain will never go away, Miles. Ever. But if you let yourself love her, you'll only feel it sometimes, instead of allowing it to consume your entire life."

He wraps his arm around me and pulls my forehead against his lips. He kisses me, long and hard, before pulling back. He nods, letting me know that he understands what I'm trying to explain to him.

"You've got this, Miles," I say, repeating the same words he used to comfort me with. "You've got this."