She rested her hand against his arm, the need to comfort him overwhelming. “Debbie didn’t mean what she said. That was her grief talking. She doesn’t really believe that, and neither should you. You know what really happened that day. You know you did all you could to save them. For God’s sake, you almost died!”
But her words didn’t seem to reach him. “A few years later, the White House called. The President told me I’d been awarded the Medal of Honor. I asked him why. I let my team down. They died. I lived. There’s nothing honorable in that.”
He turned, sat back against the railing. “I went to the ceremony anyway. I felt like such a fucking fraud. My old man was there. As a U.S. senator, he’d have been on the guest list anyway, but he was running for reelection. Even though we hadn’t spoken since my mother’s death, he showed up with a media entourage, turning it into a goddamned photo op in hopes of winning votes.”
“I’m sure he was proud of you.” What parent wouldn’t be?
Zach shook his head. “I joined the navy over his objections. I overheard him tell my mother that their son would never have to serve in the military even if the draft were reinstated, because he was a senator. I was disgusted. I signed up the next day. I wanted to show him that being a senator’s son didn’t mean I was entitled to sit on the sidelines in safety while other men’s sons and daughters went to war. At the time, he was furious, but that didn’t stop him from trying to take advantage of the limelight later. I left the medal on the table and walked out.”
“You left the medal there?” How terribly sad to think he’d given up something so precious, something he’d earned through blood and pain. “What happened to it?”
“I have no idea.” He shook his head as if it didn’t matter. “God, I’m such a weak piece of shit. I’m sorry you had to see this.”
She could see the shame on his face, tearstains on his cheeks. “What I saw tonight was a wounded hero, a warrior who served his country when others would have chosen an easier path, who willingly risked his own life to save his men, but who can’t forgive himself for being the one to survive.”
“You don’t understand.” He glared at her, then walked back toward the doors.
“Oh, yes, I do,” she called after him, her voice trembling, that lump back in her throat. “I know what it’s like to be the one left behind. I know what it’s like to lose everyone you love in a single day. I know what it’s like to blame yourself, to wonder if they’d still be alive if only you’d done this instead of that. But you can’t waste your life wishing you’d been the one to die.”
He turned to face her, stopped, anger on his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re confusing your situation with mine.”
“No, I’m not.” She walked over to him, looked up into his eyes. “You told me that when you came back from the war you thought about killing yourself—or is there some other meaning for the phrase ‘eat my gun’?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off, spurred on by a sudden surge of insight. “You didn’t join the marshal service just to drown your demons in adrenaline. You did it because some dark and desperate part of you ishopingto die in a hail of bullets like they did so you can prove to yourself that you’re worthy, that you’renota coward. Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong.”
But Zach couldn’t look her in the eyes. Her words had struck hard. He felt the anger leave him, along with breath and will and any defenses he’d had left. He made it inside to the sofa, then sank onto the cushions and buried his face in his hands.
“Zach?” She sounded worried. “Are you okay?”
Hell, no, he wasn’t okay. He’d come close to strangling her, had done some serious damage to a bottle of whiskey, had broken down in front of her and cried like a baby, and had just had the skin peeled off his psyche. How could he be okay?
Welcome to rock bottom, McBride. How does it feel?
Pretty shitty, actually.
She knelt down before him, her hands soft against his shoulders. “Zach, please. Say something. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me to go to hell if you want.”
“Why would I do that?” He raised his head, reached out to smooth a strand of hair off her cheek, looked into her worried eyes. “You’re right. You’re right about all of it. I would fix it if I could, Natalie. I just don’t know how. I don’t know how.”
She gave him a sad little smile. “You don’t have to figure that out alone.”
He shook his head. “I’m done with therapy. I won’t go—”
She pressed her fingers to his lips. “I’m not talking about therapy. I’m talking about you and me.”
It took him a moment to understand. “After tonight, can you really say you want to get involved with me?”
“Oh, Zach, look at us. We’re already involved. You just keep running from it.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, turned his head away. “You deserve better, Natalie.”
“I was right. Youarea big chicken.” She took his face between her palms, forced him to meet her gaze. “I love you, Zach McBride. You’re not alone in this anymore. You fought the Zetas for me. I’m going to fight for you—even if the one I have to fight isyou.”
Breath left Zach’s lungs in a rush. He stared at her, wondering if she’d lost her mind. “I’m not worth—”
“We’ll take it slow.” She drew his face down and kissed him. “One day at a time.” She kissed him again. “One hour at a time.” Again she kissed him. “One kiss at a time.”
He closed his eyes, gave himself over to her kisses, fairly certain he was too dead inside, too empty, too wrung out for what she seemed to have in mind. But her mouth was sweet, her tongue insistent.