Like her daughter, Ginny lay on her back. Staring up at him.
“What are you doing?” she whispered. Her eyes scanned his torso, and he realized he stood there without a shirt.
“Somebody have a bad dream?” he whispered back.
“Yes. We’re okay now.”
When he continued to look down at her—God, she was lovely—she said, “Go back to bed.”
He would. In a minute. Bending on one knee, he hunkered on the floor. “Ginny…” I’m sorry for breaking your heart. But I couldn’t resist the lure of status in the firm.
God help me, it meant everything.
More than you.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For breaking your leg. Upsetting your life.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“It’s all my fault.”
The night rang with silence.
“Luke,” she warned quietly. “It’s been more than a decade.”
“I never forgot.”
“Yeah, well.” Voice flat, she sliced him with her cat eyes. “I haven’t either. I remember every second of every day Boone lived. Now please. Go back to bed.”
Bowing his head, he rose. “I’ll make things right between us, Ginny,” he said softly. “I promise.”
“So you said twelve years ago and look what happened. Now go,” she said.
He did. But on the sofa below, he lay awake wishing back the years until dawn licked the window.
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