Lissa- Sugar and Spice (The Wilde Sisters 3)

He broke down, sobbing, and she took him in her arms, and there was no way of knowing where his tears began and hers ended.

* * *

The fire had died to glowing coals.

It was late. Very late, that time of night when darkness swallows the world.

It was cold in the bedroom. Lissa had drawn an old patchwork comforter from the back of the love seat; they sat wrapped within it, and within each other’s arms.

“It wasn’t your fault, Nicholas,” she said quietly. “You must know that.”

He gave a long, weary sigh.

“If I hadn’t gone there in the first place, if I hadn’t said yes when they suggested going out again—”

“Life is filled with ifs. That’s what life is all about. The ifs. Taking a step off a curb or not taking it. Turning a corner or not turning it. Getting out of bed at seven instead of at six. All those ifs, and you can’t quantify them as right or wrong because that’s the thing about ifs, they aren’t right or wrong, they just exist.”

Nick gave a choked laugh.

“You sound like the legion of shrinks who marched through my hospital room.”

“It’s the truth, Nicholas, and you know it.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Part of me does—but it’s hard not to think how things would have gone had I made a different choice.”

“You mean, how things might have gone if you’d made a different choice.”

Something that was almost a smile angled across his mouth.

“Not just Psych 101. Philosophy 101.”

“Reality 101. And you keep omitting that other reality. You didn’t walk away from that explosion. You were wounded. Badly wounded.

“My leg,” he said, “and when you get right down to it, all it is, is a leg—and look what a stinking fuss I’ve made over it, as if it’s anything compared to what happened to those three poor bastards.”

“Dammit,” Lissa said heatedly, “don’t minimize your wounds! They’re bad. Physically, they changed your life.”

He snorted.

“Right. No more skiing. No more skydiving. Talk about life-changing shit—”

“That is life-changing.” Her voice softened. “But the real truth is that your leg is a reminder of that day. Of those men. It takes you back each time you look at the scars, or feel an ache deep in your bones. I know it does, Nick. I saw it happen with Jake. My brother. I told you, remember?”

“Yeah. He was wounded in action.”

“You think that made his memories of what had happened easier to handle?”

“Your brother was a hero.”

“He doesn’t think so.”

“Still, he was. And he was more than doing his job; he was risking his life for others. I was—I was just along for the ride.”

Lissa shook her head. “You were doing your job too, Nicholas. One of the things that makes you the actor you are, the man you are, is your ability to see what others see, feel what they feel. You understood that those men were living through something the rest of us can’t begin to comprehend, and you wanted to help. You didn’t have to go to that camp, or climb into that vehicle.”

“Lissa. I know you’re trying to help, but—”

“Nick.” She took a steadying breath. “Your dad hid from life after your mom died. It didn’t bring her back—all it did was hurt you.”