“The hell I did. You’re one amazing woman, Melissa Wilde.”
“And you’re an amazing man, Nicholas Gentry.”
They smiled at each other. Then Lissa’s smile dimmed.
“This is going to change everything,” she said.
He hesitated, but she was smart as a whip. There was no sense in lying to her.
“Yes,” he said. “It will.”
Lissa nodded. She played with the buttons on his denim shirt.
“They’re going to hound you.”
“I’ll answer whatever questions they ask.”
“You’ll tell them about Afghanistan?”
“Yes.” His mouth twisted. “But I won’t talk about those guys, not until I’ve met with their families.”
Lissa smiled. “That will mean a lot to them.”
“I don’t know if it will or it won’t. I only know it’s what I have to do.”
“You’re a good man, Nicholas Gentry.”
The cacophony of horns sounded again. Lissa flinched. Nick wrapped his arms around her.
“There’s so much more I wanted to say…”
The tears she’d tried to hold back fell like rain.
“Nicholas,” she whispered, “oh, Nicholas!”
He kissed her. When he raised his head, she grabbed hold of his jacket.
“No,” she said, “don’t go!”
Nick put her from him. “I’ll call when I can.”
“Nick. Nick, wait—”
“Remember me,” he growled.
Then he left her.
Lissa stood in the center of the kitchen, listening as the sound of his footsteps, the tap of his cane, receded. She heard the full-throated roar of the waiting crowd as he opened the front door, then the slam of that door.
And then, silence.
He’d told her to stay away from the window, but she couldn’t. She twitched a corner of a curtain aside and saw him walking toward the gate and a frenzy of reporters, cameras, flashing lights and microphones. His head was up, his stride purposeful, the limp barely perceptible.
“Nicholas,” she whispered.
The awful finality of his last words echoed in her head.
Remember me. Remember me. Remember me.