She tucked past him and dropped on to the edge of her cot. "Why did you two get divorced?"
"Divorced? Thanks for the vote of confidence on my staying power." He sagged back against the door, his flight suit gaping open, his black T-shirt rising with a ragged breath. "She died."
She couldn't stop her gasp. Or the ache. The pain etched on his face spoke volumes.
He wasn't over losing his wife. Easygoing Jack, who never let anything bother him, was still mourning the woman. The proof of that stained his endlessly brown eyes, overwhelming her with how much grief he'd been holding inside that he'd never shared.
So much emotion. For someone else. Something that shouldn't have bothered her this damned much after she'd spent three and a half months shoving the man away.
"Oh my God, Jack," she whispered, "I'm so sorry. When?"
She could see his reluctance to talk. The shutters closed down on his eyes and only now that she'd seen into his soul did she realize she'd never been let inside before. But she had a right to her questions, and something within him must have known that, too, or he wouldn't have opened this door she suspected hadn't been so much as cracked for others. "Jack, is this what your 'shitty mood' has been about?"
He jolted. "You know me pretty well even when I don't tell you everything."
"Us being together—" she swallowed "—getting married has made you think about her?'' Come on, Jack, talk. She needed a lifeline, some order restored.
He hauled his hands through his hair, still sweaty and swirled from hours in a helmet. "We were young, got married right out of high school. We were working our way through college. Two years before graduation—" he paused, cleared his throat, studied the top of his boots ''—she had one of those fluke heart attacks and slipped into a coma."
The doctor within her couldn't help but question, "A heart attack? So young?"
"In childbirth. The baby didn't make it." His foot pounded back against the door. "And damn it, she shouldn't have even been pregnant. We were going to wait until after we both graduated, when I would be on active duty... Shit."
His foot rammed back again.
Nothing about his words or stance invited her closer. A scowl slashed his face. For an easygoing guy, he did brooding damned well. Which left her imagining how much practice he'd gained while alone.
"A month later, we had the doctors take her off life support." His booted foot slid to the ground. "I had them take her off life support."
Loss hardened his face. Jack wasn't a traditionally gorgeous guy by any stretch with harsh angles and a nose a little too big to be classic. But he was all man and somehow his grief cut through her with a jagged-edge tenacity because it had brought down someone so strong.
Hints of insecurity scratched over the vulnerable, open part of her, and she resented that most of all. It hadn't escaped her notice that Jack didn't share his first wife's name or even whether his child had been a girl or boy. She didn't want these vulnerable feelings that were so very selfish in light of what he was feeling.
Monica gripped the edge of her cot. Tighter. She hated being anything other than in control of her environment and emotions. So she did what she always did when the world around her spun out of control.
She found someone to heal.
Jack watched Monica's knuckles whiten with her tightening hold on the edge of her cot, her restraint evident in the increasing bloodlessness of her fingers. He waited for her anger. Or even tears. Anything. What he'd kept from her was far worse than failing to mention some half sister she rarely saw. He understood that. Accepted his guilt.
He deserved her anger and almost welcomed the idea of a confrontation so he could storm out, crawl back to his room, shut his eyes. Reestablish his blank wall of forgetfulness.
Jack started to zip his flight suit, all the while in tune to the sound of her shifting on the cot, standing, her footsteps coming closer.
Her arms went around him.
Surprise stilled him half-zip. He'd expected any number of reactions from her. Except this one. "Aren't you pissed that I didn't tell you?"
Her cheek fell to rest on his shoulder. "It would make things easier for you if I got mad, wouldn't it?"
A harsh laugh scraped his throat. "Oddly enough, yes."
"Well, I am.. .more than a little upset about what you've told me, and the fact that you didn't tell me before." She stroked the nape of his neck, soothed.
"And hurt?"
Her fingers paused, resumed. "Oh, yeah."
"Then why aren't you booting me out on my ass?" Hell, he married her and she kicked him out. He lied to her and she hugged him. When would he ever understand this woman?