For Lucy

“I can’t leave her.” Tatum shakes her head. “I can’t believe you’re even suggesting it.”

“Why? Because you think you love her more?”

“Jesus, Emmett, I didn’t say that. I just thought you’d show a little more understanding for my situation. But no. You’re ready to ship me off so you can have her all to yourself. I’m not leaving her. That’s why I didn’t give Josh an answer.”

“Fine. Say, yes. Wait until she graduates. Then move to Chicago. Are you really going to let a year stand in the way of your happiness?”

Seriously. Fucking. Killing. Me.

This is not the conversation I ever imagined having with my wife.

“Just like that. You want me to say yes to Josh?”

“Sure. Why not?” I say with a little edge to my voice as I stand and pound my feet toward the garage to get the cover to the firepit.

Tatum is hot on my heels. “What is wrong with you? I thought we could have an adult conversation like friends.”

I spin around just before reaching the rack with the cover on it. “Friends? Are you serious? I don’t want to be your fucking friend, helping you plan your wedding to some other guy! I’M THE GUY! I’m your husband! I stole you!” Grabbing her face, I kiss her. There are no words to describe how it feels to kiss her again. I can’t breathe, but at the same time it feels like the first real breath I’ve taken since Austin died. She’s the air filling my suffocating lungs. I love this woman with every cell in my body.

It takes a few seconds for me to ease my grip on her, and that’s when I realize it’s not just me kissing her. She’s kissing me back. Her hands claim my sweatshirt, holding me to her for a few moments before they wrap around my neck, fingers teasing my nape the way they did for twelve years of marriage.

The moment starts to fade because it’s stolen. Stolen like Tatum. Stolen like so many moments, so many breaths in our life together. Some good, some tragic. Her hands slide back down to my chest, the fabric wadded in her tight fists as she drops her forehead to my chest and exhales slowly. I keep my arms around her and my eyes closed. If I open them, I know I will see regret in her eyes because my wife loves with her heart wide open. And no matter how much she loves me, I know she loves Josh too.

And he’s asked her to marry him.

He’s asked her to move to Chicago, something new and exciting and so many opportunities to dance.

He’s a doctor who makes a good living without coming home with dirt under his fingernails or the stench of diesel woven into his clothes.

And he’s not the face she thinks about when she grieves Austin.

The stolen glances.

The stolen kisses.

It’s all temporary. I’m the thief who will have to give them back. I will have to admit they no longer belong to me.

“Emmett …” she whispers. “I can’t do this.”

Threading my fingers through her hair, I ease her head up to look at me. She blinks huge tears, and I wipe them away. “Why did it have to be like this?”

My thumbs chase every tear.

Her voice shakes. “Why did he have to die?”

This time. This time I don’t feel accused. I don’t feel like she’s trying to blame me. With the same disbelief that taking her eye off the road for two seconds led to Lucy in a wheelchair, she’s wondering why our little boy wandered out to the pool in what was mere seconds—a minute or two at most—of someone not watching him. Why did we lose a child to a miscarriage? It’s hard to invest in any sense of joy when you feel like it will be ripped away from you in the most unimaginable nightmare.

“I don’t know. Most days … I don’t know anything,” I say.

Tatum sniffles, rubbing her lips together. I know it won’t change one thing. It will only carve more empty holes in my heart, but I do it anyway. I kiss her again. And she kisses me.

She tightens her hold on my shirt.

She cries more tears.

She opens her mouth to taste me—the familiar, the lost, and now … the forbidden.

I wonder if she’d let me push her back two steps until her back hit my truck.

I wonder if she’d let me touch her in places that I’ve longed to touch her for as long as my empty heart can remember.

I wonder if it would change our future if she did.

Once, many years ago, I stole her. I wonder … could I do it again?

“Dad? Mom?”

We jump away from each other—wiping our mouths, fixing our hair, and straightening our clothes.

“Uh … coming, Luce,” I call, snatching the firepit cover from the shelf while Tatum presses her hands to her rosy cheeks like she can extinguish the heat from them.