She was silent for long moments, and when she spoke, her voice was gentle. “How long ago did he pass away?”
“Nine years.” Though it didn’t feel that long at all—occasionally Nick even forgot he was gone. “It was his heart. He’d had problems before, and he was on a transplant waiting list, but it gave out before they found one.”
“Oh, Nick.” She scooted closer and leaned into him. “I’m so sorry.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and allowed himself the luxury of absorbing the nearness of her and her unquestioning support when he needed it. “In some ways we were lucky. He knew there was a chance he wouldn’t make it, so he had time to say his goodbyes. Not everyone gets that.”
There had been lots of family chatting, teasing and laughing—just as his father had wanted. And there had also been time for his father to have deep, one-on-one talks with each of them.
One time when they’d been alone, Nick’s dad had gripped his hand and told him—not for the first time—that he was the strong one, and he’d have to look after his mother and Malcolm. It had made a deep impression on his soul, and he’d done his best ever since. When things were hard, he often thought of his father’s face as he’d said those words and it was enough to keep him going, keep him moving forward.
One thing he was glad about was that his father had seen him in uniform before he died. Swiping away tears, his father had told him how proud he was, and it had been one of the best days of Nick’s entire life. He’d tried to be the man his father had expected him to be, which was one of the reasons he’d found struggling with his PTSD so hard. A strong man—the man his father had wanted him to be—would have handled it, right?
He glanced over at Harper—an intelligent, brave woman, who had barely blinked when he’d told her about his PTSD, and had even gone out of her way to research strategies to help. Just the thought of what she’d done for him made his chest ache in a way it never had before. An ache just for her. He reached for her hand, gripping it tight, and, as she smiled at him, a sliver of optimism shone through the dark parts of his mind. If she didn’t think he was a lost cause, then maybe, just maybe, there was hope for him still.
Nine
It was just past midnight, and Nick was sitting out by the pool, watching the moon, Frank snoring by his feet.
He hadn’t been able to sleep, so earlier he’d sat up in bed with Frank across his lap and begun, hesitantly, to tell his dog some of the less painful stories from his time in the military. It had been strange at first, but he’d read some articles online about talking through upsetting memories with a dog. As Frank had lain attentively, with no judgment in his gaze, it had slowly become easier. He’d talked for maybe an hour, and his shoulders felt a fraction lighter at the end. Sleep had still evaded him, though, so he’d come out here to watch the shimmering water in the pool and breathe the cool air. Frank—with his job done—had decided to catch a nap.
Movement at the sliding glass doors caught his eye, and he turned to find Harper in a long nightdress coming over to him. Bathed in the pale blue moonlight, she seemed ethereal, and the gentle night breeze draped the fabric against her body, revealing the growing roundness of her belly. The sheer perfection of her stole his breath. She was a goddess—so much more than he would ever deserve.
“Did I wake you?” he asked when she reached him. Uncertain if she was a light sleeper or not, he’d tried to be quiet when he’d been near her room.
She shook her head and grimaced. “Leg cramps. I was hoping walking might ease them.”
He was instantly more alert. Cramps were no laughing matter—experience from both training and missions had taught him that. “Has the walking helped?”
“Not so much.” She rocked from her heels to her toes and back again.
He cast an assessing glance over her. “Is it just your legs?”
“Well,” she said, drawing out the word as if not really wanting to admit more, “my back is aching.”
He pushed to his feet. In some respects he might have been a poor choice as a husband, but this was one thing he could do something about.
He slipped an arm around her waist. “Come on, I have a couple of ideas.”
As they started walking, she leaned in to him and whispered, “Thank you.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You have,” she said and looked up at him, her sweet brown eyes filled with emotion. “You’re here and you’re willing to help. You have my back. They’re things I really appreciate.”
“You’re welcome,” he said around a lump in his throat. To have a woman as strong as Harper Lake say that to him...it meant a lot.
They reached her bedroom door, and he released her. “You go curl up in bed. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Once in the kitchen, he quickly made up a hot water bottle. When he returned, he found her already in the bed. He tucked the hot water bottle against her back, then sat on the side of the bed, feet on the floor. “Here, give me the leg that’s worst.”
She lifted her right leg to lie across his lap, and he went to work, gently at first, looking for any knots and tightness, then easing it with rhythmic hand movements.
“The pregnancy books said I might get cramps, so I shouldn’t be surprised.” She offered a half smile that made him wish he could scoop her up, hold her tight and protect her against anything that might hurt her.
Instead, he kept massaging her leg and said, “What else do the books say we should be looking out for?”
“So many things,” she said, watching his hand sliding along her calves. “Those books are quite scary, to be honest.”