“Anytime.” He leaned down and kissed her hand before setting it on the bed. “Get some rest.”
Morgan must have fallen asleep. When she opened her eyes again, morning blasted through the blinds. She threw an arm over her eyes. Pain sliced through her arm. “Ow.”
She sat up. She was still wearing her slacks from the night before. But someone had removed her bloody blouse and replaced it with a soft flannel button-up. Her feet were bare, a blanket drawn over her. She eased her shoulders higher on the pillow. Her mouth was desert dry.
“Hey, how do you feel?” Gianna stood in the doorway.
“Like I ate chalk.”
“Want some water?”
“Yes.” Morgan shook her head. “And coffee.”
“Lance left a few pain pills for you if you need them.”
“I’ll stick with over-the-counter if possible. Clearly, I have no tolerance for anything stronger.” Morgan swung her legs over the side of the bed.
“Take it slowly, OK?” Gianna suggested.
“I will.” Morgan eased to her feet. The room remained stationary. She walked to the bathroom. But when she came out, she decided being upright was overrated and went back to bed. Her head ached.
Gianna brought her water and coffee.
“It’s like I have the worst hangover ever.”
“The coffee should help.” Gianna handed it over. “I guess there’s no worry about you becoming an addict. You wouldn’t be awake enough.”
Morgan drank. The coffee went down her throat like liquid gold. “Where are the girls?”
“School.” Gianna said. “The bus came a half hour ago.”
“Where’s Sophie?”
“Your grandfather has her outside with Snoozer. He didn’t want her to wake you.”
The caffeine cleared the cobwebs in Morgan’s head. “Wait. It’s Wednesday. You have to get to dialysis.”
“Will you be all right by yourself? If not, I’ll call a cab and your grandfather can stay with you.”
Morgan drained her mug. “I’m fine now that I’m caffeinated. Seriously, I have a cut on my arm. That’s it.”
“You were pretty out of it last night.” Gianna hesitated at the door.
“The drugs are out of my system now. I’m fine.” To prove it, Morgan got out of bed. Her head felt like someone had just bowled a strike in it, but she faked a smile as Gianna left her bedroom. The second they all left the house, she was getting right back in bed.
“Mommy!” Sophie ran at her.
“Sophie!” Grandpa called. “Remember Mommy’s arm.”
Sophie slid to a stop, her sneakers squeaking on the wood floor of the hall.
“It’s OK. You can hug me.” Morgan crouched down, holding her injured arm up high.
Sophie gave her a gentle hug and a kiss on the cheek before spinning around and rushing back to the door. “Grandpa is taking me to school.” She hefted her Hello Kitty backpack onto her shoulders. Taking Grandpa’s hand, she tugged. “Come on. I’ll be late.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Grandpa’s eyes were worried.
“I’m perfectly fine,” Morgan said. “I’m going to get another cup of coffee.”
“I’ll be back in an hour,” Grandpa said.
Gianna took Sophie’s hand and the three of them went out the front door. Morgan heard the deadbolt sliding home.
As soon as the house was empty, she went back to her bedroom. But now that the coffee was buzzing through her system, she couldn’t sleep. Giving up, she went to the kitchen, refilled her mug, and took it back to her bed.
The previous night, when Phillip Emerson had put a knife to her throat, she’d realized that life was short.
Despite all the people she’d lost, it had taken a threat to her own life to bring her to her senses.
For the last two years, she’d been squandering her life. Her children were the only things that gave her any joy, and that wasn’t right.
She opened the nightstand and took out the letter that she’d been avoiding for two years. Tears burned the corners of her eyes as she read her husband’s handwriting on the outside of the envelope. Morgan.
“I’m sorry,” she said to John’s photo as she slid a finger under then flap. “I couldn’t read this before.”
Tears blurred the page as she read the words her husband had written to her before he’d left for Iraq. The letter he’d left with his commander in case he didn’t make it home. The fact that she’d never been able to read it before now suddenly felt selfish. The note was short. John had never wasted words. He hadn’t been a poet, just a good man. He’d always gotten to the point and said what was on his mind. His final letter was no different.
Morgan,
If you’re reading this letter, then I didn’t come home. I’m sorry for that. It was a lot to ask of you to be my wife. Just know this: I loved you and our girls with all my heart. Even from six thousand miles away, I have no doubt the four of you will be the very last images in my mind. However short our time was together, your love is the precious thing that I will take with me.
I didn’t give my life for a lofty idea of patriotism. I gave it so people like you, Ava, Mia, and Sophie would be safe and free. I did my duty. Now I want you to do yours. Honor my life by living yours. Don’t waste a second on the idea that you being happy would somehow be disloyal to me. Live. Laugh. Love. Don’t hold back. Make me proud.
Love you always, John.
She wiped the tears from her face, folded the letter, and put it back in her drawer. She’d transfer it to the safe deposit box so the girls would always have it. But she would never read it again.
She lifted his photo from her nightstand. “You’re right. I’ve been walking around half living. It isn’t fair to the girls, and it isn’t fair to me. Thank you for making me see that.”
Carrying his picture, she walked to the girls’ bedroom and placed it on their dresser. She would never forget him or the love they had, but it was time to let him go.
It was time to live.
Chapter Forty-Three
Lance walked into the ice arena. The kids were already warming up. Coach Zack leaned on the half wall and watched as they circled the rink.
Zack turned. “Hey, Lance. Are those your skates?”
“They are.” Lance sat on the bench and exchanged his athletic shoes for the black hockey skates.
“Does your therapist know about this?”
“I’ve been approved for some light skating.” Lance tightened the laces. “So don’t expect anything exciting.”
But it felt damned good to step out onto the ice.
The kids raced over. He had a brief moment of panic that he’d get body slammed, but they gave him room, zooming around him and shouting encouragement.
“Coach Lance!”
“Awesome.”
Lance grinned. A year and a half ago, these same kids distrusted cops so much they’d barely speak to him. Their trust had come slowly. But when he’d been shot, every single one of them had visited him in the hospital.
He followed instructions and kept his ice time short, hanging up his skates to help Zack coach from the sidelines.
It was dark when he parked in his driveway and opened his garage door. He should have been in a good mood, but he wasn’t. He hadn’t heard from Morgan since he’d driven her home from the hospital the night before. But then, the case was over. They wouldn’t be spending much time together. Would their friendship go back to where it was before Tessa’s murder? Did he even want that?