Page 86 of Finding Amanda

He turned to her and pulled her hand into his again. "I love you."

She smiled tentatively. "I love you, too."

It was the first time she'd said those words to him in months. Yet his countenance fell as though she'd hurt him.

"That Christmas . . ." He dropped her hand and looked past her.

She didn't want to know. Something terrible was coming, and she didn't want to know.

"I was really upset, and nothing was going the way I'd expected. When I was in Afghanistan, I'd think about the future. Sometimes, I think that's what kept me alive—thinking about you. I hoped by the holidays, we'd be engaged, and I'd imagine us together, you and me. And I'd fantasize about Christmas. My parents would be so happy about our engagement, and we would all hang around and play games and open presents. And then, you weren't there. And they were getting a divorce. And everything felt so wrong, and it was like, suddenly, I had no idea who I was. Like, if my parents didn't love each other, and you weren't there, maybe you didn't really love me. Maybe . . . I thought maybe it really was all just a fantasy. I felt so alone."

"I'm sorry, Mark. I'm so sorry. Will you ever forgive me?"

"I forgave you a long time ago, Mandy. This isn't about you. It's about what I did."

What I did?His words fell like a bomb. She remembered how he'd come home that morning, disheveled and guilty. She'd assumed he was sorry he'd made his mother worry. But maybe . . .

"I ran into Annalise that night."

Her hands flew up and hid her face. "No, no, no. Don't tell me. Please don't tell me."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was drunk, and she was?—"

"You slept with her?" Amanda's voice was raw, rough and frightened.

"It didn't mean anything. It was just that one time. I didn't see her again. I didn't call her. I never wanted anyone but you. Please?—"

Amanda pushed the door open, jumped out of the car, and ran.

Mark slipped outof the driver's side and followed, keeping pace about twenty yards behind. He'd expected her to run away from him when he told her Annalise had moved in across the hall, but she hadn't even been upset. In fact, there was a moment when he'd thought she might ask him to move back home. But he couldn't let her say the words, not until she heard the whole ugly truth.

And now she had, and she would never forgive him. At least he knew he'd have a few more minutes with her when he drove her home. It had probably been wrong to bring her here, knowing she'd want nothing to do with him after he told her. But Mark had more to say, and this was the only way he could guarantee she'd listen. Besides, for a few minutes on their ride out here, when she'd held his hand, told him she loved him, he could almost pretend they were happy. Those few precious moments were probably the last ones he'd have with his wife.

For the thousandth time since Annalise had left the night before, he tried to imagine how it would feel to know Amanda had been with another man. He remembered his own insane jealousy a few days earlier when he'd thought Alan had kissed her. And that was nothing compared to what he'd done. Yes, he'd spent the night trying to find justification for his choices. They weren't married yet—could he escape on that technicality? And he'd been suffering from PTSD. But he'd slept with Annalise because he was angry at everyone, and . . . well, she was so tempting.

Amanda tripped on the sidewalk, stumbled, and almost fell.

This because of one stupid, selfish night. He'd slept with his ex-girlfriend, a woman so beautiful, she made millions of dollars just to smile. He'd betrayed his one true love for an hour he barely remembered.

He hated himself for what he'd done to Amanda, to their marriage, and to his daughters. He didn't deserve them, he knewthat. He intended to fight for them anyway. Amanda loved him, so they could get through this, if only she'd be willing to forgive him.

He watched as the strong, coastal wind blew Amanda's hair into her face. She grabbed a handful of it and held it at the back of her head. Her other hand continued to wipe her tears.

She slowed to a walk, slipped her hand into her sweat suit pocket, and pulled something out. When she raised it up, he saw it was her phone.

He caught up with her. "Who are you calling?"

She stopped and faced him. "None of your business."

"Look, walk all you want, okay? I'll wait for you and then?—"

"I'm calling Jamie for a ride home."

As gently as he could, he pried the phone out of her hand while she shouted a stream of obscenities he hadn't heard since he'd been discharged from the Marines. He let them pass without a raised eyebrow. He deserved worse.

"Give me that back!" She stomped her tiny foot on the sandy sidewalk. "Give it back now!"

"Walk as long as you want," he repeated, "and when you're through, I'll drive you home. We still need to talk."

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