Page 77 of Landry

Landry turned to study the man driving. “You speak from experience. You were in the Marine Corps, weren’t you?”

“I was. Once a Marine, always a Marine.” His lips twisted. “A long time ago. My team was my family.”

Landry nodded. “As is mine.”

“But a family of your own is on another level entirely.”

“I didn’t know that until I met a real family. A family of two. A mother and daughter.”

“Makes you want something you never had before, doesn’t it?”

Landry nodded. “More than I want to breathe.”

“Let me tell you something.” Marceau’s brow dipped. “When you find someone who makes it all clear to you, someone who makes your heart swell with a feeling so profound you think it might explode in your chest, you have to hold onto that person. Do whatever it takes to protect her, to cherish her and love her with every last breath you or she might take.”

Landry nodded. “I hope to have that chance.”

“Don’t give up yet. She’ll make it through this and will need you to see her through her recovery.” Marceau shot a glance his way. “How are you with making candy?”

Landry laughed around the knot in his chest. “No idea, but I’m willing to learn.”

“Right answer.”

Silence stretched between them.

“Who was she?” Landry asked.

Although Marceau took a moment to answer, he didn’t feign ignorance of the question. “My wife.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out. “We had twenty-four years together. Most of them, I was away, fighting somewhere in countries I’d barely heard of before I landed in them. She held down the fort and welcomed me home each time with all the love she’d saved up over the deployments.”

“You miss her,” Landry noted.

He nodded. “We didn’t have nearly enough time together. Even if I had known up front she’d die of cancer, I would’ve married her anyway. Every minute we shared left memories I’ll hold for the rest of my life.”

Landry couldn’t imagine his mother or father having the same sentiment. They barely tolerated each other. Marceau’s story gave Landry hope that not all relationships were like theirs.

The ambulance carried Camille to a trauma center in New Orleans, where she was rushed into the operating room.

Landry sat in the waiting room, his clothes soggy, his boots still full of water and his heart so heavy he could barely breathe.

He made several calls to follow up with the team and with Hank and Swede. Rafael called from his home to report on Ava. Calls completed, he alternated between pacing and sitting, time dragging by.

Two hours later, a doctor walked into the waiting room, still in his scrubs, surgical cap and booties. “Family of Camille Catoire?”

Landry stood.

“Are you related to Ms. Catoire?” the doctor asked.

Knowing the man couldn’t release information to someone not related to her, Landry blurted, “I’m her fiancé.”

The doctor nodded and spoke. “She came through surgery just fine. She was lucky. The bullet missed the vital organs. We were able to find the source of the bleeding and stop it. She did lose a lot of blood, and she suffered a concussion. We want to keep her overnight for observation to ensure we haven’t missed anything. She should make a full recovery. A nurse will be by soon to let you know when you can see Ms. Catoire.”

Landry thanked the doctor and waited for the man to leave the waiting room before he sagged with relief, his eyes filling with moisture. Was this what it felt like to love someone?

If it was…

He pressed a hand to his chest.

It hurt.

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