Page 40 of A Gentleman Never Surrenders
Milly nodded, her lips pursed in a thin line.
“Jack, I really think—”
“Now, Hadley.” A silent rage tainted with pain colored his eyes.
Owen signaled their cabdriver who’d waited for them at the edge of town. The cab ride home was tense. Jack stared morosely out the window and Owen exchanged glances with Milly, but neither of them said anything.
A prickling sense of unease rippled through Owen as he and Milly followed Jack upstairs when they were back at the house. Something wasn’t right. He caught his wife by the arm and held her back.
“Wait a moment. Let me have a private word with him.”
She nodded. “Let me know if you need me.” She squeezed his hand before she let go and a sudden impulse to seize her and kiss her again swept over him. He pulled her into his arms, kissing her hard and deep. It was as though someone had trod over his grave and he was filled with a terrible sensation that he might never see her again. It was foolish; she was here. They were married. There would be nothing to take him away from her. Even reminding himself of that did not make it any easier to let go. She’d become a lifeline for him in the last two weeks, keeping him afloat through a storm he hadn’t realized he was caught in.
“Is everything all right?” Milly whispered in his ear.
“Yes, I’m sure it’s fine.” He gave her one last hug before he forced himself to let go.
He walked to Jack’s room, not bothering to knock. They were going to have a talk whether Jack wanted to or not. When he turned the handle and swung the door open, he froze.
Jack was standing by the window of his room, his suitcase lying open, items scattered on the four-poster bed. As Owen sought out Jack, the thinner man turned to him.
“Don’t come any closer, Owen,” he said softly. The sunlight coming in through the window behind him glinted off something in his hand.
Owen’s entire body seized with tension as he recognized a pistol in his friend’s hand. “Jack…,” he demanded, but didn’t move. “Jack, what are you doing?”
His friend slowly turned to look at him, tears shining in his eyes. “Did you know, Owen? About the baby?” A hint of accusation followed his question.
Owen hesitated, wondering how to answer. He and Jack fought side by side, covered in blood and sweat beneath the distant African sun. You couldn’t lie to a man, not after sharing that experience.
“I knew. She came to me after you left, begged me to cry off because she couldn’t be married to anyone but you. Then she lost the baby.”
Jack stroked his hand over the pistol, and the November sun, bright and bold, flashed like quicksilver off the metal.
“I should have been there for her, helped her with the baby. I’m a damned coward. A d-damned coward.” The sound of his voice cracking beneath his pain tore out Owen’s heart.
“No, you’re not,” he argued. Something inside him was fracturing, a wall of strength he’d built to keep the memories of the war at bay all these years.
“I was a medic, Owen. I couldn’t save enough men, and I killed so many others…I’m not fit to draw breath.” There was an awful finality to his tone that made Owen’s blood run cold.
Jack raised the pistol toward his head.
Owen reacted. Years of living softly in London had not dulled his instincts. He lunged for Jack just as the barrel of the pistol reached his head. Their bodies collided and the gun dropped down to the ground next to them as they crashed to the floor.
“Let me die,” Jack moaned as his fingers closed around the gun. Owen clamped a hand around his wrist, their eyes meeting.
“You never left me behind. I’m not about to leave you.”
Tears stung Jack’s eyes as he continued to struggle, kicking Owen hard in the stomach. Air rushed out of his lungs as he grabbed at the gun between them—
Bang!
* * *
Milly was halfway down the stairs when the loud bang of a gunshot froze her dead in her tracks, one foot raised, one hand still holding her skirts up.
A gunshot. The sound finally registered and she screamed. Jumping into motion, she spun and fled back up the stairs, racing for Jack’s rooms. The door was ajar. The sight that met her eyes would haunt her for the rest of her life.
Owen lay on the floor, one hand over his stomach, bleeding, gasping softly, his eyes wide and dazed. Jack sat against one bedpost, holding the gun and staring in horror at his friend.
