Page 68 of Lacey's Fight

There was no way he could deny those feelings anymore.

He might not want them, but they were there just the same, and along with the guilt for moving on—something he had vowed never to do—there was also a sense of excitement.

Like he was living again.

Which was why he’d come back here.

If he wanted a future, then he had to find a way to lay the past to rest.

Not an easy task. There was nothing easy about losing the person you had pledged your life to. Nothing easy about coming home to find them horribly murdered and knowing you played a role—even a small one—in that murder. And nothing easy about deciding that it was time to accept that while your loved one was gone you were still alive.

And he was still a young man with a lot of life left in him. Did he really want to spend the remainder of his years being bitter and angry at life for throwing him such a horrible curve ball?

A month ago, he would have said yes.

Spending the rest of his life consumed with his guilt and grief was exactly what he had planned.

Then a sassy, sunshiny woman with more bravery than common sense came storming into his life and everything changed.

He owed it to Lacey if nothing else to at least give them a chance.

To that end, he reached out—noting that his hand was trembling slightly, not a good thing for a SEAL—and turned the doorknob.

As he pushed the front door open and stepped inside, he was hit by the musty smell of a house that had been locked up and empty for three years.

The metallic scent of blood was heavy in the air too.

Logically, he knew that smell had faded over time, but memories from that night were so ingrained in his mind that he could still smell that overwhelming scent of blood.

So much blood.

Nothing had changed in here except the things that had been disturbed by Jemima’s killer and the cops and crime scene techs who had thoroughly gone through the house later. Jemima’s magazines were scattered across the coffee table. A pair of her running shoes were discarded on the floor beside the front door. Jemima loved to run, was good at it too, she had speed and endurance, and could keep up with him on the days he was home and they worked out together.

Slowly he made his way through the house. The kitchen was clean, and he remembered them cleaning up after dinner that last night. Through the open laundry door, he could see the hamper overflowing with dirty clothes, laundry was Jemima’s least favorite chore, and while he did it when he was home, he was away so often.

Knowing how much time he had missed out on with Jemima started up a new ache in his chest.

Fisting his hand, he rubbed it above his heart as he made his way up the stairs. There were three bedrooms plus the master, one of them they’d already cleared out, ready to turn into a nursery once Jemima got pregnant.

For now, he bypassed all the rooms heading for the one he had shared with his wife.

No matter how long he lived he would never be able to rid himself of the sight of Jemima’s butchered body strewn around their bedroom.

Tears burned the backs of his eyes, and his throat clogged as he stepped into the room that was as close to hell as he’d ever been.

There were dark stains, the bright red they’d been that night turned dark brown by now, but they still stood out against the white carpet, and the pastel wallpaper. There were even dried streaks of blood on the ceiling.

The bed was ruined. Left as it had been that night. The covers were mussed since Jemima had just gotten into bed to read when she was attacked. Her Kindle had been face down on the carpet about three feet from the bed when he’d found her, but had been collected for evidence.

It felt so empty in here.

His emotions crescendoed.

All the pain and loss he had repressed suddenly grew too big to contain. Across the room, sitting untouched on the rocking chair by the window, sat a ragdoll he’d won for Jemima at a fair on one of their first few dates.

She’d loved the thing, wanted to give it to their firstborn daughter so it would always be loved.

Only now the only person left to love it was him.

---