“You didn’t tell them I lost my leg?”
“No.”
“Do they know we’ve been having . . . issues?”
“No.”
“Do you want them to know?” He fisted his hands at his sides.
“No. I . . . I hoped we could fix them before they found out.”
He exhaled, and the taut line of his shoulders eased a hair. “Okay.” He scrubbed his palm on his jeans and reached for her hand, twining his fingers with hers. “Let’s see why they’re here.”
“This might not be pleasant.”
“I didn’t pick up any antagonism—but if the discussion goes south, it’s two against two . . . and I’m putting the odds on us.” He winked and gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. Like he used to do in the early days of their courtship and marriage, when all their tomorrows seemed to be bright and filled with promise.
Back then he’d had an uncanny ability to make her believe that together, they could conquer the world.
He still did.
Her throat clogged, and she sniffed as her vision misted.
“Hey.” He again exerted gentle pressure on her fingers. “We’ll get through this, and after they’re gone, we’ll talk. Okay?”
“Yeah.” Her response sounded as shaky—and uncertain—as she felt.
What if the arrival of her disapproving parents somehow jinxed the positive turn they’d begun to make in their relationship?
Why couldn’t they have worked through their difficulties before her mom and dad decided to show up unannounced and add more stress to their lives?
How should she respond if her parents got all huffy again, Greg retreated—and they ended up back at square one?
Rachel’s already crumbling composure eroded another notch.
She didn’t want to deal with this.
Not yet.
But with her parents waiting in the next room, what choice did she have?
All she could do was pray she wasn’t walking into a minefield that would further fracture her relationship with the people she loved most.
Rachel was trembling.
As they crossed the kitchen, Greg tightened his grip on her hand.
For a woman who’d once been as close to her mom and dad as a daughter could be, the eighteen-month estrangement had to have hurt.
Deeply.
And it was his fault.
He’d been the impatient one, unwilling to wait to tie the knot. Succumbing to his selfish impulses, he’d cajoled Rachel into choosing him over her parents.
But never had he regretted sweet-talking her into marrying him fast—until the IED changed everything.
If they’d waited, as John and Marie Stewart had asked, Rachel wouldn’t have been tied to him by her marriage vows. Maybe she’d have stuck with him, maybe not. But at least her choice would have been unencumbered by promises made before God.
Yet despite the guilt that continued to plague him—especially during the sleepless, dark nights when the taste of all they’d both lost was bitter on his tongue—he couldn’t be sorry about the marriage. Those first few months with Rachel as his wife had been the happiest of his life.
And the last eight?
Endurable only because she’d stuck by his side—even if he’d never told her that.
He stopped short of the door to the living room, where he’d left her parents stiffly sitting on the couch. “Ready?”
“No . . . but I won’t be even if I stand here all night.”
“It’ll be fine. I promise. Trust me on this?”
She looked up with those wide, emotive hazel eyes that had sucked him in from day one. Searched his face. And despite the slight tremble in her lips, she nodded.
At her vote of confidence, warmth filled his heart.
In spite of the trauma of the past few months, she hadn’t lost her faith in him.
That was a gift beyond measure.
Keeping a firm grip on her hand, he straightened his shoulders and led her into the living room.
John and Marie jumped to their feet the instant they entered.
Her mom took a step forward. Caught herself, as if unsure of her welcome. Twisted her hands in front of her. “Hi, honey.”
“Hi, Mom. Dad. This is a surprise.”
Silence.
Marie nudged her husband.
“Since we, uh, couldn’t connect by phone, we thought it might be easier if we all sat down together in person.” Rachel’s father shifted his weight and shoved his hands in his pockets. “If you can spare us a few minutes, of course.”
“You came all the way from Texas to talk for a few minutes?” Rachel stared at her parents.
Another beat of silence ticked by.
“Why don’t we all sit?” Greg urged her forward, toward the unoccupied section of the L-shaped couch, and tugged her down, close beside him.
Very close.
And he didn’t relinquish her hand.
Once again, quiet filled the small room.
When the stillness grew painful, John cleared his throat, leaned forward, and clasped his hands between his knees. “So . . . we have some catching up to do.”
“We’ve missed you more than words can say.” Marie’s eyes began to shimmer. “And we’d like to reconnect. Your dad and I have had some long talks over the past few months.” She groped for her husband’s hand. “Right, John?”
He picked up the cue.
“Yeah. We have. You both know we weren’t all that thrilled about how fast you decided to get married.”
Greg stifled a snort.
Not that thrilled?
Appalled had been more like it.
But he bit back the retort that sprang to his lips—for Rachel’s sake.
There was too much enmity between all of them already.
“It had nothing to do with you personally, Greg. We want to make that clear.” Marie leaned into her husband, as if she needed to feel some physical solidarity.
Or she could be sending one of those silent wifely messages.
Like, Watch what you say, or we could blow this whole visit.
“That’s right.” John patted her hand. “We were just concerned that a rash decision might backfire and end up hurting Rachel. But you’re an adult now, sweetie. We know that here”—he tapped his temple—“but it’s hard not to think of you as our little girl here.” He touched his chest. “We shouldn’t have been angry that you chose not to
