His voice cracked.
"Damien…" Even she could hear the pity in her own voice.
"Don’t." He raised his hand. "Please don’t feel sorry for me. I saw that so many times at first, the deep pity people felt for me. They meant well, but it was smothering to look at so many faces and never feel normal, never have them understand that my life was over just as sure as Jessica’s. Then the looks turned, and they started to suspect, started to question, started to remember all the times that Jessica and I had fought, how she’d complained about my stinginess, how she ran around with other men, and really who could blame a husband for being angry about that? But murder… it was there in all their eyes, in the cold, hard stare of the detectives, in the prosecutor. They all thought I did it."
Damien clamped his mouth shut to stem the words. He hadn’t meant to tell her this, any of this, ever. But he couldn’t stop it all from spewing out of his mouth. "I didn’t tell you because there’s nothing to tell. It’s ugly, it’s bitter and hateful, and it’s thankfully over. But if you want, I’ll tell you all the evidence they supposedly had against me, and I’ll tell you why they didn’t indict if that would make you feel better. Tell you all about forensic evidence and how my semen was found in her, and my skin under her fingernails, because before our argument we had sex – I mean, how crazy is that? A man sleeping with his own wife?"
It still rankled that they had used that against him, his desire and love for Jessica. That the only thing that had saved him had been a lack of conclusive evidence, a few stray fibers on her body that didn’t match anything he owned, and a damn good defense attorney.
"I don’t need to hear any of that," she said in a quiet voice. "I only need to hear what you’re willing to tell, what you want to share with me. But if we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together, which I’m sincerely hoping we will, then you need to trust me with the ugliness as well as the good things."
Her dignity, her calm, controlled tone, jerked him out of his ranting. His shoulders fell and he leaned back against the wall, then sank to the floor, too tired to stand anymore. It was just as exhausting now as it had been three years ago. He wasn’t over a damn thing. "Christ, Mandy, I didn’t want to ever bring you into any of this. You deserve better than this."
"Better than what? A man who loves me? A man who loves my child?" She stood up and came toward him, dropping onto the floor in front of him. "It’s not your fault, damn it. You didn’t do anything. You didn’t kill Jessica and it doesn’t matter what those cops thought. You know the truth here." She jabbed her finger in his chest, right over his heart. "And I know the truth."
"Then why can’t I let it go?" He touched her cheek with longing. "All I want is to be with you. All I want is just a sliver of happiness. Why can’t I have that?"
"There’s no reason you can’t." Her mouth turned into his palm, her lips brushing across his flesh. "You can have whatever you want."
He closed his eyes, everything in him aching. "There are people who will always think I did it. The publicity wasn’t as bad as it could have been since it was in the aftermath of 9/11 and there were more important news stories. But there will always be a question in some people’s minds. Do you want that for you and your daughter?"
"I don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks."
Somehow, he believed her. He could see her resolve, feel it, and her strength, conviction, belief in him, made him feel weak all over again. He kept wrestling his demons, and they kept winning, and he didn’t know how to fix that. "I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wasn’t trying to keep secrets from you, but it’s so hard to talk about it…"
Her finger pressed against his lips. "Someday, when you’re ready, you can tell me. You can tell me about Jessica then, too. But for now, I just need to hear that you love me."
There was no doubt about that. None at all. If he knew anything, if anything made sense, it was that he loved Mandy. He kissed her fingertip. "I do love you. So much. In a way I never thought I could again. In a way that’s more mature and stronger than what I felt for Jessica."
He needed to say that, to acknowledge that. It wasn’t his fault, and it wasn’t Jessica’s fault that their marriage had been riddled with problems. There had been mutual blame and circumstances and two selfish people who hadn’t wanted, or hadn’t been willing, to change.
"Jess and I had our share of problems, but she didn’t deserve to die like that."
"Of course not." Mandy stroked her fingers across his forehead, his cheeks, and he was comforted, strangely and completely comforted. His knees were up in the air, but she had inserted herself between them, using his left leg as support. Yet he had the feeling she was the one holding him up.
He couldn’t stop himself from stroking a soft curl that fell across her shoulder. Couldn’t stop himself from asking. "What do you see, Mandy, when you look into the future? What do you really see?"
She gave him a soft smile. "I see me marrying you quickly, before I look like a white inflatable pool toy floating down the aisle. I see a nursery, right on the other side of this wall in that second bedroom. I see pink gingham and white eyelet curtains, and a baby named Rebecca Sharpton who grows into a little girl who loves her daddy just as much as I love him."
Pain and want and love rose up in him so sharp that he felt his vision blur. "Do you really want that? After everything you know about me? I have scars, Mandy, that will never completely go away."
Mandy hadn’t felt confidence a lot of times in her life.
She couldn’t say the right thing at social events, she couldn’t keep her clothes neat, and she couldn’t seem to figure out how to balance her checkbook.
But this she was sure of. She and Damien were meant to be together. They complemented each other, they brought out the best in each other. They had both been given a second chance and she was going to take it if she had to wrap her arms around it and wrestle it to the ground.
"You seem to think that I’m getting the bad end of the bargain in this. You’re forgetting that I have quite a few flaws of my own. I’m forgetful, a borderline slob, hopeless with money, and lousy in bed."
He gave a startled laugh. "Are you joking?"