“It’s my fault she died.” Marshall’s voice startled her, and she quickly set the note down so she didn’t tear it.
“You didn’t know.” The letter made that clear.
“No.” His voice strained as he stared at the paper. “But I knew something was wrong. I assumed it had to do with the business. I should’ve taken the time to ask, but I was so focused on my job at the Capitol that I selfishly figured she’d tell me if she wanted help.”
“That doesn’t mean her death is your fault.” Lena’s throat closed at the guilt he must carry, and she had added even more to him with her accusations and thinly veiled contempt.
“They targeted Amara to sway me.” His humorless laugh made it hard for Lena to breathe. “Their strategy worked. She not only died because of me, but your fiancé and other soldiers also did because of my choice.” He sighed, closed his eyes, and leaned against the doorframe. “I’ve hurt so many with that one vote, I don’t think I’ll ever make up for it.”
A sharp pain of regret stabbed her chest, and she placed her hand against the washer to hold herself up. No wonder he worked tirelessly to support the military through his business. No wonder he still tried to change the corruption of politics, even though he no longer held a position there. He shouldn’t carry all that guilt, not when so many others had been deceived too. Didn’t she know just how far and deep the tentacles of the nefarious group grasped? Kiki’s own parents and Colonel Johnson, a man Lena had respected, were wrapped tight in the calculating hold of those bent on twisting the government to their own desires.
“Marshall, you’ve already helped more than you’ll ever know.” Her throat hurt like she’d swallowed shards of glass. “Your work with June and her inventions and the lobbying you’ve done in the Capitol has tipped the scales for the good.”
“It’s not enough, and yet the more I push, the farther I get from Carter. I can’t make up for what I did if I want to have time for him.”
“When will it be enough then? When will you pay enough to make up for that vote?” She didn’t know if she was asking Marshall or herself.
“I… I don’t know.” He pushed his hands through his hair, hopelessness filling the small laundry room and squeezing everything good out until all that remained was its stifling weight.
“I do,” she whispered.
She didn’t want him trapped in the endless cycle of guilt anymore. He was a victim just like Ethan and all the others were. By lumping him in with the organization that deceived so many, she’d failed to acknowledge all he’d done the last two years. June wouldn’t be able to manufacture so many of her gadgets for the military if Marshall hadn’t shifted all his company’s focus to supplying her the materials she needed. People in the Capitol and across the nation wouldn’t be talking about term reform if he hadn’t taken up the torch and pushed for it. She’d been wrong to ignore all of that.
“I forgive you, Marshall.” Relief coursed through her and left her trembling. “You’ve shown your honor in everything you’ve done the last two years. I see it now. I’m sorry I didn’t before.”
His search of her face left her exposed, but she no longer cared. Her mother had been right. Lena needed a shift in her focus from her grief and hate to what brought hope and honor.
“I want to believe you.” His rough whisper broke the last of her resistance.
“Then do.” She straightened from the washer and crossed her arms over her chest.
He swallowed, glanced at his wife’s letter, then returned his gaze to Lena. “Okay. Maybe I will.”
“Daddy, you’s said you get me a ’nack.” Carter pushed his way between Lena and Marshall.
Marshall stumbled into her with a grunt, one hand reaching behind to steady them on the washer and the other wrapping around her waist. His hand burned against her side, confusing her with the intensity of its heat. Marshall’s fingers flexed on her waist as he mouthed, “Sorry,” and let her go. She covered her unease with a shrug and a tightlipped smile.
She might be ready to forgive Marshall for his vote. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for anything more than friendship. Yet the lingering warmth from his touch, causing her pulse to pick up, called her a liar.