Page 29 of Wired Strong

“As I said,” Raveaux looked down—he’d crushed the scone he held without realizing it. Crumbs drifted from his fist onto his immaculate pants. “A long time ago. Five years.”

“So that’s why you left France and your job there.” Leede leaned forward to pat Raveaux’s arm. Her touch was warm and gentle. “I wondered.”

Raveaux stood abruptly, brushing down his trousers. “Yes. A terrible thing, a difficult time—but it’s behind me. I’d better get these computers back; I know the Kama`aina Schools’ people want their equipment.” He stepped forward and picked up three of the stacked machines, turned, and headed for the door.

“I’ll have the men come help you,” Sophie said. He heard a note of regret in her voice. Was she sorry for so flippantly sharing his tragedy with Leede? He hoped so.

Raveaux took the stairs, needing to work off the angst of stirred up emotions. By the time he reached the back exit for the Security Solutions building, two muscled operatives met him at the door and one of them held open the back of one of the company SUV’s doors. “Let us help, Monsieur Raveaux.”

The men came back down with him and in one more trip, thanks to the dolly, the back of the vehicle was loaded. “Secure these computers with some padding and strapping, will you? We wouldn’t want to cause any machine failure for the people who own them,” Raveaux said. “I have to go back down to the workroom for a few minutes.”

“You got it.” Perkins, one of the men, threw him a little salute.

Raveaux headed back down to the basement and was surprised to find only Sophie at the computer table. Her back was to the door, but she turned at its familiar screeching. “I have to oil that before it drives me mad.”

“Where’s Leede?”

“She went upstairs to talk to Bix, and then back to her ledgers.” Sophie swiveled fully in her chair to face him. If he hadn’t already noticed the makeshift bed in the corner, the dark circles under her eyes would have told him of her sleepless night. “I’m sorry I just—told her your story like that. I thought Heri should know it was a much bigger thing than just—cancer or something. Sometimes I’m not as tactful as I should be. I apologize.”

“An understatement, but apology accepted.” Raveaux’s jaw felt tight. “Do you think watching a spouse die of cancer would be easy?”

Sophie’s cheeks reddened. “No. Losing a loved one is terrible, no matter how they die. But sometimes you get to say goodbye. You have time to get used to the news. Maybe their illness causes pain, and by the end, you want their suffering to end, and they want that too, and somehow a peace can be found.” She met his eyes at last. “Other times—the one you love is just taken from you. Snatched away without even a goodbye, and it’s your fault.” She glared at Raveaux, her eyes shining with tears. “We have that in common.”

Raveaux sank into the chair beside her. “Yes, we do.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and rubbed his eyes because they burned. “I want it to be okay. I want it to be behind me. But five years later, it still isn’t.”

“How do you think I feel?” Sophie banged her fist on the table, a loud thump that made the monitor near her wobble and Raveaux jump. “Jake and I had just made a commitment to each other. We’d cleared up our old hurts and—we’d celebrated that, and just being alive together. We had one time to make love. Once! In two years! And then he . . .” She shut her eyes and fat tears rolled out of them. “Jake gave his life so I could live. I have to find a way to deal with that. And have this baby. And keep going somehow. Without him.”

Raveaux met her bleary gaze. His own eyes were hot and stinging. “It’s not fair, Sophie. It’s not, and it never will be.” He extended a hand to cover Sophie’s fist where it rested on the table. “I don’t know much, but I do know this: children are a gift to be celebrated. You are rich indeed, if you get to have two of them.”

“You can be their godfather,” Sophie burst out. She gave a wet laugh, as she swiped tears away with the back of her free hand. “If you want to, that is.”

“Of course I will.” Raveaux felt his chest swell with feeling; a painful, beautiful feeling. Joy? Hope? Love? Maybe a little of all three. Sophie’s high-energy daughter Momi reminded him of his own strong-willed Lucie, but he’d avoided her because of that. Knowing that he could be in Momi’s life in some kind of role, indefinitely, made his eyes brim. “Whatever I can do to help you.”

“I am angry with God, right now, not even sure he or she exists, but I’ve always liked the idea ofgodparents.” Sophie groped for a nearby box of tissues, pulled some out, and dabbed her face—and still her hand stayed under his. “My children will need other people in their lives. Male role models, since they only have me and Armita during the month that they’re here. I am going to ask Dr. Wilson to be an honorary grandmother, because Pim Wat is unfit. And I had thought Connor could be their godfather, like an uncle—but I’ve cut off all communication with him, and I think that might have to be for a long time.”

Raveaux sat up straighter, his attention sharpening. He kept his hand on hers. That small contact felt so vital. “What about the GPS chip?”

“I removed it.” Sophie sniffed and wiped tears from her cheeks. “I have lost him, too. You don’t know what he meant to me.”

“You were lovers.”

“Only for a short time. Mostly, we have been friends.” Sophie finally removed her hand from under his and blew her nose. “This is what happens when I don’t take my five minutes.”

“Five minutes?”

“Five minutes to cry. Every day. I set a timer.”

Raveaux felt that unfamiliar tug at his mouth—and this time he let the smile happen.

A grin born of the happiness she’d given him by offering to share her children with him, by sharing her grief with him, by just being Sophie—spread across his face.

He chuckled.

And then he laughed, a deep and wild laugh that loosened his gut and his knees and the knots of pain that pulled his heart in so many directions.

“You’re cackling like a chicken.” Sophie stared at him, wide-eyed. “I’m not usually very funny.”

“You’re not. It’s just that . . . if I’d taken five minutes a day for my grief, instead of trying to numb it, maybe I wouldn’t have spent two years at the bottom of a bottle.” Raveaux shook his head, still smiling. “Who knew? A timer. Five minutes a day.”

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