Page 92 of Sex. Love. Marriage.

“It’s this difficult because we still love each other.”

His eyes scan my face, watchful. “What if loving you is the problem?”

I gasp at his words, unprepared for them.

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t mean that I don’t, or even that I can’t,” he adds, swallowing.

“But you sometimes want to?”

“Maybe it’d be easier.” He sighs, hands fisting his hair. “You became so unhappy. You stopped smiling, and I’m to blame for it.”

His words are true and painful. “You’re not to blame for all of it, Noah. She died and left us with so much pain I don’t think either of us knew how to understand it, let alone deal with it and continue on.”

We’re forever tied to Mara and losing her. Our hearts are woven hearts made from string and if we unravel, so does our family. I think about Oliver, Hazel, Sevi, and Fin. If this doesn’t work, what’s that saying to them?

Sometimes it hurts to hear the truth, but I knew I needed to. He read mine; it’s only fair that I hear his.

His lips part, shirt moving with his deep breath. “Do you want to fix this?”

Adjusting my legs on the bale of hay I’m on, I watch him carefully, his hair falling in his face, flushed cheeks. Maybe that’s why I never pushed him into this conversation. Because the truth hurts, and seeing this vulnerable side of him is almost too much to take.

I don’t reply. I’m not sure I know what to say, battling against the emotions inside me.

“Do you want a divorce?” He looks back at me, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so vulnerable. “Is that what you want?” He reaches out and touches my face. Bending forward, in true Noah style of just going for it, he lowers his lips to mine, pressing lightly, warm and soft. My reaction is anything but gentle. And then neither is his. He inhales loudly, my breath in my lungs exhaling just as harshly.

“The way I feel about you hasn’t changed. It never will.”

My nerves return. He says nothing as his other hand moves from his pocket to touch the side of my cheek, the same rough touch he’s always had consumes me. “That doesn’t answer my question.” He pauses, watching my eyes and waiting for my reply. Sobs roll through me as the tears gush from my body. His face is etched in regret as he watches me. His voice cracks and he clears his throat. “I mean it. If this isn’t what you want, I’ll give up,” he says in that slow, drawn-out voice he gets when he doesn’t like what he’s saying. It’s the one that speaks of annoyance and regret. The one that whispered to me,“She’s gone, Kelly. We have to let her go.”And knowing I never would. “I know you think I didn’t hear you that night when you said we should separate, but I did. Did you mean it?”

“No.” I close my eyes, trying to keep from falling apart. “I want you, Noah. That has never changed and never will.” I fight through a shaky breath. “What do you want?”

He shakes his head. “I made promises to you. This”—he grabs my hand and touches my ring—“was a promise. And everything I said, I meant. There’s nothing more important to me than you and our children. I’m sorry if I ever made you doubt that.”

My eyes lift from the diamond he gave me to the darkness in his eyes. “Can I ask you something?”

He nods.

“Why wouldn’t you hold Fin when she was born?”

Tears flood his eyes. “I don’t know. I….” He swallows and draws in a breath. It catches in his throat. He’s breaking down. “When I looked at Finley in your arms, red-faced and pissed off, all I could think about was how can I protect her? I can’t. What am I good for?” The tears fall slowly over his cheeks. I haven’t seen him cry since the day Mara died.

I reach up, brushing the tears away. “Noah, don’t say that.”

His gaze returns, eyes hard. “I’m serious. What the fuck am I good for if I can’t do the one thing a parent is supposed to do?”

“You’re good at being their father.”

His brow draws together. “I don’t know how to do that. I thought I did.”

“You know what my therapist told me?”

Groaning, Noah rolls his eyes. “No.”

He’s never thought therapy was the answer in all this, which is why he’d refused to go with me. I don’t think I’d thought about the words she told me or really let them sink in until now. “She told me to let yourself feel the pain. Let yourself be upset and angry. It’s okay. The only way you can heal is to acknowledge it and feel it. Then, and only then, can you move forward. Not forget, but move forward. It’s okay for us to be sad, Noah. She was our baby. She fought hard, and it’s up to us to fight just as hard.”

With each word, his demeanor shifts like a tide rolling in. He fights it; he wouldn’t be Noah Beckett if he didn’t. And then, just as easily as he puts up the fight to be the strong man he is, he loses it just as quickly. With his body shaking, his forehead rests against my shoulder. Reaching up, I run my hands over the back of his neck to his damp hair. And we cry. Together. We hold each other and feel the pain. Something we haven’t done since she died.

“It’s okay to be broken,” I tell him, his grip tightening around my waist as he drops to his knees before me. He holds onto me until I lower myself to his level and we break, together because it’s the only way for us to come back from this. He’s lost the battle to remain hardened, his tough guy exterior giving in, fading away.

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