Page 74 of The Soldier's Homecoming

“I need to go,” she said.

Daniel’s shoulders slumped forward. He ran a hand through his hair.

“I’ll stay here, give you some space.”

“Thank you.”

Penny opened the door. “Goodbye, Daniel.”

He didn’t answer and she kept walking.

Daniel closedthe door as gently as he could. His head was pounding, his hands were starting to shake, his body was rigid like it could snap with one wrong movement.

Damn it!

He wiped furiously at the tears crowding his eyes, willed them away. Looked around the room like a mad man waiting to strike out.

And he did. He couldn’t contain his rage any longer.

Daniel reached for the bottle of champagne and threw it against the wall, jumping at the sound of it smashing. He reached for the glasses, hating everything about the room. About the perfect scene he’d tried to create.

He raised his arm to hurl his glass against the wall, too, but he couldn’t do it.

A sob burst from his mouth, so loud it sounded as if it had come from a wild animal. A noise he didn’t recognize.

Daniel dropped the glass at his feet before sinking onto the carpet beside it, knees hitting the floor.

Tears streaked down his cheeks and he didn’t have the energy to wipe them away.

He knew the meaning of a broken heart now. Knew how the pain of one could kill a man.

Because right now, the pain he felt, the sense of sinking, of isolation, of gut-wrenching agony, was as real as if someone had stabbed a knife through his stomach and left him to bleed out.

He’d lost her. And there was nothing he could do to make things right.

In two days’ time, she’d be gone.

His marriage was over and he had only himself to blame.

14

PENNY’S eyes were sore and swollen from crying as she peeked into Gabby’s room. The cab ride home from the hotel had been the longest drive of her life, made her feel so desperately alone she’d wanted to curl into the fetal position and never emerge.

But that wasn’t an option for her. She was a mother and a soldier. She had to find the strength to continue, no matter how much pain she was in.

“Mommy?”

“Gabby?” She fumbled her way over to flick on the bedside lamp, not able to see clearly enough from the tiny sliver of light from the hall.

“Honey, what are you doing awake?”

Penny sat on the bed and stroked her hand through Gabby’s hair.

“I had a bad dream,” she said, tucking in tight against her mom. “Will you lie with me?”

Penny needed to touch, to hold Gabby, as much as Gabby needed her.

“Sure, honey, let me take my shoes off.”

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