“We can’t just leave her here,” I tell him, gently stroking her hair.

“Come on,” he says, getting to his feet. “Help me get her to the truck.”

I gently place her head down on the ground and stand. The grass is slippery, but between the two of us, we get her into the back seat of the truck. Thankfully, she stays passed out the whole time. I climb into the back of the truck with her, cradling her head on my lap. Keets starts the engine and slowly backs away from the stables. I’m overcome with guilt. This is all my fault. I never should have left her alone in the bar. I should have told her about Grace. I stroke Shannon’s hair off her pale face, willing her to be okay. “The road’s blocked,” Keets calls over his shoulder. “We can’t get into town to get to the hospital.” I look up and out the windshield. Keets is right—the road is completely flooded.

“Take us back to my place,” I say in a gruff voice. “We’ll call the doctor.”

Keets maneuvers the truck around and heads back toward my house. My eyes never stray from Shannon’s face as my trembling fingers brush her cheek, shocked by the cold. I carefully fumble around on the floor of the truck until I find a well-worn, dark blue blanket. I carefully tuck it around her and lean my head back against the seat. Today has been such a long day. I feel drained, exhausted. But more than anything, I’m worried. I’m so fucking worried. How do I begin to help Grace? How do I get through to my son? I feel as though the weight of the world is settling squarely on my shoulders, and I have no idea how to solve my problems. I wish Grandma were here. That tough old bird would’ve known exactly what to say, what to do. I could really use her advice right now.

But I’m alone. It’s a cold, empty feeling that settles in the pit of my stomach, making me nauseous. I find myself second-guessing everything. Am I doing the right thing, bringing a woman and child into my fucked-up life? I need help, but who can help me? Certainly not my friends. The only person who knows everything is Keets, and that’s only because he was there in Afghanistan with me. He knows all of my inner demons. He knows the source of my nightmares.

Right now, though, my focus is on the woman still passed out in my arms. I don’t know how she came to be this way, but I know that somehow it’s my fault. A plan starts formulating in my mind, one I know she’ll hate. Shannon is strong, independent. The last thing she’s going to want is to stay with Zeke and me until her leg is healed.

Unfortunately for Shannon, I can be just as stubborn when I have to be. She’s about to learn that the hard way.

My head is killing me, and there’s an intense burning sensation in my right leg.

I let a small groan escape my lips as I slowly crack open my eyes. I’m in Stone’s room. How the hell did I end up here? I know I drank a lot last night, but surely I’d remember hooking up with the handsome soldier again. I try to sit up, but it’s difficult. My right leg is completely immobilized in a tight bandage that stops just below my knee. What the fuck?

I carefully ease my left leg over the edge of the bed and sit up slowly. My hand goes immediately to my forehead as I feel the blood rush to my temples. The headache intensifies, and I stifle a small sob. I quickly give up trying to stand and settle back against the headboard, staring at the opposite wall.

Bits and pieces of last night start coming back to me: Effie and the Monopoly Man in the bar, Daddy’s debt, Grace and Zeke . . . Stone.

Stone’s married. I groan as I close my eyes. A part of me had hoped it was all just a bad dream, that I’d wake up and things would be back to normal. Unfortunately, the daylight only makes it worse. Stone is married to a dying woman, and I slept with him. Could it get any worse than this? I feel like such a bitch. I like to think Grace was quickly becoming someone I might have called a friend, and I royally screwed her over. I slept with her husband. And what about their son? Zeke had no part in this, but I still slept with his father. Great, I’m nothing more than a miserable home wrecker.

The bedroom door opens and I open my eyes, narrowing them as Stone cautiously pokes his head around the corner. Anger bubbles inside me like a volcano, ready to erupt.

“Hey, Shan,” he says softly, a sheepish smile on his handsome face. Somehow, that makes me even angrier. My hand reaches down and grabs the first thing I feel. It’s a lamp on the bedside table. I yank the cord out and throw it as hard as I can at the door, narrowly missing his head as he ducks back around the corner. “What the hell?” he shouts from his hiding place, but I’m in no mood for his shit.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I yell as he opens the door and cautiously steps into the room. Tears immediately start to pour down my cheeks, and I angrily dash them away.

“I don’t know,” he admits. But that’s not a good enough reason.

“You’re married!” I scream, not caring if anyone else hears me. “You’re fucking married.”

“I know,” he says, his features pinched.

“How could you not tell me you’re married?”

“I forgot, okay?” he yells. He sounds tired.

“You forgot?” I laugh in a strange, high-pitched voice. “What the hell do you mean, you forgot? I suppose you forgot you had a son, too.”

“I didn’t know about him,” Stone says, holding his hands out helplessly.

“How convenient,” I snort.

“Look,” he starts, sitting on the edge of the bed. I cross my arms and turn my head away. I can’t even look at him right now. “Listen to me,” he says. “I was barely married before I enlisted in the Army. My daddy served, and his daddy before him. It’s in my blood. But Grace didn’t see it that way. She gave me an ultimatum: The Army or her.”

I don’t look at him, but I’m listening.

“I tried to curb my desire for battle.” I see him stand out of the corner of my eye, start pacing back and forth across the room. “For a while it worked,” he continues. “I was a doting husband and a hard worker. But then the World Trade Center was attacked. That morning, I was too far away to help, but I saw it. I sat glued to the TV, my hands clenched into fists by my sides, my blood boiling. I’m a proud American, damnit; I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing while innocent people were being killed right in front of me.”

My heart aches as I remember that day so vividly. Troy was passed out on the floor as I sat on the couch, my knees pulled up to my chest as day-old mascara streaked across my cheeks, cutting through the tears as I watched the men and women jumping out of the burning buildings to escape the hot flames . . . only to be greeted by the cold, hard pavement below. For the rest of my life, I will never forget the sight of that one falling man. The one who has never been officially identified, but who became a beacon of peace among the chaos. The man who’d accepted his fate, almost greeting death like an old friend.

I finally turn my head toward him, watching as he continues to pace back and forth at the end of the bed. “I packed my bag that same morning,” Stone continues. “Grace begged me not to go, told me she’d divorce me if I left. But how could I stay? My country, my men, they needed me more than she did. So I did what I had to do.” He pauses his pacing and stands facing me, his eyes glazed over with sorrow. “I left,” he says, his voice catching in his throat. “I left my wife and the son I didn’t know she was carrying. My son. Two months later, I got the notice of intent to divorce. In my pain, I tore it up and vowed to never think of it again. When I was injured they looked for her, but she never responded to their messages. Then when I came back this time I was so fucking messed up that I just started drinking, and I’ve never stopped. I didn’t hear from Grace until yesterday, I think she just wanted to forget I existed. I knew I’d hurt her, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I had no idea she was fighting cancer.”