CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THIS COULD BE THEIR NEW NORMAL.
A normal Ham never thought he’d ever have, really.
The intoxicating fragrance of the turkey roasting in the oven, stuffed with homemade thyme dressing. Potatoes peeled and soaking in water on the stove, ready to boil. His normally empty table set for thirteen, and the sounds of laughter outside as Jake, Orion, Aria, and Jenny played a game of pickup football.
His broken shoulder was still on the mend or he’d be out there playing too.
Signe was in his office, dressed in an oversized Berkeley sweatshirt, jeans, and a pair of wool socks, researching.
In the three weeks since the election, since White swept the electoral college, she’d become obsessed with uncovering Jackson’s grand plan.
If there was one.
The door to his backyard slid open and Jake came in, sweating. “I know I already ate dinner with my family, but that smells amazing, Ham.” He closed the door. Leaf debris littered his thermal shirt. “I’ve worked off meal one, and I’m ready for meal two.”
“Don’t track mud through my house,” Ham said.
“Okay, Betty,” Jake said, and toed off his shoes. “I’m just here to grab Signe and Aggie and see if they want to play.”
“Betty?” Ham said.
“Crocker.” Jake pointed to the dish towel Ham had tucked around his waist. “I certainly hope there’s pie in my future.” He came into the kitchen and opened the oven.
“You’re letting out the heat.”
“Who knew the Senior Chief could cook?”
“That’s what happens when you’re a bachelor into your late thirties.” Ham untied the makeshift apron. “Aggie is in her room. I’ll get Signe.”
“Wait.” Jake closed the oven. “Actually, Orion and I were talking. Boss, we’re still trying to wrap our brains around Signe’s story. You have to admit, the entire thing sounds far-fetched. A senator selling state secrets to a Chechen warlord? Why?”
“I don’t know, but it’s not just Signe’s word anymore. York, Logan, and Ruby Jane corroborated it. That’s why Signe’s been working so hard—so she can prove it.”
Jake looked at the potatoes.
“What?”
“It’s just . . . she was in that camp for a very long time. Are you sure—”
“I’m sure.” Ham met Jake’s expression. “I know Signe. I know when she’s lying. She’s not.”
“Okay. I trust you, Ham. So I’ll trust her too. It’s just . . . isn’t it a little strange that you and she got invitations to the inaugural ball?”
“Why? White is a friend. Of course he’d invite me to the inauguration.”
“And an inaugural ball? Signe is supposed to be on a CIA burn list.”
“The invitation was written to me and my wife. Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton Jones.”
“It just has the little hairs on my neck rising.”
He didn’t want to admit it, but he’d had the same reaction. Not because of Signe, but because for the first time, he’d realized . . .
He wasn’t in this alone.
He had a family at stake in this game.
And sure, Aggie had entered his life a few months before, but it hadn’t sunk into his bones that, just like that, he finally had the home he’d always longed for.
As if God knew the dreams unspoken in his heart.
The goodness of his sovereign God took his breath away.
“That’s what I have you guys for,” Ham said and clamped a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “I called the office of the president-elect and nabbed invites for you and Aria, Jenny and Orion, North and Selah, and even Scarlett and Ford. I was going to give them to you tonight, but, surprise.”
“Super. Now I suppose I need to rent a tux.”
“Buy, buddy. You never know when you’ll need one.”
Aggie came out of her room in a pair of leggings and an oversized shirt with a turkey decal. “Hey, Uncle Jake.”
“Wanna play some football with us?” Jake said and crouched to get a hug.
“Yeah!” She ran into his arms and let him lift her over his shoulder, fireman style. “What’s football?” she said, laughing as Jake slipped his shoes back on.
“I’ll get Signe,” Ham said.
He dropped the makeshift apron on his counter and headed across the great room to his office.
Signe sat with one leg up on his office chair, scrolling through what looked like bank records, the sweatshirt off, wearing a tank top.
His words startled her, and she turned, her eyes wide.
He froze at the fear in them. “Sig?”
She took a breath. Blew out. “Sorry. Reflex.”
He didn’t want to ask about what, because anytime she talked about her life with Tsarnaev, it turned him inside out, made him prowl the house at night, wanting to get his hands around the man’s dead neck.
Worse were the occasional nightmares she or Aggie had. When they woke from a sound sleep, screaming.
Yeah, he wanted to go back in time and follow Tsarnaev into that bunker. Even if the man had a sniper shot aimed at his head. He’d give his life if Signe didn’t have to suffer those ten years.
The coroner hadn’t been able to confirm DNA from Pavel, but reconstructed facial recognition had the man cold on a slab in the Catania morgue, and now in the ground, so . . . everyone could stand down to DEFCON 4. At least that’s what he told himself, standing on his cold hardwood floor, staring at the dark lake at 2:00 a.m.
No one was going to hurt her again if he could help it.
He leaned over her shoulder. “Whose records are these?”
“Pavel’s.”
He hated it when she called him by his first name, but bit that back. “How’d you get into his accounts? And . . . why?”
“I’m trying to find payments from Jackson. This is one of his Cayman accounts, but so far, nothing.” She scrubbed her hands down her face. “Although I’ve been looking at numbers for so long my brain is shutting down.”
“The guys want you to play football. Aggie is out there, and they need even teams.”
She looked up at him. She wore no makeup today—her blonde hair up. He leaned down and kissed her, and for a moment, he debated forgetting the game and taking advantage of the babysitting . . .
No. He and Signe hadn’t stepped into all the intimacies of marriage yet, although she’d moved right into his room when they returned from the cabin, and he didn’t want to rush it.
He wanted this restart to be perfect.
Still, he pressed a kiss to her neck, and because she’d taken off her sweatshirt, he kissed her shoulder too.
Only then did he notice the scar, right behind her shoulder, in the fleshy area, a bumpy, distorted patch of skin. He ran his thumb over it. “Where did you get this?”
She pressed her hand over it. “Oh. That was . . .” She made a face. “That was a tattoo.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It was a symbol of Tsarnaev’s organization. Everyone had to get one.”
Ham froze. “What?”
She met his eyes, then grabbed her sweatshirt and pulled it over her head, hiding it. “It was a way to prove my loyalty. But after I left him, I had a friend burn it away with an iron.”
“Burn it.”
“I didn’t know how else to get rid of it.” She stood up. “Football?”
He had nothing as she walked away.
Tsarnaev had tattooed her. Ham pressed his hand to his gut, not sure if he was going to hurl, fighting the urge to put his fist into the wall.
She already had her Cons on—the ones Jenny had given her—and headed out the back door.
Breathe. Just . . . today was a new day.
Ham slipped on his tennis shoes and joined her. He still wore his cast, but maybe he could referee.
The sun hung halfway down the sky, the trees in his backyard a glorious bronze and burnt gold, autumn waxing into winter, the leaves a blanket beneath his feet. Jake and Jenny played Aria and Orion, who had nabbed Aggie for his side.
Signe joined Jake’s team.
Ham went over to the fire pit and grabbed an Adirondack chair, dragging it across the yard. “Goal line one.”
Jake was already dragging another the opposite direction. “Goal line two.”
“Toss me the ball,” Ham said to Orion. He caught it with one hand. “Okay, this is easy. Two-hand touch. I call it down. I’ll hike for each team. Don’t hit me.”
Orion rubbed his hands together. “We flipped. We get the ball first.” He called his team in, and they huddled up. He was explaining the rules to Aggie. “Just run out and I’ll throw one of you the football.” They clapped and headed up to the line.
Ham lined up at center. Looked over his shoulder at Orion.
“Ready? Hike!”
Ham handed him the ball, and Aria and Aggie ran out for passes.
Orion threw it over Aria’s head.
Jake ran to get it.
“Really?” Ham asked.
“I was a lineman,” Orion said.
“Ham was our starting quarterback for two years,” Signe said, a little twinkle in her eyes as she went into Jake’s huddle.
Sometimes, Ham could still hear her cheering for him. Still see her waiting for him outside the locker room after the game.
Still feel her arms around him as he drove them home on his bike.
Normal. He’d take it however she wanted it.
Orion lined up again, and this time when Ham hiked it, he kept the ball and went through the center, just past Ham.
Jake met him and tackled him a few feet past the line.
“Hey, I thought this was two-hand touch.”
“I touched you all the way to the dirt,” Jake said, hopping up, grinning.
“I’m going to touch you a fat lip, buddy,” Orion said, but grinned as he tossed Ham the ball.
Apparently, his knee was back in working order. But Ham hadn’t missed the strange coldness between Jenny and Orion since he’d returned from the cabin.
Something still hadn’t shaken out between them. Jenny wouldn’t quite look at Orion, wasn’t her usual exuberant self.
Not like last time, when she’d tried to pretend all was well. She wasn’t selling any sort of hocus-pocus this time. The poor woman was nursing serious injury.
It was Orion who was dancing around the truth—he could see it in Orion’s driven mode, the way he drilled down to take on the world, avoiding hard whatever pain throbbed between them.
Which meant the man meant to win this innocent, friendly game of Thanksgiving football.
They went to the line again, and this time, Aria caught the hike. She dropped back as Jenny rushed her. Threw a lopsided pass to Orion. He caught the ball and stiff-armed Jake, who tried to tag him. Jake went sprawling and Orion shot across the yard, on his way to a touchdown.
Except for Signe. She came at Orion with a look on her face that made Ham chuckle.
Until it didn’t. Because as she headed for Orion, he stuck out his arm to block her.
She grabbed it, moved it away from her, turned behind him, and swept his leg so fast, Ham wished for an instant replay.
Orion sprawled into the grass, rolling, the ball bouncing away.
Signe snapped it up. “Fumble!”
Then she took off for the other goal line, unopposed.
She danced into the end zone.
No one moved, save for Orion, who rolled to his hands and knees, shaking the sense back into his head.
“Are you okay, Ry?” Jake said, running over.
He pushed Jake’s hand away. “This is supposed to be touch football! Sheesh—what is with your team? You’re a bunch of maniacs!”
He was muddy, his jeans stained, and he didn’t appear to be kidding.
In the end zone, Signe stopped jumping up and down.
“Okay, flag on the play,” Ham said, but he walked toward Signe.
She looked at him. “What?”
“Where’d you learn to do that?”
“Do what?”
“Sig, did you train in Tsarnaev’s camp?”
Her eyes hardened. “No. I trained with the CIA. But yes, I sharpened a few skills in Chechnya. A person has to stay alive.” She shoved the ball at him. “Game time is over.”
She headed toward the house.
Jenny came up to him. “You okay?”
Ham stared after her. “I think so. I just . . .”
“What?”
He gave the ball to Jenny. “I need to check on the turkey.”
The smell of roasting bird could knock him over, but not as much as the sight of Signe, standing in front of the lit fire, just staring at the flames.
Her face was stoic, but tears glistened on her cheeks.
“Sig?”
She drew in a breath, as if coming back to herself. Wiped her cheeks and turned to him. “There’s a lot about me that you don’t know.”
He came over to her. “I know what I need to.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “I know that I love you. That we’re figuring this out. And that it’s time for joy, not mourning. What’s past is past.”
“It’s like I’m drowning, and every once in a while, I come up for air. And it’s sweet and fresh and then something drags me back under. And everything is hazy and dark and I haven’t a clue how I’m going to survive.”
He frowned. “I don’t—”
“Regret. It’s suffocating me.”
“You gotta forgive yourself, Sig.”
“How?”
“For one, you have to trust that God had a plan for all of it, so there can’t be any regrets with him.”
“Really, you don’t have regrets?”
“Of course I do. But the minute I start living in that regret is the moment I doubt God’s plan. God takes our twisted paths and makes something beautiful out of them, and no power of darkness or a terrorist’s evil agenda can stop that. God wins. In the end, God wins.”
She turned, stared up at him. “I want to believe that.”
“Believe it. Because when you do, everything changes. You’re no longer caught up in the pain of today or the fears about tomorrow. You just have to do what God asks of you today—and you can trust him for the rest.”
She touched his chest. “It’s always been so easy for you.”
“Easy? Hardly. I’d do everything—everything in my power—to be kind to my stepmother, and she would twist my words to my father, tell him I’d been disrespectful, or even violent to her. He was trapped between the two of us. He didn’t know what to do, so he’d let her lock me in the cellar. And I’d sit there and try to figure out what I did to get her to hate me. And for my own father to betray me.”
“I know, I remember.”
“Then you also remember me singing. Because that’s all I had—my mother’s hymns reminding me that everything would be okay. That I wasn’t alone. In fact, it was in those moments in that dark, smelly cellar that I knew God was with me. It gave me what I needed, later, when I went to war.” He cupped her face. “That’s what it means to say the joy of the Lord is my strength. Because when we have nothing, when we are nothing, then that’s when we see that God is already there, holding us up. Fighting the battle for us. He is enough, and more. He can heal our broken hearts, save us, give us peace. Eternity.”
She turned back to the fire. “I remember right after my grandfather died, I was devastated. He was the only one who . . .”
“Who loved you?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Maybe. I remember coming home after our volcano project—we won the blue ribbon—”
“Yeah we did.”
“I brought home that stupid volcano and he put it in his office, along with our silly blue ribbon.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “About a week after he died, my grandmother cleaned his office and threw out the volcano. I asked her why she threw it out, and she said it was garbage.”
Ham slid his hands over her shoulders again. “You aren’t garbage, Signe. Not to me. Not to Aggie. And not to God. You are his beautiful, perfect, amazing daughter and he loves you. Period. No qualifications necessary. Or even allowed.”
She said nothing, just stared at the fire.
For a moment, he had this terrible sense that no matter what he did, what he said, she couldn’t hear it. He would have turned her, met her eyes, put a little more oomph into his words, but the sliding glass door opened.
“You can smell that turkey into North Dakota,” Orion said. “Please, sir, may we have some food?”
Signe glanced at him. “Sorry, Orion. That tackle was a little extreme.”
“I can handle a takedown, Signe. But I choose you for my team next time.”
“If you want to win, you will,” Signe said.
Ham laughed and headed into the kitchen. “Call the team, Ry. It’s time to feast.”
See, everything was normal. Perfect, in fact. Signe wasn’t a terrorist, Pavel Tsarnaev wasn’t alive, Vice President–elect Jackson wasn’t a traitor, and he hadn’t burned the turkey.
They were all going to live happily ever after.
Then why did he feel like he was in the cellar, in need of a good hymn?
He was still alive.
Signe knew it.
Pavel Tsarnaev was alive and coming for her.
Signe stared at the ceiling of the bedroom, Ham asleep beside her, and tried to tell herself it was just her stupid fears talking. Her worst nightmares rising to destroy her suddenly, surprisingly perfect life.
Or, nearly perfect, if Ham’s team would stop eyeing her with suspicion. She knew that Orion and Jake still weren’t convinced that she wasn’t lying about something. Sure, they said they believed her—after her story was corroborated. But she couldn’t dismiss a niggle of suspicion, by the way they sometimes looked at her, the quiet tones of corner conversations, that they thought she was still lying.
Probably, because she was.
She should tell Ham, but maybe she was overreacting. After all, perhaps one of his men had stolen Tsarnaev’s banking information and started draining his account. And that accounted for his massive withdrawals, his current activity.
Really.
Besides, if Ham thought Tsarnaev was alive, he’d be on a plane, hunting down the terrorist.
And die doing it.
Ham lay on his back, and she watched him, traced the curve of his face, his lashes closed on his cheeks. The five o’clock shadow thickening on his chin.
Oh, he was a handsome man. And his solid good looks only deepened with age.
She so didn’t want to leave him.
But if Pavel was alive, he’d hunt her down . . .
Ham stirred next to her, and she froze, not wanting to wake him. After all, last night he’d prowled the house for the better part of two hours, unable to sleep.
Maybe he’d been putting together the dollhouse he’d purchased for Aggie and set it up under the tree, as if Santa had arrived.
He rolled over to face her, his eyes open.
“Hi,” she said.
“Merry Christmas.” He put his hand to her cheek. Ran his thumb along her jaw. Tiny eddies of warmth spilled through her entire body. “I never thought I’d wake up with you on a Christmas morning,” he said quietly.
Oh Ham. He could make her weep.
Then he leaned in and kissed her. Sweetly, gently, but with a hint of heat under his touch. She surrendered to his kiss, her arms moving around his shoulders.
“Aggie is still sleeping,” he said, moving away, his eyes darkening.
Oh.
Oh.
She nodded, her chest tightening.
Silly. She didn’t have to be afraid. This was Ham. Her husband, Ham.
The man who’d crossed an ocean to find her. Who’d never stopped loving her.
Oh, shoot. He’d gotten too far inside her heart because when he came back to her, kissing her, her entire body erupted in heat and panic and—
No.
No!
His arms curled around her, but suddenly, she wasn’t in Ham’s warm bed, but in a tent, Pavel’s earthy smell pressing her down, his roughened hands on her body and—
“No!”
Ham moved off her so fast her body might have been electrified. He stared at her, his eyes wide, something stricken on his face. “Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head. Then nodded, pressing her hands over her eyes.
“Signe?”
“I thought . . .” Her breaths trembled out. “I thought I was ready. That I could . . .”
He was silent for so long, she opened her eyes.
Tears glistened on his cheeks, his jaw flexing so hard she thought he might break molars. “This is about Tsarnaev, isn’t it?”
He did know her. Too well.
She sat up, drew up her knees, locking her arms around them. Nodded.
“I could kill him all over again.”
“I thought . . . I mean, I want to, and I thought I was ready, but then, suddenly . . .” Tears burned down her cheeks. Oh! She’d turned into a sappy, uncontrollable mess around Ham.
But maybe she wasn’t a spy anymore. Not here. Not now.
“I could compartmentalize when I was with him. Tell myself it was part of my job. That it meant nothing.”
“But it did mean something,” Ham said. “It meant you were being violated.”
She looked away.
“It’s too high,” Ham said quietly.
“What is?”
“The price you paid for your country.”
She met his eyes. “I’m not dead. And I’m not wounded.”
His gaze softened. “Yes, Shorty, you are.”
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “You just love me too much, Ham. It’s overwhelming and breathtaking and it scares me.” She looked away. “I can’t compartmentalize you.”
“Good.”
“Not good. Because what if I lose you? I’d lose myself too.”
“You’re not going to lose me.”
She paused. “I have to tell you something.”
“Merry Christmas!” Aggie burst into the room, dragging her rabbit by one ear. “Santa was here!” She wore a flannel nightgown and now jumped on the bed between them.
So. There went that moment. Ham sat up and caught her in his arms. “Really? Did he leave anything for you?”
“A dollhouse! And a purse. And books!”
“Oh my. He must really like you,” Ham said, looking over at Signe, winking.
The man had gone completely overboard in his gift-buying for Aggie.
It made her wonder what he would do for a son.
Stop. That part of her life was over.
“You go back to the presents, Aggie. Mama and I will be down soon.” Ham set her on the floor and she ran out the door.
“You told her about Santa? Ham. She’s too old to believe—”
“You’re never too old—hey—”
She was getting up, but he touched her arm. “What?”
“Santa left something for you too.” He reached over to his nightstand, opened the drawer with one hand, and pulled out a white box. “Merry Christmas.”
Her eyes widened and she sat back down on the bed. He handed her the box.
She opened it, and out fell a black velvet case. “Ham . . .”
“Just open it.”
No, no—but she opened the box, and sitting in the plush velvet was a wide, white gold ring, with a massive diamond in the center, flanked by two smaller diamonds. “Ham—”
“The diamond was my mom’s. But I had it reset. And two more added on the sides.”
“Ham—”
“I should have gotten you a better one than that stupid cubic zirconia one in the Vegas gift shop—”
“Ham.”
He met her eyes, so much of his heart in them, she couldn’t breathe.
“I can’t. I can’t accept this.”
“What?”
Ham got up, and for a second, she thought he was walking out of her life.
Instead, he shut the door. Turned to her. “What are you talking about?”
She closed her eyes. Calm down. Breathe. She opened her eyes. “Ham. Pavel Tsarnaev is still alive.”
He stared at her. Then, “Okay, so that was not what I thought you were going to say.” He paused. “How do you know?”
“I was tracking his checking account, and there’s been withdrawals.”
“That doesn’t mean it was him,” he said. “His identity could have been stolen.” He ran a hand across his mouth. “Okay, so I confess, I called the coroner in Italy after Aggie’s dream.”
“You did?”
“It was sort of freaking me out too. But he said that the facial reconstruction on the face matched Tsarnaev’s, so . . .”
“No, Ham. His brother was on board too, so it could’ve been him.”
Ham leaned forward and took her hand. “Tsarnaev’s dead, Signe. And you’re home. And it’s Christmas morning.” He took the ring out of the box. “Marry me again. I’ve waited ten years—no, fifteen—to have you back in my life. I know you have scars and fears, but if you let me, I’d like to stick around and help heal them.”
She pressed her hand to her mouth.
“Shorty, I love you.”
“You scare me to death.”
“Again, not really what I thought you were going to say, but if you wear my ring, I’ll promise to try not to.”
“What am I going to do with you?”
“I have a few ideas. But they can wait until you’re ready.” He winked, and she pushed him off the bed, onto the floor. He was climbing to his feet, laughing when she put the ring on her finger.
But six hours later, after the wrapping paper, after Aggie’s overload of gifts, Ham’s words still hung in Signe’s brain. “He’s dead.”
Oh, she hoped so.
But if he wasn’t, she was going to find him.
And this time, she’d finish what she started.
Just . . . aw, Jenny’s stupid gaze was riveted on Signe’s galactic-sized diamond ring as Signe played with her sweet potatoes and ham.
Like she had lost her appetite. Or maybe she simply couldn’t lift her hand to her mouth—
Stop.
“Jenny.” Aria’s voice, her foot kicking into her shin, tore her focus back to the conversation.
To Ham, who was talking through the details of the inaugural ball they’d been invited to.
Except, all the eyes were on her and she put her fork down.
“What?”
“Orion asked if you could pass the salt,” Aria said, sotto voce.
Oh. She grabbed the salt and sent it down the table to Orion.
“No problem,” Orion said, not looking at her.
Oh, she was so done with this. So done with hoping that he’d call. So done with replaying the rooftop scene in Italy in her head, believing that somehow they might get beyond her past.
She needed to move on.
Put Orion out of her heart.
Outside, snow fell against the windows, and the lake had iced over. He’d made a fire in the pit for Aggie tonight and they’d roasted marshmallows.
She should have gone to the Marshalls’ for Christmas like she did every year, but no, she had to accept Ham’s invitation to spend Christmas with him.
Because her stupid heart had hoped that Orion might be here.
Move. On.
“So, is this thing a tuxedo event?” Orion was asking.
“Really? Yes. And the girls should wear gowns,” Ham said.
Aria met her gaze from across the table. Frankly, Jenny expected Aria to be the one sporting a ring this Christmas.
“I probably need to get home,” Jenny said. “The weather is getting dicey.”
She wasn’t running. Not. At. All.
Signe got up with her. “I need to check on Aggie.” She’d gone to bed earlier with a tummy ache, which Ham attributed to too much chocolate Santa.
“Thank you for dinner, Ham,” Jenny said and brought her plate into the kitchen.
“You’re a psychologist, right?” Signe had followed her in. “Can I talk to you?” Signe wore a sexy black dress and looked every inch the kind of international spy Jenny saw in the movies. She’d often wondered about Signe’s life, and especially her skills, after seeing her take down Orion at Thanksgiving.
Yeah, that made her smile.
Bad Jenny.
“Is Aggie having trouble?”
“No. Actually . . .” Signe glanced over her shoulder toward Ham.
Oh. A girl talk. “Come into my office,” Jenny said and headed down the hall. She stepped into Ham’s guest bathroom and Signe followed her in.
Jenny shut the door. Locked it. “Would you like a seat?” She pointed to the toilet.
Signe smiled. “This will do.” She sat on the edge of the tub and took off her heels, rubbed her feet.
“I was wondering if and when we’d have a real chat,” Jenny said. “Ham brought me to Italy because he thought—”
“I’d be traumatized?”
“He didn’t know,” Jenny said. “He feared the worst, maybe.”
“I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I joined the agency,” Signe said. “That was probably for the best.”
Jenny sat down on the commode. “I had the same thought when I worked for them.”
Signe raised her eyebrows.
“I was a profiler, in Afghanistan.”
“Right. Did you have trouble . . . I don’t know how to say it . . . settling in, after you returned?”
“That’s an understatement. I actually had a nervous breakdown after sending a bunch of SEALs into an ambush. Ham was one of them. And Orion was the PJ sent in to rescue the wounded. He ended up getting his knee blown out. So, I settled right into a psychiatric hospital.” Maybe that was too much information, but she wasn’t ashamed of it. Not anymore. “Everyone goes through stress coming home. No one realizes it—they think you should be glad to be home, but—”
“No, that’s not it.” Signe wasn’t looking at her, her voice quiet.
Jenny knew when to stop talking.
Silence, while Signe breathed. Then, “I was raped while I was overseas.”
Oh.
“I mean, of course I was—I was in a terrorist camp. But then . . .” She looked at Jenny. “In order to keep my cover—and really, to protect Aggie—I married him.”
“You married your rapist.” And just in the nick of time, Jenny changed her tone, so it came out as a statement. “I see.”
“I told myself it was part of the job and I got very good at . . . well, not letting my heart engage in the marriage.”
Jenny nodded.
“I think I simply tried to forget about the human part of marriage—love, family—and just told myself that I was doing something for the good of my country.”
“Something that took pieces out of your soul, little by little.”
“For ten years.” She looked up at Jenny. “I stopped feeling. And then I couldn’t get hurt, see?”
Jenny understood better than she wanted to admit.
“And then along came Ham.”
“Ham. Yes. He’s a force.”
Signe met her eyes. “You have no idea. The man is like a fire hose with his love and forgiveness, and frankly, it’s like I’m drowning. I want to open my heart to him, but . . . it’s not pretty in there. I mean, there are a lot of scars and wounds and I just don’t know if I have it in me to . . . to . . .”
“To receive grace?”
Signe stilled. “I wrecked everything. We had something, and I ran from it. I did this to us. And now I’m . . .”
“Dirty.” Jenny could hardly say the word herself.
Signe nodded. “I’m trying to unlock my heart, but I think I’ve lost the key. And I don’t know how to let him in. I don’t know how to love him like a wife.”
Jenny looked at her. “Signe. Are you thinking of leaving Ham?”
Signe was spinning the ring on her finger. “I’m afraid that Tsarnaev is alive. And if he is, he will come after me. I can’t let Aggie get caught in the crossfire. Or Ham.”
“Signe, this isn’t about Aggie or Ham.”
She looked up at Jenny.
“This is about you. And being ashamed. And letting that shame tell you who you are.” She leaned forward. “Signe. Let’s flip the tables. Let’s say that I did something shameful. What would you say to me?”
“I guess it would depend on what it was.”
“Would it? Because guilt is about something you’ve done. But shame is about who you are. At your core. And that’s the real problem. This isn’t about your actions. It’s about who you believe you are. And who you believe you are is not because of what happened out in the field. What happened in the field happened because of who you believe you are.”
She leaned forward. “At some point in your life, someone told you that you weren’t worth protecting. Weren’t really worth loving. And you believed them. And because of that, you went out and tried to prove that you were. Which, in your case, meant joining the CIA and becoming a superspy.”
“I’m hardly a superspy,” Signe said.
“I saw your mad skills.” She pointed at Signe’s heart. “You need to fix what you believe in there before you’ll figure out how to deal with what is in here.” She pointed to Signe’s head.
“How do I do that?”
“You start listening to the truth. Ham, your friends, and, if you want, God. Because clearly he brought you back to the starting place. Maybe that’s because he wants you to take another look at what he has for you.” She made a face. “Not trying to tell you what to do, but I’m thinking that maybe it doesn’t involve running away.”
Signe smiled.
Jenny met it. “I think maybe I need to listen to my own advice. I’ve been running away for too long from what I think Orion believes about me. I’m going to just go ask him.”
“Really? Okay. Well good then. I’m glad we could have this little chat.”
“Thanks, doc,” Jenny said.
Signe laughed and Jenny opened the door. Came out to the great room and noticed everyone had gotten up from the table. She heard voices in the kitchen and headed there. Yes, she’d simply pull Orion aside and confront him. And maybe it was over between them. But at least they could both move on.
Or not. Because as she came into the kitchen, she found Aria and Jake in a clench. “Oh, sorry!”
Aria looked over Jake’s shoulder, then pushed him away. “We’re doing dishes.”
“I can see that.”
“Where’s Ham?” This from Signe, behind her.
“He went to check on Aggie,” Jake answered.
“Where’s Orion?” Jenny asked.
“He left right after you did. I thought it was to catch you.” Jake shook his head. “That idiot. He just needs to get it over with.”
Jenny’s breath caught as Jake’s words settled in. “No, no he doesn’t. You can tell him that it’s already over.”
Jake frowned.
“I have to get home before the blizzard hits.”
“Be careful, Jen,” Aria said. “It’s getting slippery out.”
It was way past cold and into freezing as she left the house. Tiny granules of ice pinged on her window, layering it, and she sat in the car for a moment, letting it heat up, blowing on her hands, her conversation with Signe pinging back to her. “Guilt is about something you’ve done. But shame is about who you are.”
Just like that, Harley was in her head.
“Have you asked for forgiveness?”
“Too many times to count.”
“Once is enough. Leave it behind. He has.”
Her breath gusted out in a cloud, and she turned on the defrost. The ice on her windshield began to melt.
So all that was left, then, was the shame.
She turned the car around and pulled out of Ham’s long driveway, onto the unplowed street. She could make out tire tracks, just barely, in front of her, and followed them out to another street. Flurries scattered in front of her headlights and they barely cut through the darkness. She edged out, heading down the hill toward the next road.
“It’s in suffering—as well as joy—that we find our faith. In times of trouble, we either draw near, or we run.”
Lights came at her from the other direction, blinding her. Aware that she was taking up the entire road, she slammed on her brakes.
Her car swerved, spun.
She careened into the ditch on her side of the road.
Snow puffed up, covered her car. Thankfully, her airbag didn’t deploy, but she sat there, stunned, immobilized by the seat belt.
Unhurt but clearly derailed.
Stuck.
Nice, Jenny.
She put the car into reverse. Her tires spun, revving hard, kicking up snow.
Perfect. Now she could stay in the ditch and freeze. She closed her eyes.
“And if we run?”
“Then God chases after us. That’s the thing about God. We might give up on him, but he never gives up on us.”
Yeah, well, she certainly hoped he was in the neighborhood, because she wasn’t getting out of the ditch without help.
The other car had slowed as it passed her, and she was unbuckling to check out how bad she was stuck before she called Ham for help when a knock came at her window.
She slid the window down.
She could nearly hear God laugh in the wind as Orion leaned in, snow in his hair, glistening on his eyelashes, looking fresh out of Alaska. “Need some help?”
“God doesn’t write tragedies. He’s all about the happy ending. We just have to stick with him through the story, right?”
“Get in, hero. We need to talk.”
Orion paused, swallowed, then quietly, he opened her door. “Let’s get in my car, where it’s warm.”
He held out his hand, and Jenny put hers into it, let Orion help her to his Renegade.
The heat blared full blast.
“We should go back to Ham’s house and get a tow rope,” Orion said. He still wouldn’t look at her.
And that was just enough. “No. We’re going to sit right here and . . . and . . . just give it to me straight, Ry. I get it if kids are a deal breaker for you, but at the very least, you could have a conversation with me—”
His green eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you giving me the silent treatment for nearly two months!”
“I’m not . . . you’re giving me the silent treatment! You told me that you’d marry me after we talked. But we never talked. You never said a word—”
“Have you lost your mind? Do you not remember anything from Italy? I told you I loved you. I told you about the abortion. I told you that I couldn’t have kids. And you just—”
“You had an abortion?”
It was the way he said it that made her stop. Made her throat fill. A hint of horror, of disbelief—
She looked away, out the window in the darkness. Nodded.
His hand lay on top of hers. “Jenny. I’m so sorry. I didn’t . . . You told me this in Italy?”
“Yes, during the attack.”
“During the—babe, I was completely freaking out because I’d been practically disabled right in front of you, and you were negotiating with a man who was going to kill us, and I . . . I didn’t hear any of that.”
She looked over at him. “None of it?”
He shook his head. “Why on earth would you pick then to tell me?”
She stiffened. “Because I was scared! You were lying there, hurt, and I thought we were going to die—”
“Because I couldn’t protect you.”
She stilled. “What?”
He looked away from her. “I should have protected you.” His voice tightened. “For the past two months all I could think about was how I nearly let you get killed while I lay there like a stuffed ham. I was sick . . .” He exhaled, then looked at her. His eyes glistened. “Babe. You had an abortion?”
She took in a breath.
“How old were you?”
“Nineteen.”
“You must have been terrified.”
Oh.
His eyes were wet. “And so sad. I’m so sorry.”
She just looked at him, her own eyes filling. “I was sad. And scared. I didn’t know what to do. And I . . .” She shook her head. “I’ve always just tried to move forward. But suddenly, you were proposing and the past reached out and caught me.”
“Maybe because you weren’t supposed to move forward without me,” he said softly. “We’re in this together, Jen. I love you.” Then he reached out and pulled her to himself, his coat crunching in the cold as his arms went around her. “I’m so, so sorry.”
She had nothing. And then she had everything, his arms holding her, the beat of his heart against hers. “I thought you were disgusted and angry with me.”
He leaned away. “I’m angry at the guy who put you in that position.”
“Brendan was young and scared too. He gave me money and walked out of my life.”
“The thing is, something went wrong. I bled a lot, and they told me that getting pregnant again might be dangerous. I . . . I’m not sure I can have kids.”
Orion said nothing.
“Ry?”
“And?”
“Don’t you want kids? You love kids—”
“Of course I want kids, Jen.” His eyes gleamed, almost fierce. “But I want you more. You are my future. And remember, we told God he could be in charge, right? We’ll leave it in his hands.”
She closed her eyes. Nodded.
He nudged her chin up and kissed her. His lips were cold, his chin unshaven, but she grabbed his jacket and clung to him, kissing him back.
This was how it was supposed to be. Together, safe, warm, while the world stormed around them.
Orion. She leaned away. “You really were embarrassed you couldn’t overpower two massive Russian thugs?”
He nodded.
“Oh, for cryin’ in the sink—”
“I just can’t let anything like that happen again, Jen. First Roy, then you—I can’t feel that helpless again. I can’t watch someone hurt you, ever again.”
“It’s not a bad thing to be helpless when you’re on a team. And, I’m not completely helpless. I did train for self-defense in the CIA. I just . . . I panicked in Italy. I saw you go down and—”
“And that’s what I’m talking about. You have to trust me, babe.”
“And you have to trust me. That’s what marriage is about, right? A team. You and me? When you’re weak, I’m strong. You said it—we’re in this together.”
His gaze searched hers. “Are you still willing to marry me?”
His mouth closed on hers. Again. And okay, the man was anything but helpless. He kissed her like he had on the rooftop in Italy, as if he’d found something he’d been searching for. Thought he’d lost forever.
Or maybe she was the one doing that because she held on, digging her hands into his coat lapels.
Never letting him go again.
In fact, she could stay stuck here with him until they found them next spring.
Merry Christmas.