Hard to believe it had been two years. Some days, it seemed like twice that. And others, it felt like yesterday.
Honor hadn't explained why, when Buzz all but handed her a chance to come back to Baltimore—same title, same pay— she'd chosen to stay in Queens. It didn't make a lick of sense to him, because she didn't know a soul up there and couldn't participate in nearly as many of the SAR missions she loved so much.
It hadn't been easy, letting her go, especially after spending countless hours in the rehab center, cheering her on as she struggled through painful exercises, holding her up as she graduated from the wheelchair to crutches, from a cane to standing on her own, holding her close when she got word that Buzz died of a heart attack.
His conscience was clear because he'd kept every promise made to her. How much easier life would be, he thought, going through life the way Honor did: if you never made a promise, nobody could hold your feet to the fire when you broke it. No, not easier, because when all was said and done, what did she have to show for her less complicated life?
It had been a good decision, keeping her from his sons. If losing her hurt him this much, how much more would they have suffered, after putting their trust in her hands, only to watch her walk away. That box of chocolates, paid to Esther in exchange for information about her patient would have been a steal at a thousand times the price because the awareness it bought had all but erased his anger and gave him hope.
They'd stay in touch. He'd see to it. Maybe in a month, or six months or a year, they'd figure things out. Yeah, she was a mess, but so was he. If he hadn't been such a proud and idiotic fool, Matt would have told her how he felt, instead of writing it down and hiding it in the pages of a book.
That, at least, would have given them both a shot at love . . . and honor redeemed.