nights he turned on the television and lay awake watching sitcom reruns. At first, she’d thought maybe the sound of the television had woken her. But she could tell by the lack of light and shadows on the wall that the TV wasn’t on.
“Nooooo.” The sound came again. Fiercer this time. And then it was a howl. A wail. No longer in doubt as to its origin, Eliza still didn’t move. Her husband was in a hell she couldn’t share. But if she startled him, he might mistakenly take her there.
Pierce had never hit her—or even swung her way—during one of his nighttime episodes, but he’d insisted that she go to counseling with him before she’d ever spent a night in his bed. She knew that it wasn’t impossible that she could inadvertently be hurt.
She also knew it wasn’t likely to happen. Not after all these years. Pierce was diligent with his mental and emotional awareness.
So much so that they’d gone so long without an episode that she’d thought perhaps he was over them.
Had hoped that her love, their life together on the island, gave him enough peace to keep the demons at bay.
It would help if he worked in a field other than the dangerous one he’d chosen. Dealing with thugs and break-ins all day was too reminiscent of battling insurgents. But it had been decided, with professional input, that in Pierce’s case, being out on the streets actually helped him work out some of the panic bottled up inside him. He was more at peace when he was doing something to help make the world a safer place.
The bed started to shake and so, then, did Eliza. Alarmed, she held her breath. He’d never convulsed before. Was he having a seizure?
Willing to risk a fist in the face if it meant saving her husband’s life, Eliza shot up and turned toward Pierce, ready to cram her fingers in his mouth and hold on to his tongue if need be—something she’d read you had to do to prevent someone having a seizure from swallowing their tongue. Nothing she had any real knowledge about at all.
Before she’d even touched his shoulder, she stopped. His back was to her. And now that she could see him, she knew he wasn’t convulsing.
He was sobbing. Leaning over him, careful not to disturb him, she saw his eyes were closed, but his face was soaked with tears. He was sobbing in his sleep. Something he had never done before.
She’d been told not to wake him when he was in the middle of a nightmare. But how could she sit there and watch her husband’s anguish?
She didn’t care if he lashed out, if he hit her. But if he did, he’d never forgive himself.
So Eliza lay back down. She closed her eyes and willed her breathing to an even cadence.
And she sent every ounce of love she possessed across the mattress to her husband.
She’d caused this.
It had been either the show, or the talk of children, or both. But there was no doubt in her mind that she’d done this.
Nothing else had changed in their lives. The show. And the kid.
And she didn’t think the show had sent him back to hell. He didn’t like her to be away on her own, but he’d known about the show for weeks. And had slept great the first night she’d been back. For that matter, he’d said he hadn’t had even a bad dream while she’d been gone.
But tonight, when she’d tried to open up the idea of adoptive children to him, he’d started to blip on her. Give her that blank stare that she’d grown to hate. The one that said he was off someplace in his mind where she couldn’t go.
Why had even the mention of him as a father set him off like this?
She’d promised herself that she’d tell Pierce they’d had a son before her flight back to Palm Desert on Friday. Telling him had been her primary goal for the week. She wasn’t going back if she didn’t tell him.
As she lay there, listening to her husband grieve, she made another decision. She wasn’t going to tell Pierce about their son until she knew why talk of kids had elicited such a strongly negative response.
Which meant that she also couldn’t call Mrs. Carpenter with the okay to release her information to her son in the event that he came looking for her again.
And that opened the door to another possibility...that after a second try, if there even was one, the boy would lose interest in her. There was a good chance he wouldn’t come back a third time.
And, based on the papers she’d signed, there was no chance at all that she could ever find him if he didn’t.
Pierce quieted. Sometimes his nightmares woke him. Sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes they haunted him for days or even weeks. Sometimes he didn’t even remember having them.
She’d tell him about the episode. Knowing what was going on inside him was all a part of his accountability to his own health. She wouldn’t rob him of that right.
But she needed time to herself first. To figure out what she was going to do with the mess she’d made of her life.
Pierce had paid too high a price already for doing nothing more than serving his country. He’d already lost so much. He wasn’t going to lose her, too.
It was a promise she’d made to him. And one she’d made to herself. She’d failed her baby. She wasn’t going to fail his father.
By the time Pierce’s sobs quieted, Eliza’s cheeks were wet with tears.
Family Secrets, being a chef, glitz, glamour, awards and the bright lights of television were so far distant, she wasn’t sure the whole thing hadn’t just been a dream.
Well, she was sure. It wasn’t just a dream. She could feel the win pushing at her. Needing her as badly as she needed it. But maybe a dream was all it would be. All it could ever be. As her eyes closed and she finally drifted back to sleep, it was with the thought that she’d call Natasha Stevens in the morning and withdraw herself from the competition. From the show.
She cried about that, too. With sobs that shook her body.
But she didn’t change her mind.
The family secrets she’d already kept were more than she could handle.
* * *
PIERCE KNEW, AS soon as his gaze met Eliza’s in their bathroom mirror as they brushed their teeth Tuesday morning, that the fog in which he’d awoken hadn’t been because of a deep sleep.
He swore. She nodded.
He’d had another nightmare. After going almost a year without them.
Her look of compassion practically brought him to his knees. He didn’t deserve her. And had to find a way to tell her so. To talk of things he’d sworn never to mention. And hadn’t. Not to the multitude of professionals who’d helped him over the years. Not to his superior officers. Not even to those who’d made the pact with him.
He’d tell her. But not that day. Probably not any day soon. Someday, though.
After her television stint was through.
She
