Alex (In the Company of Snipers) by Irish Winters

around her, she pushed off the chair and into his arms, buried her face against him, and wept. Surprised, he held her gently at first, then a little tighter. She shuddered, and he couldn’t help himself. He scooped her into his arms and sat on the chair with her on his lap.
    “Hey now, what’s this about?” His voice was soft and tender as he tipped her chin up to see her better. “What’s going on?”
    She wiped the towel across her face, struggling to pull herself together. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I got this feeling all of a sudden that I have children. I know I do. I mean, I think I’m a mom, only I can’t remember,” she whined. “I can’t see their faces. I don’t know their names. I just can’t remember anything.”
    Well, Alex noted dourly, he had achieved what he wanted. He had sparked a memory. Turning her face into his shoulder, he wiped his eyes again without her noticing.
    “You’ll remember,” he whispered hoarsely. “You have a concussion right now and maybe a little amnesia, but it’s all going to come back to you. You’ll see.” He kissed the side of her head where the towel was wrapped. “A good mother never forgets her kids. I’ll bet you’re the best mom ever. Give yourself time.”
    Kelsey looked up at him, her brown eyes brimming with tears. She had noticed his watery eyes. With the tenderest hand, she caressed the clenched jaw that barricaded his pain. “What’s the matter?”
    Her touch was light and soft, so warm and caring that he leaned into it. No woman had touched him like this in years. As much as he wanted to tell her nothing was the matter, he knew something deep inside had broken open. Her gentle touch resonated to his core. For the first time since he had been notified of his family’s death while he was in Fallujah, thoughts of Sara and Abby hadn’t morphed into out of control anger. No monster screamed that their deaths were his fault, or that he should have been there. He could still breathe. His head didn’t pound with guilt. The burden he had attended to so faithfully and for so long evaporated under her hand.
    “Guess I just miss my little girl.” His voice caught at that profound understatement.
    “You poor thing. I’m so sorry.” She smoothed her hand against his whiskered cheek.
    He choked with shame at those words, spoken so kindly by the very woman he had cursed. He repented instantly. “I’m so sorry for the way I treated you last night. I was wrong. I’ve been so wrong about so many thing.”
    “For what?” she asked kindly. “You couldn’t hurt anyone.”
    He couldn’t speak. Here she was offering mercy to the beast he was, to another man who didn’t deserve it. He shivered as the truth roared over him. There was no way she could’ve hurt anyone. If anything, she was as much a victim as her sons. That’s how Kelsey got tangled up with the likes of Durrant. She trusted too easily, and she believed people were good—just like she was doing now.
    “You’re a good man,” she said softly. “I know. I can tell.”
    I’m not, but I have been. I can be. I will be.
    She pulled his clenched fist to her lips and placed a small kiss on his knuckle, like she might have done for one of her little boys. His heart swelled. He wanted to run and hide. For the first time in years, his emotions of choice weren’t anger or self-loathing. He blew out a shuddering breath. He felt—blessed?
    She was a gentle armful. Her soft hand on his shoulder called out to the man he used to be, the gentle man, the guardian and protector, the fixer of all things mechanical, the killer of spiders, and the protector from all bad dreams. The fragrance of her just washed hair seemed to work a magical spell in his dumpy two-room cabin. Sharing a few more stories about Abby and Sara felt natural, especially the way Kelsey listened. She smoothed the worry lines at the corner of his eye with the tip of her thumb while he held her safe and secure in his arms. It