She looked away, and tears streamed over her cheeks. “I can’t talk about this. I can’t even breathe thinking about it.”

He needed to wipe them away. Needed to make her hurt dissipate. But he didn’t know the rules right now. Couldn’t risk scaring her. “I take the blame for all of this. Things should’ve been different before you were taken.” Guilt exploded in his gut. He threaded his fingers into his hair. “I would’ve done anything to bring you girls home safe. You can’t see that, and I can’t explain that. So just know I did what I thought was best while I was out of my mind.”

She sniffled, wiping away the waterworks. “I’m not sure what to think.”

The minutes were clicking by, and he hadn’t said anything worth a damn. “I want my wife back. I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you feel safe again.” It was rushed. Not eloquent, but there it was. The truth.

Her eyes locked on his, the look caressing him down to his soul. What he wouldn’t do to kiss her right now. That was how he always felt about her. Especially when he came off the job. He needed her touch. Her kiss. Salve to the wounds she couldn’t see.

Shutting her eyes, she licked her lips and refocused on him. “Three minutes are up. I think you should go.”

His heart sank deep in the murky waters of abandonment. “Angel—”

“I can’t do this. I can’t risk the girls again.”

“I can make this better. Safer. Don’t take my girls from me.” His voice cracked. Time was up; he needed a last plea. “Don’t walk away. Not from us.”

She shook her head, and he tried to remember everything Mia Winters had told him when she’d shown up shortly after her husband had left, touting her therapist card. That Sarah probably felt victimized. That she didn’t understand her own feelings yet, that she needed to place blame and have an outlet. That shutting down and barricading herself were self-preservation mechanisms.

Thank God his buddy’s wife was a psychologist with a major case of two-cent-itis, because Brock hadn’t thought past his own feelings. He’d been content to wallow and drink.

“I love you. And I love our girls.” Against all of Mia’s advice, he pulled an envelope from his back pocket and slid it on top of the newspaper. “If they’re okay to stay with your mom for a little bit, maybe you can take a chance with me, focus on rebuilding our family again. Rebuilding us.”

Sarah rubbed the corner of the envelope. “What do you mean? What’s in here?”

“Airplane tickets.”

“Airplane tickets?” She yanked her hand back like the envelope had bitten her. “Why? To where?”

“A private island in the Caribbean.” He took her hand, enveloping it between his palms. Her arm stiffened, but she didn’t pull away. “We can, ya know, focus on you and me. We’ll hash everything out in a neutral setting. Reconnect.” Neutral, reconnect. Two buzz words Mia had used over and over.