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nothing but static was starting to drive me insane.
    He sat on the arm of the couch and shook his head. “Nothing. I’m not saying anything,” he said. “I’m fine. We’re fine.”
    “You are not fine. The Henry I knew never came back from Afghanistan.”
    I shouldn’t have said it. I wanted to take the words back immediately, even before they registered in his brain and hurt spilled out all over his face. He rose to his full height, his face red and jaws clenched but he said nothing. He merely stood there and glared at me.
    Fear seeped into my muscles and forced me a step back. He was so angry, so alien to me in that moment that I felt like I was faced with a stranger. “Do you have PTSD?” I breathed.
    His head snapped up. “Hell no. Why would you even think that?”
    “Then what the fuck is going on?” I asked, completely losing it, no longer caring if the neighbors heard. Henry’s anger had infected me, had seeped into my brain and turned everything red. Maybe if I yelled hard enough, Henry would come to his senses. “Are you done with us? Do you want to break up, is that it?”
    “No!” He grabbed me by the shoulders, an anguished look on his face. “Why the hell would you even ask that?”
    “Then what the hell is your damage?”
    He released me and paced, all scowl and coiled muscle, a terrifying vision of a man at a loss. “I don’t know, okay? I just… I’m just so angry. I’m just fucking furious. I want to kill that motherfucker that killed my best friend,” he said, piercing the air repeatedly with a finger. “And I want to put back together that asshole who blew up the gate and killed Jones and mangled up Hanson’s leg just so I can tear him apart limb from limb with my bare hands. And I’m mad because you let Dave-fucking-Novak kiss you while I’m off defending the country. And I’m mad at my mom and dad for being such shitty parents that I had to grow up in someone else’s house. And I’m fucking pissed off with myself for punching a friend and potentially ruining my career.”
    He held a fist up to his forehead, holding me in place with his gaze. “And I’m furious with myself for treating you like shit. You deserve so much more, Elsie.”
    My heart ached for him, for the uncertainty that clouded his features. “I deserve what I want. And I want you.”
    His eyes searched my face. “Why?” he asked in a broken voice.
    Tears rolled down my cheeks as I stared at this roughly drawn replica of the man I once knew. This was not the proud, confident Henry I fell in love with—but what if this insecure man was all that was left?
    I walked over to him and wrapped my arms around his body, holding him in place. He bowed his head and whispered his apologies into my hair. “I don’t want to lose you too, Elsie.”
    I squeezed him tighter, my tears soaking into his shirt. “I would go to hell and back for you, Henry. You’re not going to lose me.” I craned my neck and grasped the sides of his face. “And I want you because you are good and honest. You’re brave, smart, funny, and sexy. I’m with you because loving you comes naturally to me, like breathing in air.”
    He wound his fingers around my hair and fisted it at the nape of my neck. I looked up at him boldly, letting him know that I was not going to flinch at the first sign of trouble. I opened my mouth to speak but he crushed his lips to mine, kissing every thought out of my head.
    Suddenly our hands were all over, unbuttoning and tugging and throwing articles of clothing across the room. With his hands under my butt, he lifted me up against the living room wall and plunged into me. I wrapped my legs around his waist and urged him deeper, and he responded by thrusting harder, faster. I could feel him building up, his breathing becoming more labored against my ear, but I couldn’t focus, couldn’t wrap my mind around our angry sex. A voice in my head whispered that we shouldn’t be doing this, yet here we were,