Tattered Hearts

Prologue

PROLOGUE

Chloe

A hush falls over the cemetery as the doors of the hearse creak open.

My husband’s best friend, Jack, walks with me behind Dallas’s casket, quietly supporting me. I reach out, searching for one last moment with my dead husband. I’m not ready to let him go. I’ll never be ready to let him go.

Jack escorts me to the chairs set in two precise rows, occupied by my son, my parents, and my brothers. Dallas’s parents, his sister. Even Dallas’s granddad—God bless him—is here, refusing a seat, instead leaning on his cane.

“Thank you,” I whisper as Jack lowers himself into the chair next to me.

The chaplain speaks, his voice ringing out sad and clear, but nothing he says registers. How can it? My husband is dead, lying in the flag-draped box in front of me. It’s too soon. We had too many things left undone in our lives for him to be ripped away from us now.

How am I going to do this on my own?

The air changes as the uniformed service members shift, standing at attention, tall and proud. Jesse Dennison, the team sergeant for Dallas’s unit, moves into position next to the casket. Even though I know what’s coming, I flinch as he starts the final roll call.

“Staff Sergeant Riojas,” he calls in a booming voice.

“Here, Team Sergeant,” comes the response.

“Sergeant First Class Baker.”

“Here, Team Sergeant.”

The crack in my chest deepens.

“Sergeant Vance.”

“Here, Team Sergeant.”

“Sergeant Triplett.”

Silence. And my heart stalls in my chest.

“Sergeant Dallas Triplett.”

Crippling pain sears through me, ripping me apart.

“Sergeant Dallas H. Triplett.”

My life is in tatters, my love lying broken at my feet.

The only sound is my gasped sob. Jack wraps an arm around me, pulling me back from the brink. Back from where I reach out for Dallas, my hand grasping at nothing but air. I’m only vaguely aware that Jack is supporting me, holding me up. Holding me back because, without him, I think I could throw myself across Dallas’s casket.

I don’t know how much more I can take.

I don’t know how I can live without him.

The crisp report of rifle fire echoes across the hill.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Jake startles next to me, crying out, “My daddy. I want my daddy.”

Tears stream down my face, unbidden and unwelcome.

The chilling strains of “Taps” rise up. Sunlight glints off the bugle as the flag is removed from Dallas’s casket, precisely folded, and carefully smoothed. Three brass shell casings rest on top.

With my husband’s flag clutched tightly to my chest and Jake sobbing as Jack tends to us, I say my final good-bye to the only man I’ve ever loved.