Free Almost Perfect by Julie Ortolon

would have been proud of you? Do you know how insulting it was that you didn't share your dreams with me?"
    "You're right." Guilt swamped her. "I should have told you. I was just… I was afraid."
    "Afraid of what?"
    "That you'd make fun of me." Tears prickled her eyes. "That you'd think I was putting on airs. Shooting too high. Too full, of myself."
    " 'Putting on airs'?" He frowned at her. "Jesus, that sounds like something your father would say."
    "It is what he said. My whole life, every time I did something good; he… insulted me." She bit her lip as the memories swelled into her throat. "Do you know what he said when he found out I'd won a scholarship? I promise you it wasn't 'congratulations' or 'I'm proud' or even 'nice work.' He said, 'Well, la-di-da, look who thinks she's something special.'" The tears tumbled down her cheeks. She swiped at them angrily, hating that her father could still make her cry. "I wanted out of that house, and out of that crummy neighborhood so bad, I could feel it in my bones. And I was going to do it, no matter what it cost or what it took."
    "Marrying me would have gotten you out of there pretty damn fast."
    "That's not a good reason to make a lifetime commitment."
    "You're right." He sighed. "You know, Maddy, a part of me understands. Your father was an insecure asshole who only felt good about himself when he was cutting other people down."
    "He's still that way."
    "But I'm not him," Joe said quietly. "How could you think I'd be anything but proud of what you were doing?"
    "But that's just it. At the time, to my ears, you were starting to sound exactly like him."
    "How?" He looked taken aback.
    "Being all gung ho military." She held up her hand when he started to interrupt. "Until I grew up and got out on my own, I honestly thought most cops, and therefore most men in uniform, were like my father. I've since learned that's not true. A good many of them are like the Colonel. They have conviction, integrity, and most of all, compassion. I should have seen that then. You weren't turning into my dad. You were turning into yours. And I can't think of a better man to emulate."
    She took a step toward him, aching for him to understand. "Unfortunately, I didn't see that. I was too young. Joe, I was seventeen when you asked me to marry you."
    "I know." Embarrassment flickered in his eyes before he looked away. "I actually didn't mean to ask you for at least another year. But then you told me you were going to UT and the thought of you running around campus with all those college boys…"
    "Made you panic."
    "If you call going out and buying the biggest engagement ring I could afford panicking, then yeah, I guess I did." His mouth tightened. "I knew we couldn't marry right away, but I wanted to be sure every guy who saw you saw that rock on your finger and knew you were taken."
    She actually smiled a bit at that. It was so like Joe to stake out his territory. As a foster child, he'd learned to travel light, but what was his, he held on to with both hands, and he would battle any kid who touched it. The word "mine" was used sparingly, but when he said it he meant it.
    He heaved a sigh. "I admit, I didn't like the idea of you going to UT, but I wasn't trying to hold you back. I was afraid of losing you to some frat boy.
    But"—his gaze bored into her—"I never would have stood in the way of your dreams, if you'd only shared them with me."
    "The problem is… I wouldn't have believed you. I wouldn't have been able to. Not with you standing there wearing a uniform, with your hair buzzed short, spouting macho military jargon." She took another step, laid her hand on the canoe that stood between them. "When you proposed, my whole life flashed before my eyes. Only it wasn't my life. It was my mother's. I didn't want to wind up like her, bowing to a man's wishes, cooking, cleaning, raising kids with little or no help, while all my dreams were trampled over. I didn't know marriage could be a