by Freya Barker
Besides, he doesn’t look her type. Despite the military background, he looks too soft for her.
“We both had a career path when we went into it,” she hurries to explain with a shrug of her shoulders. “Both of our expectations were open and clear.”
That last comment is meant as a dig at me and I’ll grant her that. I turned like a damn leaf in the wind on her and deserve it.
“Really? That’s pretty advanced for someone you can’t have known for more than a month or so?”
A triumphant smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth.
“Ted and I have known each other since elementary school. We grew up in the same neighborhood. Went through high school together before we headed off to college.” She leans closer and very clearly articulates, “He showed up for my mother’s funeral.”
Christ. She doesn’t pull any punches.
I have no excuse for not showing up. Zero. Thought I had one back then, a new client who kept me pulling double shifts—seeing that we were short-handed at the time—but in the end I was avoiding her. Afraid if I showed up, saw her in pain, I’d lose what little resolve I had. I convinced myself it was better, for Bree, if I stayed away.
“Whatever happened to wanting a family? Or your dream house with a view of the canyons?”
Low blows, and I know it, but it’s the only way I know to open up the old wounds so we can get at the truth.
The impact is instant as pain shows in the form of shining eyes and shocked mouth.
“Dreams change.” She averts her gaze and speaks so softly I can barely make out the words.
Raw. She sounds raw.
It’s exactly what I was aiming for, but now that I’m here I can’t bring myself to pull her story from her.
Instead, I cup her face and lean in to brush my lips against her slack ones.
“They don’t have to,” I whisper back.
Chapter Nine
Bree
I should be shocked at the feel of his mouth on mine.
Yet it’s like coming home.
His gentle persuasion at the seam of my lips is still so painfully familiar. How is it possible that in all the years, after what were only a few months of being together, the memory of them is still seared into my being?
His taste and his touch wake a craving I used to be insatiable with, and nothing or no one since has been able to fill that hunger.
Oh, I’ve tried, but somehow none of the modest number of men, who saw more than one date, were able to erase the memory of this.
My body responds as if it’s the most natural thing to open my mouth to his tongue and slip my arms around his neck. His hair is shorter now and I don’t have much to grab onto so my nails scratch restlessly over his scalp.
He used to love that, having my fingers in his hair and, apparently, he hasn’t forgotten that either as he moans deep in my mouth. I try to shift, wanting to get closer, needing to feel the pressure of his chest against my breasts, eager for his touch.
Instead, he pulls his mouth away and leans his forehead against mine. Already we’re both panting like racehorses, and I wonder if he feels as overcome by that same insatiable need we used to share.
“Still my Tygrys,” he whispers before lifting his head and looking down at me.
The golden swirls seem to move in the blue of his eyes and I can’t avert mine.
“Why?”
I’m not sure where the question comes from or exactly what it is I want to know—maybe all of it—but it hangs between us for endless seconds as he searches my face.
“I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was so wrong.”
His voice is raw, tormented, like the look in his eyes I would sometimes catch but quickly dismiss as a figment of my imagination.
With his fingertips he traces my face, eyebrows, cheekbones, down my nose, and to the small groove bisecting my upper lip.
“I’ll need more words,” I prompt him softly, my mouth moving against his fingers.
I’m mesmerized by his eyes, so open and unguarded, but I don’t want to guess and be wrong. So many years and layers, so much life now between us.
“I was protecting you. We were young, wrapped up in each other. Consumed to the point the rest of the world didn’t exist for me when you were around. I missed her coming out of her house. That girl carries the scars with her for the rest of her life because I couldn’t look away from you.”
“We did. We both carry that responsibility. Not just you,” I remind him. “I was there too, Yanis.”
He strokes his knuckles over my cheek. Our faces still so close I can feel his breath against my skin. Consumed is a good word for it.
“I know, but it was my promise to keep her safe, my signature on the contract, my handshake sealing it. Just like you are my employee, my responsibility. Then you got shot.”
For the first time he closes his eyes, dropping his head to my shoulder. Hiding.
“So much blood, Bree. It’s all I could see. Red. I emptied my gun into the guy. Just kept pumping. No control, just pure emotion.”
“It was justified.” I lean my cheek against his head. “He molested her, shot me, you were justified.”
“Call it what you want but it wasn’t justice, that was rage. It scared me. You hurt scared me. I thought I was protecting you. Us.” He slowly lifts his head. “Then life happened and it seemed I’d made the right choice.”
“You chose for both of us.”
It’s an accusation that has burned a hole in my gut. Maybe my biggest grudge has always been I didn’t have a voice. Not in any of it. Not then and not in what happened after. I’ve never had any say in what happened. Circumstances dictated; events directed me.
“I did.”
No guise in his voice or his face.
“So I ask you again, why? Why now? Why?”
The opening of old wounds is painful. You’d think time would have dulled, but it hasn’t. Not really. Maybe because we’ve never had an occasion like this one—never sought one out—a chance to let what for me has admittedly been a festering cut, just under my skin, needing to bleed clean.
“Why care for me now?”
My voice cracks as the words tumble out, revealing not only the deep hurt that is alive in me, but all the other feelings I thought I had locked away in the far recesses of my mind.
“I’ve never not cared,” he says gruffly, sitting back to run a hand through his hair. “As to what brings us here; call it full circle. I ended us when you could’ve died, it almost ended me this past weekend when I didn’t know if you were still alive. Lost and found.”
He reaches out and grabs one of my hands with his.
I choke up, needing the connection as much as I want to reject it. I can’t dismiss the chasm of time between us. The loss that separates us. The hurt that still exists. The trust that was broken. I’ve always known Yanis is the one person with the capacity to break me, and I’m afraid if I let him in it might leave me destroyed.
Irrevocably this time.
“It’s too late,” I whisper.
His hand flexes around mine and I drop my gaze to our joined hands.
“It’s not. It’s never too late.”
“Yanis…” I plead, but he’s persistent.
“We’re older. We’ve changed. I’m not asking you to go back where we were then, I’m asking you to start again. From this point forward.”
“It’s not that easy.”
He coughs out a sardonic laugh.
“Tell me about it. We have a lot to clear out of the way, but I’m still asking. Take a chance.”
It’s his turn to plead, and I glance over to him finding nothing but sincerity in his eyes. The sudden inflation of my little balloon of hope scares me. It would be so easy to lose myself to his draw. It’s not just his looks, which have only improved with age, but it’s his solid judgment, his strong morals, his effortless leadership, his sense of responsibility to everything and everyone. Ironically, all the things t
hat drove him to break things off with me.
I know that on a cerebral level, but my heart…I’m afraid to risk it.
“What’ll happen if I take a chance?”
He lets go of my hand and lifts his to my face, his touch infinitely gentle as he places his palm against my cheek.
“We go slow. Learn each other again. Be honest about who we are. Talk through roadblocks or baggage that might pop up along the way.”
I can’t hold back the grin that wants to surface at his words.
“Talk, Yanis? I have to admit, that’s probably the newest and most surprising change in you. You were never a talker, you’re a doer. I swear I’ve heard more words from you tonight than I have in all the years I’ve known you combined.”
He shrugs with a self-deprecating smirk on his lips.
“Even old dogs can learn new tricks.”
I hope so. God, I hope so.
He curves an arm around my shoulder, pulls me into his body, and reaches for the remote.
“Enough talking for tonight.”
I allow myself a smile as I settle back against him.
He finds an episode of Longmire, which I normally love. Unfortunately, I’m wiped, emotionally drained, and Yanis’s chest is as comfortable as I remember.
We’ve barely passed the opening credits when my eyes grow heavy.
Yanis
I can tell she’s disappointed when we leave her doctor’s office.
When I offered to wait in the outer office, she didn’t object. It’s early yet, I have to exercise patience and give her a chance to get used to the idea of an us again.
No, not again. An us, period.
Last night was good. I still have a thousand and one questions I want to ask her, but I get the sense I push too hard and she’ll retreat. Feeling her body melt into mine was enough for the moment. She also let me kiss her when I carried her to her bed, but I didn’t stay.
It would’ve been too easy to give in to that fire we still seem able to stoke in each other, but I don’t want us to burn hot and crash after. I want us to burn hot and make that fire last.
I bend over the back of the wheelchair I’m pushing her in.
“What did he say?”
“Another whole week for the stitches,” she grumbles. “No weight on the ankle until all the swelling and bruising is gone. He wants to see me again next week and then we’ll talk about physical therapy.”
She sounds dejected. It’s tough to be helpless, but I’m secretly glad it bought me another week of dependency.
Seven more days of showing her I mean what I say before I lose my leverage.
“Where are we going?” she asks when I push her wheelchair past the exit to the parking lot.
“Talked to Dimi this morning. He asked us to come meet Max.”
She twists her head back and glances up with shock on her face.
“They named him after your father?”
I grin back.
“Yeah. It’s a surprise for my parents, though. They’re arriving this weekend. They’re gonna be staying at my place.”
“You’ll be going home then?”
She tries to make it sound casual, but can’t quite hide the hint of disappointment.
“You’ve met my parents, right? They like roaming around naked.”
I mock-shiver.
Actually, not so much ‘mock’ since I’ve seen my parents’ wrinkled bare attributes one too many times growing up.
Still, it earns me her grin. She has met them. She knows what they’re like, she’s just never had to be witness to it. They tend to get dressed for company.
“You saw me naked yesterday,” she teases. “You didn’t seem offended.”
“No comparison. You I wouldn’t mind naked all the time.”
I’d love to capitalize on the flash of heat spreading over her face and the slight puff of air leaving her lips slightly open, but we’ve reached the NICU and Dimi is walking toward us.
I’ve never seen my brother like this. He softens when he looks at his wife, clearly loves her to distraction, but this… He radiates happiness.
Damn if my heart doesn’t squeeze in my chest. My brother, who I’ve been at odds with more often than not, who came back from his last rotation a shell of the man he was going into the armed forces, who battled through the loss of his leg, and the resulting PTSD, to become one of my most valuable operatives and a fantastic husband to Willa.
I’m proud. So fucking proud of him.
His eyes, the same green color as my mother’s, are bright and full of life as he walks right up to Bree and greets her with a hug and a kiss. Then he turns to me, that goofy grin still on his face as he pulls me into a hug.
“I wanted you to be the first to meet him,” he relays softly before he lets me go.
“Fucking happy for you, Brother. So fucking happy.”
“We can only have one visitor at a time in there,” he says apologetically.
I look down at Bree, whose eyes have become suspiciously shiny at the brotherly display.
“You go,” I tell her, but she vehemently shakes her head.
“No. You. I can watch from here.”
She puts her hands on the wheels and rolls herself to the large viewing window. I follow her and lean down.
“Sure?”
She smiles up at me.
“Yeah, go.”
I press a kiss to her forehead and turn to my brother, who is looking at me slack-jawed.
“No shit?”
Then he grins even wider at my casual shrug.
“About fucking time.”
Willa is sitting in a rocker when we walk in, a tiny bundle pressed against the skin of her upper chest.
“Meet Max.”
His face is a little splotchy, his little fist tucked under his chin, and his mouth open in a sleepy pout. He looks peaceful and comfortable in Willa’s arms.
I reach out a tentative finger, but Willa nods her encouragement. My God, so little, so vulnerable, and so soft.
“Let’s switch spots and you can hold him.”
“Fuck, no. What if I hurt him?”
She chuckles.
“You won’t. Now sit your ass down.”
She makes room for me and my stomach gets tight when she places that tiny human in my hands. Christ, he could fit in one of them.
“Put him against your chest, he likes listening to a heartbeat,” my brother suggests. “Just be careful of that big noggin of his, it tends to wobble.”
I curve a hand around the back of his head and carefully lay him down against my chest. The kid doesn’t even flinch, just as comfortable as he was with his mother.
My eyes drift to the window where I catch Bree wiping at her eyes. Willa follows my gaze and immediately walks out of the room.
“She okay?” Dimi asks.
Frankly, I don’t know, which bothers me a little. I can normally read her pretty well, but I saw that scar on her belly and if it means what I think it does, that might suggest this wasn’t such a great idea after all.
Ten minutes later, however, I’m the one behind the window with my brother, watching Willa place the baby in Bree’s arms and the smile almost cracks her face wide open.
“When can you bring him home?”
“If he does as well as he has the last twenty-four hours, he can come home tomorrow.”
I glance at Dimi.
“Are you ready for him?”
“He’s little, his needs are simple. We’ll borrow some stuff from Jake and Rosie, and the rest we’ll pick up and learn as we go along.”
I envy my brother his laid-back attitude. I imagine if I were in his shoes, I’d be running this like a structured operation. Pretty sure my brother’s way is better.
Not long after, we’re on our way to Bree’s place with an everything pizza smelling up my vehicle. As per usual, Bree dives right in as soon as I have her on the couch, eating straight from the box.
“Save some for me,” I te
ase, handing her a paper towel to wipe the tomato sauce off her chin.
I want to ask about her reaction at the hospital but decide to wait until after we eat. She’s more receptive on a full stomach.
Unfortunately, I don’t get the chance, because the doorbell rings just as I’m clearing away the empty box.
“Oh, I forgot,” Bree says. “Radar called, he and Hillary wanted to pop in and say hi.”
Great. There go my plans.
The first one through the door when I open it is that unsightly little dog of his, Phil. She pointedly ignores me and waddles straight to the couch on those stumpy legs. Bree bends over and lifts her on her lap, letting the dog lick her face.
“Come in,” I try to be gracious.
Either Radar doesn’t buy into it, judging from the grin on his face, or maybe he doesn’t care. He looks a lot like my brother did earlier.
Giving Hillary a kiss on the cheek, I take her coat. It’s been getting cooler at night.
I play host and make sure everyone has a drink, giving them a chance to catch up before I sit down beside Bree. I tuck an arm around her shoulder.
“Told ya,” Radar directs at a smiling Hillary.
“So you did. Are you gonna tell them or do you want me to?”
“I will.” Radar turns to us and that smile is back on his face.
I have a sneaky suspicion of what is coming and tuck Bree a little closer into my body.
“We wanted you to be the first to know. We’re pregnant.”
Bree’s body startles beside me.
Chapter Ten
Bree
“Oh my Goddess, Brianne! What happened to you?”
Mrs. Mazur fawns over me as Yanis carries me inside his house.
He played on my guilt to get me to come. Said his mom would be disappointed if I didn’t. I’m not sure how much he’s told them about the current situation, but I know he’s right about Anna.
Yanis and Dimi’s parents are relics from the flower-power days. I swear they haven’t even changed wardrobe since then. Big-hearted, peace-loving, pot-smoking, and without boundaries, it’s a miracle they managed to raise two badasses like the brothers.
