Come Home to Me

by Jessica Scott

  Knew that he was currently missing from the picture.

  And Sam didn’t have a good explanation for it. She couldn’t put a name to the lack inside her. To the emptiness that was so deep and so dark that it felt like no light would ever penetrate it.

  Someone told her that shadows were a good thing because it proved the light existed, that it was as real as whatever lurked in the shadows.

  But when there was no light, there was nothing to push back the darkness. It just kept coming and coming until it overwhelmed its prey, dragging it down, further from the light.

  “We’re taking some time off,” she said after a moment, when she realized she hadn’t answered him.

  Thomas said nothing for so long, Sam dared to finally look up. “You know, when I came home from Vietnam, I thought I was going to be so happy. I was alive. I’d made it. I had a wife to come home to.” He paused, his gaze going to a memory decades in the past. “But that didn’t happen. It was… Things didn’t feel right. At the time, I thought it was because of all the bullshit we had to endure. People calling us baby killers and murderers.” He rubbed his eyes behind his coke-bottle glasses. “But after a while I realized that it wasn’t the public’s problem. It was mine.”

  Sam listened intently. There was no public antiwar sentiment to make her feel like this. No, the problem was strictly hers. A problem that defied explanation.

  “What did you do?”

  “Self-medicated for a long time. Melanie’s mother left me for a while. Was hooked on heroin for a while.”

  Sam frowned. “Heroin is some pretty heavy stuff.” She never would have guessed that Thomas had been an addict.

  “Started smoking opium while I was in Vietnam. Bunch of us did. And let me tell you, that is a habit that you never quit. Every day I wake up and have to remind myself why I’m not chasing the dragon today.” He paused for a long moment. “And then I woke up one day, no idea where I was or what I’d been doing for the last year. Checked myself into a VA rehab center.”

  “Mel’s mom took you back?”

  “After a while. Took me a long time to unpack all my shit from the war.” He leaned back in his chair. “So whatever is going on with you or with him, give it time. You just got home. Don’t make any decisions right now because you think things are going to be this way forever.” He hesitated a moment. “If you’re not talking to someone, you should.”

  She closed her eyes, unable to find the words she needed. How to explain the fear that threatened to choke her when she even thought about what to say, how to say it?

  He shifted, pointing his finger at her. “It feels like it will but it won’t be. This, I promise you.” He stood. “But pretending that everything will get better if you just try harder isn’t the answer, Sammy. Believe me, I tried it. Sometimes, the hardest thing in the world to do is admit that your stuff is too much for you to deal with on your own.”

  Chapter 6

  It was almost noon when he woke up.

  His heart slammed against his ribs, his blood pounded in his ears as the panic receded, leaving him in a cold sweat.

  The nightmare slipped through his fingers, leaving nothing but the echo of fear and terror. He frowned, tracing his thoughts, trying to remember what he’d been dreaming about and finding nothing but empty grey trails that led to dead ends.

  He didn’t have nightmares often. He couldn’t say what triggered them.

  But waking up in a strange bed in a strange room that felt a hell of a lot colder than it had when he’d crashed earlier was a way to do it.

  He picked up his phone, about to call Sam when he saw her text:

  Big storm coming in. Not going Christmas shopping.

  From two hours ago.

  Damn, he must have been tired. He never slept during the day. At least not for more than a few minutes at his desk before he got up and started slogging through the caseload yet again.

  He dropped his booted feet to the floor and cradled his head in his hands. He had the start of a massive headache. That always happened when he pulled twenty-four hour duty, too.

  Except he’d slept on the plane up. He shouldn’t be this tired.

  He palmed the phone and tapped out a message on the touch screen. What are you doing for dinner?

  He supposed he could drive back out to Nancy’s house. Not give Sam the chance to avoid him. Maybe if he hadn’t given her space in the first place, they wouldn’t be in this situation.

  He snorted. Yeah, he should have gone all eight–hundred-pound gorilla on her. Because women totally thought cavemen were sexy.

  He shook his head. He’d backed off when she’d clearly needed him to.

  He remembered feeling off-kilter the first time he’d come home from war. But that was three tours ago. Now, he was used to it—and those strange feelings were nothing but a distant memory.

  Still. He’d thought giving her space had been the right thing to do.

  What the hell was he doing? He hadn’t flown all the way to Maine to sit in a rented room with his daughter and the woman he still loved a few miles away.

  “Now, that’s a good use of airline miles,” he muttered.

  He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the tiny shower. He wasn’t sure it was actually big enough for a hobbit, but he managed to get everything reasonably clean before damn near busting his ass on the bare floor.

  Clearly, someone was new at the bed and breakfast thing because there was one hand towel and a tiny bath towel. He supposed it could be worse. He could be drying off with a washcloth.

  He scrubbed his hands over his face then dug through his overnight bag for clothes.

  And discovered that he had nothing to wear. Literally.

  He sighed heavily. “And this is what packing while drunk gets you.”

  “Do you always talk to yourself?”

  The door to his room eased open, and he spun around. Sam stood in the doorway, arms folded over her chest. Her chestnut hair was pinned to the top of her head, her cheeks flushed.

  But it was her eyes that he noticed. In the deep blue eyes, he saw a spark of life that he hadn’t seen in…since before she deployed. The emptiness was still there, the darkness still filling them.

  It was a spark. A small one.

  But it was there.

  He dragged the tiny towel over his hips. “Doesn’t this place have locks?”

  She shrugged. “Why are you naked?”

  “Isn’t that a question normally reserved for Natalie?”

  Sam’s eyes sparkled. “You’re the one standing there in a towel.”

  He ran his tongue over his teeth. “So I didn’t really pack the right clothes for the trip.”

  Her lips almost twitched. “Did you forget underwear, too?”

  A flush crawled up his neck. “Maybe.”

  “Were you drunk when you packed?”

  The flush got a little hotter. “Maybe.”

  She shook her head slowly. “So what do you have?”

  He laid everything out on the bed. “A grand total of one sock, one pair of long john bottoms, a T-shirt and a toothbrush. No toothpaste.” He finally looked up at her. “Why are you here, Sam?”

  The wariness was instantly back, her eyes shuttering closed. “You didn’t answer my text,” she said quietly.

  “The phone still works.”

  She looked down at her booted feet. “I figured it was easier to talk to you in person. You flew all the way here and all that.”

  He looked at her for a long moment. A thousand ideas and harebrained schemes raced through his brain. She was here. They were alone.

  Hell, he was already naked.

  And hello, didn’t his body like the scenic detour his brain had decided to take.

  He swallowed and grabbed his pants off the floor.

  He met her gaze just as the fan kicked on in the small heater.

  He dropped the towel.

  And refused to look away as her gaze dropped down his body and back up ag
ain. He stood there, naked and exposed and completely at her mercy.

  He wondered if she knew that she could ask him anything at that moment and he’d probably do it.

  Her nostrils flared ever so slightly. Her eyes darkened. Just a little.

  It was the only sign that him standing there naked sparked any kind of reaction in her. But she didn’t move. And wasn’t that hell on the ego?

  “I’ve got to go buy some clothes,” he said, dragging his pants over his hips.

  “Going commando?”

  “Does that get you horny, baby?” Her lips twitched at the cheesy line from Austin Powers. A thousand small reactions but they added up to convincing him that he had a chance to fix this. A chance to reach her in whatever darkness had pulled her away from him and drag her back to him. Back to them. “I don’t really have many options right now, do I? Not with the storm coming in. And I have no earthly idea where a laundromat is around here.” He frowned. “I should probably know this but I’m drawing a complete blank. Where the hell can I get clothes?”

  “There’s a small trading post down the road in Greenville or you can ride to Wal-Mart in Newport.”

  “Isn’t Newport like an hour from here?” He usually let her drive when they came home. Their visits hadn’t been so long that he’d learned his way around without GPS.

  “Forty minutes.”

  “Seems like I should get what I need closer to home tonight. Or I could just wait until the storm passes.”

  She shook her head slowly. “You don’t want to be riding around without underwear or socks. If you go off the road, you’ll freeze off some of your bits and pieces.”

  He lifted one brow. “Sounds like you might be concerned with my bits and pieces.”

  She lifted one shoulder. “They’re nice bits and pieces.”

  He grinned and said nothing for a moment, not pressing his advantage in the opening she’d just left him.

  He wanted her. He’d love nothing more than to lay her down in that bed and feel her body surround him. He wanted to savor the heat from her skin, the soft, silken wetness between her thighs. He wanted to feel her gasp as he slid inside her. Wanted to feel her breath on his ear, her nails in his back.

  He wanted that and so much more.

  But looking at her standing near the door, seeing the faint hints of awareness sparking in her eyes, he had an idea.

  It was a terrible, terrible idea.

  It was dark and wicked and would either work beautifully or ruin everything.

  Chapter 7

  He’d asked if she’d go with him. To keep him from getting lost and dying in a snow bank on the side of the road.

  She’d thought about saying no. About heading back to her mother’s house and finishing decorating the Christmas cookies with Natalie and her mom.

  But Natalie was being strangely clingy with her grandmother, so Sam let her be when she’d told her mom she was going to go talk to Patrick.

  “Good,” she’d said simply. “Natalie and I will stay out of trouble. Promise.”

  She’d frowned. “What does that mean, Mom?”

  “It means that she’ll wear a helmet if we go out on Thomas’s snowmobile later today.”

  Sam had glanced at her watch. “It’s already one. It’ll be dark soon.”

  Darkness came early up in the great north woods. It had taken her a day to remember that when she’d gone into the grocery store in broad daylight and come out in pitch darkness. At four p.m.

  “Snowmobiles have headlights.”

  So her mother was making cookies, her daughter was being exceptionally cooperative, and Sam was shopping for clothes with a man she was leaving. She’d sent her mom a text to let her know she was going to be late.

  She’d gotten no response, which meant that Natalie and her mom were probably passed out from sugar overdose.

  Now, she meandered around the men’s department, looking at sweaters, turtlenecks, and other articles of clothing suitable for surviving the Maine winter.

  “I can’t believe how much flannel is still being sold in this state.”

  She turned to see him standing behind her. He wore a charcoal grey turtleneck beneath a red-checkered flannel shirt.

  “You look like an L.L. Bean commercial.”

  “I feel like an escapee from a Pearl Jam concert circa 1994.”

  “Pearl Jam concert goers did not wear turtlenecks with their flannel, and they damn sure didn’t tuck them in.” She tipped her chin at him. For the first time since she’d come home, she smiled and it felt normal. “Flannel is an incredibly functional fabric, especially at ten below.”

  “Yes, but it went out of style in the rest of the country somewhere around 1996.”

  “So did mom jeans, but you still see those up here, too.”

  He glanced around. “Really? There are pleated jeans for sale?”

  “Why do you know that pleated jeans are mom jeans?” She held up one hand. “Never mind, don’t answer that.” She paused, taking in the entire selection of clothing he’d picked out. “If flannel is so nineties why are you wearing it?”

  “Because this is the warmest thing I’ve tried on. Nerdy turtleneck included.”

  She shot him a baleful look. “You realize that men are supposed to run hot. It’s the women folk who are supposed to be cold.”

  “Are you calling me a woman? Because I might have to take offense to that.” He took a single step closer, blocking her from the view of the rest of the store. “I assure you, flannel or not”—he leaned closer, until his breath slid across her ear—“I’m all man, baby.”

  The corniness of his line did nothing to undermine the heat of his touch. She closed her eyes as his lips barely brushed the outside of her ear. A sliver of pleasure shivered over her skin. Her breath caught in her throat as she waited for the sensation of his lips against her skin in the place he loved to touch her.

  And then he was gone, his warmth replaced by the cool circulating air.

  He untucked the shirt. “I’ll be in the changing room.” He plucked a blue and grey sweater from a table.

  And left her there.

  She stood for a moment, watching his retreating back before he disappeared behind the curtain.

  She narrowed her eyes. He’d done that on purpose. He’d stepped too close, teased her with one of the things he knew drove her crazy.

  And then he’d simply stopped.

  She breathed deeply, wishing for a moment that things were normal. That the feelings he’d just sparked inside her weren’t fleeting.

  That the flash of desire hadn’t already faded, dissipating into the darkness inside her.

  She wanted to feel it again.

  Because in that single instance, she’d felt real. She’d felt whole.

  She’d felt like her again.

  She stuffed her hands inside her jacket pockets and walked toward the dressing room.

  “Hey, Sam?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you come check something out for me?”

  She paused. “Is this going to get us arrested?” Silence greeted her question. “Are you done trying things on?”

  More silence.

  “Patrick?”

  Nothing.

  She reached for the curtain.

  At the same time he stepped out.

  Wearing nothing but silkies—white ones that clung to his skin like some kind of superhero leotard, outlining every hard line and yes, every part of his body. He’d pulled them up high so the waist was up to his chest.

  “What do you think?”

  She covered her mouth and tried not to laugh. “That looks painful,” she said when she was sure she wouldn’t choke.

  “Well, it’s not like I’ve got any future kids to worry about.”

  The minute the words were out of his mouth, they both sobered. It was instant and simultaneous.

  She hesitated, only a moment, turning his words over and inspecting them and coming up with no easy answers. “What
are you talking about?”

  “Nothing. Never mind. It was a bad joke.”

  He disappeared into the changing room, leaving her feeling completely alone. He was two feet away and he might as well have been on the other side of the world.

  “Patrick?”

  He didn’t answer. She didn’t expect him to.

  She stood on the other side of the curtain. It would be so easy to step inside. To cross that threshold and wrap her arms around him and ask him to help her.

  I’m sorry. But the words wouldn’t form in her throat.

  Because there was so much for her to be sorry for, and she didn’t know where to start.

  But she was tired. So tired of feeling like a dead thing going through the motions.

  She stood there, on the other side of the curtain, unable to move, unwilling to leave.

  Stuck. Just like always.

  And she was so damn tired of being stuck.

  * * *

  He felt the air move across his bare back a moment before she stepped into the changing room.

  His pants hung open. His shirt was in his hands.

  Her coat was unzipped, revealing the red fleece vest she wore over god only knew how many layers of clothing.

  “Sam.” Her name was a whisper. A plea.

  A moment before he would have loved for her to step into this dressing room with him. Would have enjoyed standing a little too close. Running his lips down the edge of her ear the way he knew she liked.

  But right then, he needed some space. He wasn’t ready to have the conversation she probably expected the moment she stepped into that changing room.

  “I’m finished,” he said. “I’ll get dressed and we can go.”

  Her eyes betrayed her. He saw the unasked question looking back at him.

  It was his own fault. He shouldn’t have opened his damn mouth.

  But he’d been teasing her, and she’d been responding. Slowly, like a flower first stretching in springtime, he’d seen her, really her, not the shadow that had been masquerading as her.

  Then he’d slipped up.