by Sara Arden
“I said get up, soldier. You made me a promise. You said you’d come back, but this isn’t you. This isn’t Jack McConnell.”
“You’re right. I told you, Jack McConnell is dead and I just brought his body back for you to mourn.”
“I don’t accept that. I said get up.”
“How!” he roared again, and it wasn’t a question.
“Ask me to help you.” Her voice was calm and steady.
“I didn’t beg when I was captured in Mosul. I’m not begging for anything here.”
“I don’t want you to beg. I want you to ask. There is no shame in that.” Her voice, while sweet, was braced with steel. “Ask me.”
“No.”
“Unacceptable.” She nudged him with her foot. “Ask and I’ll make it worth your while.”
“How could you conceivably do that? I can’t taste the sweets you make, and my dick doesn’t work. So what could you possibly offer me?”
“Right now I’m offering to restrain myself from kicking you. The Jack I used to know would knock your teeth down the back of your throat for talking to me that way.”
He sighed. She was right. “I’m sorry, Betsy. Just go.”
“Not a chance.” Her voice was softer now and she leaned down over him. “I will help you. I’m not leaving until you’re at least in that chair.”
“Fine. Help me.”
Seemingly satisfied she wasn’t going to get any better from him, she helped haul him upright. It was an effort, but she managed. He should’ve expected her strength; she carried around fifty-pound bags of flour all day and kneaded loaf after loaf of fresh bread for hours.
She didn’t try to help him to the chair. Instead he found his back against the wall and Betsy on her tiptoes, her matte red lips pressed against his with no care for the ruined part of his face. She kissed him wholly, completely.
It was as if those years had never passed and they were under the stars again the same as the night he’d left. Pieces of himself he thought long dead sparked and flickered—a bulb in a faulty socket. He tightened his arms around her, pressing her more firmly against him.
She felt so good. It had been so long since anything felt good. She even tasted like vanilla. That had to be his imagination because he hadn’t been able to taste anything but ash since he’d awakened from the burning hell of his nightmares into a real world just as awful.
Jack deepened the kiss, tasting more of her, storing up the memories of vanilla and sugar. Betsy broke the kiss all too soon and pulled away from him, and the new bud of light that had taken root grew dark. He’d have given anything to turn it back on.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jack.”
He didn’t respond, only watched her go.
She turned halfway out the door and light from the street lamp pooled around her. “In case you were wondering, everything seems to be working just fine.” She shut the door behind her.
CHAPTER THREE
BETSY’S LIPS TINGLED from the passionate kiss. Her body burned with need, and those fireworks she’d been talking about with India had burst to bright and heated life. Even tasting the whiskey on his breath, even scarred as he was, his mouth was still the only thing that had ever lit a blaze so hot. Being pressed against his hard body... Yes, everything was in deliciously proper working order.
Except for the most important spark. The flame that was inside him that made him Jack. There was a darkness in him now that was so heavy it threatened to smother all the light.
Betsy refused to allow that to happen. She’d meant what she said. She would save him whether he wanted her to or not. When she was drowning, she’d had no way to ask for help, and she figured that analogy couldn’t be more spot-on. He was drowning in the dark.
Jack had taught her that life was meant to be lived. He’d shared part of his spark with her, and that was why she had to ignite that inside him again no matter what it took.
She cast a glance back at the house over her shoulder as she headed to her car. Jack was at the window. Betsy knew he would be—he’d watch over her until she was safely locked in her vehicle.
She held up her hand in a gesture that wasn’t quite a wave, but more of a thank-you as she unlocked the door and slid inside.
She drove the short way to her mother’s house on Westwood, and the memory of the night he left crashed over her. Betsy pushed it away; she didn’t want to remember. It was too much like holding on to a dream that could never be real.
Except it had been real and it was over. Time marched forward, their lives changed, but she’d never forgotten how he made her feel.
And the night she’d said goodbye to a dream.
Jack McConnell had been all-American perfect.
The boy who’d been an Eagle Scout, volunteered at the homeless shelter in the city, an all-star quarterback and a straight-A student had graduated from BUDs. Jack was officially a navy SEAL, the best of the best.
And just as he’d come home from BUDs, Betsy had had to say goodbye again. But before he left to serve his country, there was something he had to know. Something that couldn’t wait.
Betsy was in love with him.
Nothing else mattered but making sure Jack knew he had a reason to keep himself safe—to come home. Her mind flashed back to that night.
* * *
HER HEART WAS so full of him, it actually hurt. Sometimes she wondered if it was possible to love someone so much a heart could burst.
The party Betsy’s parents organized in the community center gym to send him off in patriotic style was in full swing. Couples moved on the floor to a high school band that supplied melody while others scavenged the potluck buffet. Veterans and active-duty service members shook Jack’s hand. They thanked him for his service. The man who ran the military memorabilia store teased him and said even though he’d chosen the navy, Jack was still okay in his book and guffawed.
Jack took it all in with a good-natured grin that was his trademarked expression. He turned to her, as if he felt her eyes, and gave her a smile that was only for her. He excused himself from his well-wishers.
“Hey, sweet thing. Did you have a good time?”
She smiled. “The party was for you.” Betsy didn’t know how she could be expected to have a good time when he was leaving again.
“No fun at all?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Not a single bit.” She gave him a conspiratorial look. “You can make it up to me, though.”
“Oh can I? Who says I want to?” he teased.
“You never tell me no.”
“And now I’m paying the price.” He slipped his arm around her waist.
Betsy couldn’t help the thrill that jolted through her at the contact. His hands were so warm; his whole body radiated heat and the sensation stole nearly every thought in her head. “You can let me go with you to the bus station.”
“Bets. We talked about this. You’re still in high school and you shouldn’t be out by yourself that late at night. It’s dangerous.” He held up his hand to silence her when she would’ve interrupted him. “And I don’t want my last memory of tonight to be you red-eyed and snot-nosed.”
Betsy had other plans for his memories of tonight, but she had to get him to agree to the bus station first. “I promise I won’t cry until you’re gone, and Caleb said he’d bring India to ride home with me so I won’t be alone.” Betsy bit her lip. “Please? I need to tell you something and I don’t want to tell you here.”
“What’s this about?” His confusion looked genuine.
As if he didn’t know how she felt or what she could possibly want to tell him. All the more reason this was so important.
“I’ll tell you if you come with me. You’ve had enough of the party, right? Wouldn’t you rather have some of my mother’s fried chicken and my N
utella cheesecake cookies down by the river?”
“Sometimes I think you know me too well. The party, your parents, it was great, but—” He shrugged.
“They know that. My mother packed the picnic basket in my car.”
“I’m going to miss Lula’s cooking.”
You could have it every day if you stay. Of course, Betsy didn’t say that. This was the life he’d chosen, the one he wanted. Either she could behave like an adult and support him, or she could be a selfish child worried only about her own feelings. She was trying very hard to be the kind of woman he needed.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away. “Come on, then.” She grabbed his hand and led him out to the parking lot.
Betsy was so nervous her knees shook and she considered herself lucky she was able to walk upright and didn’t fall on her face. Not only did Betsy plan on telling Jack she loved him; she planned on showing him, too. It would be perfect. Moonlight and stars, the smells of the grass and his cologne would be indelibly marked into her memory. The taste of the homemade blackberry cordial she’d smuggled out of the pantry on their lips.
Or so she’d read in the books her mother kept under her bed. Of course she’d heard things from friends, but Betsy preferred to think it would be like the books rather than sweaty grunting and strange faces with a gearshift digging into her back.
Whatever it was, she decided it would be perfect because it was with Jack.
The community center overlooked the Missouri River, but there were still too many people around for what she intended. Betsy drove to a small campsite close to the riverbanks and parked. They walked a short trail to a secluded spot where she spread out the red-and-white-checkered blanket.
“It’s been a long time since we’ve been here. I thought you forgot.”
When she was younger, after he’d saved her from drowning, Jack had brought her here to show her the river wasn’t something to fear. It was powerful and should be respected, marveled at, but never feared. She always felt so safe with him, which was why this was the perfect spot. Something else new to experience with him.
A small voice niggled at the back of her brain asking what if he said no? What if he didn’t want her? Betsy refused to think about that. Fate was never wrong, and she knew with a certainty as deep as her bones that Jack McConnell was her fate.
“How could I forget, Jack?”
She pulled out the cordial and offered him the bottle.
“Does your mother know you have that?” he asked.
“I told you that she packed the basket.” A teensy, tiny lie. Infinitesimal, really.
Of course he could see straight through it. “You’re a horrible liar.”
“What she won’t know won’t hurt her. It’s just a little bit and it’s just tonight.”
“Only one sip if you plan on driving me to the bus station,” Jack admonished.
A four-letter word clanged in her brain like a gong. She hadn’t thought of that. “Like I said, just a little bit. My grandmother calls it her tonic, so it must be good for us.” Betsy grinned.
“So, what did you need to tell me that was so important?”
No! Not yet. She had to let him relax into the moment before she pounced. “In a minute. Right now I want to lie back and be still with you. We’ll make our own constellations in the stars like we used to when my brother was playing Ghost in the Graveyard and wouldn’t let me play. How was it you always got stuck with little sister duty?” Betsy laughed and reclined on the blanket, close enough to touch him.
“I volunteered.”
More sparks burst in her stomach and Betsy swore her fingers were numb. Simply being this close to him and knowing he wanted to spend time with her, too, it short-circuited something vital.
“That one, over there.” Betsy pointed, leaning so her head was almost on his chest. “It looks like a lollipop.”
“You see sweets everywhere. In clouds, stars, and probably when you sleep.”
“I do,” Betsy admitted. “I dreamt about spring cake last night.”
“What’s spring cake? Or do I dare ask?”
“You’d love it. It’s going to be yellow cake with lemon. Just enough for a bit of tart, but otherwise sweet with key lime frosting, I think.”
“You’re going to make some man very lucky someday, sweet thing.”
Her heart thudded so loud for a second, she couldn’t hear anything else. It was now or never. “What about you, Jack?” she asked quietly.
“No, I doubt I’ll make any man happy.”
Was he being purposefully obtuse? The night was suddenly still, a calm before the storm, but Betsy wanted the storm. She needed it more than her next breath. “Would I make you happy?”
“Jesus, Bets.”
That was not the response she’d been looking for, but she forged ahead. “What I wanted to tell you is that I’m in love with you.”
He propped himself up on his elbow and he studied her a moment before he spoke. “I know you think you feel these things, but it’s only because I’m going away. You’re scared because things are changing, and that’s okay. I may be leaving here, but I’m not leaving you.”
“Things have already changed, Jack. I will admit that I’m scared, but it made me realize I want to spend every day with you. Every night.”
His face was unreadable. “You don’t know what you’re saying, what you’re asking for.”
He was determined to be the good guy. She’d known this part would be difficult, but that was part of why she loved him. Even if she had to work harder to get what she wanted—happily ever after with Jack McConnell. “Don’t I?”
Being bold was easier now that she’d already said she loved him. Betsy looped her arm around his neck and pulled him down to her. She tilted her mouth up to kiss him, and as soon as their lips met, lightning coursed through her veins and she swore that for the briefest millisecond, the spark between them stopped her heart.
His kiss was everything she’d hoped it would be. Strong and sure, but passionate and tender. She knew the stars burned brighter and hotter because she could see supernovas behind her eyes.
He became the aggressor, shifting his hard body on top of hers, his fingers tangled in her hair. Betsy loved that he was touching her, but she wanted him to touch her everywhere. Not just her hair. The fire of her need burned her from the inside out.
This was sheer bliss and just as she’d imagined, she committed every sensation to memory. The exploding stars, the scent of him, the texture of his shirt under her palms and the taste of the cordial on his mouth, which was more potent than she could’ve imagined. They’d drink this at their wedding.
His hands wandered down to her hips and slid beneath her dress and up her thigh. Betsy couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think; she could only feel. He broke the kiss, his mouth trailing down the column of her throat.
This was actually happening. “Yes, Jack. Please,” she urged.
He stopped all the delicious things he was doing and stared at her as if she’d morphed into a two-headed dog.
“Betsy! I’m so sorry.” He scrambled away from her, his breathing ragged.
“Don’t you dare be sorry!” Betsy straightened herself. “I have my own brain, which works just fine, and a mouth to say what I do and do not want.”
“You’re only sixteen.”
“I’m not a kid anymore, Jack. I may be a young woman, but I am a woman.”
“I’m not talking about your body. I’m talking about your life. Your experiences.”
“So give me some,” she blurted.
He closed his eyes, his jaw clenched. “You can’t say things like that. Someone will take advantage of you.”
“Obviously not.” She eyed him expectantly and all of her bravado melted away
as that tiny voice whispered doubts in her head. “Unless you don’t, you’re not...” She pursed her lips and shook her head, unable to finish asking if he wasn’t attracted to her.
“You’re beautiful, sweet thing. Your letters during basic and BUDs kept me sane.” Jack paused. “I’ll admit I thought about you more than I should have. In ways I shouldn’t have. But, Betsy, you’re Caleb’s little sister and where I’m going, I can’t put that life on you.”
Betsy accepted what he said, but it wasn’t surrender. Fate didn’t make mistakes. She grabbed his hand. “Then I’ll wait for you. Just promise you’ll always come home no matter what it takes.”
He took off the tags from around his neck and pressed the warm metal into her hand. “I promise.”
She knew there was nothing else to say then but goodbye.
They drove to the station in silence, and when it was time for him to board, Betsy gave him a fierce hug.
Rather than tell him she loved him again, she whispered in his ear, “Don’t forget your promise.”
“I won’t.” He brushed his lips lightly over the crown of her head and boarded the bus without looking back.
Betsy stood alone in the pale, sodium light of the station with his dog tags clutched in her fingers and kept her own promise. She didn’t cry until the bus was gone.
* * *
THAT WAS THE last time she’d seen him, before todday.
Now he was back and her stupid heart didn’t understand how much things had changed. How much he’d changed.
Betsy knew the only way this could end was badly—that was one thing her heart did understand.
And it didn’t care.
CHAPTER FOUR
JACK COULDN’T FACE HER after what had happened.
He’d been so weak, so powerless, so broken. His failure had been splayed wide in front of her like an autopsy, but she hadn’t turned away from him, which was worse somehow. Maybe because it was obvious she thought he could be fixed.
But some things, once broken, couldn’t be pieced back together—parts were missing.
