He knelt and met their full-frontal assault head on.
“Daddy, did Mommy tell you what Fluffy did last night?” Ethan asked, jockeying for position directly in front of him. Emma squawked and elbowed her brother.
“No hitting,” Trent said, more sharply than he’d intended.
Emma’s tiny black brows furrowed. “Not nice, Daddy,” she said, waggling a finger at him. “No shouting.”
Trent raised both eyebrows and almost smiled at the serious look on his daughter’s face. A look he’d seen on Laura’s face once or twice. She was a miniature version of his wife, except her hair was longer and darker, her cheeks rounded with the chubbiness of childhood.
From across the small living room, someone laughed, and Trent looked away, meeting the eyes of his longtime friend Shane Garrison. “Never thought I’d see the day when a four-year-old would leave you speechless,” Shane said.
“Yeah, well, she’s her mother’s daughter.” He glanced down at the kids, unsure of how to extricate himself from their embraces. “Do you guys have any stuff you need to police up?”
Ethan frowned. “Why would we put our toys in jail?”
Behind him, Laura laughed softly. “Daddy means go pick up your toys, guys.”
The kids disappeared somewhere, and Laura padded over to the kitchen. Shane leaned against the small couch, bracing his hands behind him, only a hint of stiffness in his movements from the injuries that had taken him out of combat less than a year ago. “Any progress on the court-martial front?”
Trent leaned against the arm of the chair next to him. “Patrick is trying to get the whole court-martial thrown out,” he said, answering Shane’s unspoken question.
“That’s good.” He was happy to see Shane up and about. His friend was back to shaving his head and he looked like he’d packed on more than a few extra pounds of solid muscle. “Carponti left your truck here and said thanks.”
“How’s the wedding planning going?”
“I’d rather not say,” Shane said with a grimace, running his hand over his bald head. “We—and by ‘we’ I mean all of us—are going shopping this weekend. Don’t argue. I need your support or I might have to turn in my man card.”
Trent grinned, feeling more relaxed than he had all afternoon. “What are we shopping for?”
“Wedding stuff. Apparently, there is a whole lot more that goes into a wedding than a pretty dress and a willing woman.” Shane rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, a faint smile teasing his lips. “My first marriage was at the Justice of the Peace on a Saturday afternoon. This is much more complex.” He glanced into the kitchen at Jen. Shane was not an overly emotive guy but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth said more than any words could. “And infinitely more worth it.”
Trent had never seen the man more at ease, not once in the more than fifteen years they’d known each other. It showed in the relaxed lines around his mouth, the lack of tension in his shoulders.
He turned slightly to look into the kitchen, where Laura was helping Jen clean up. Watching her talk with her friend, he saw the side of his wife that he loved best. Her quick smile. Her easy laugh. The way her eyes lit up when she was surrounded by people she cared for.
The way she no longer looked at him.
Trent cleared his throat and looked away before she caught him watching her. He glanced at Shane, and realized he’d been caught nonetheless.
“How are things going with Laura?” Shane asked softly.
A shriek from upstairs drifted down to them. How had the kids even made it up there so quickly? Trent started for them but a quick glance at Laura told him there was no need to go rushing to the rescue. It was amazing how she knew what was serious and what wasn’t.
“About as well as can be expected,” Trent said mildly.
“That bad, huh?”
Shane threw a quick glance toward the kitchen then looked back at Trent for an explanation. Trent sighed and jerked his head toward the screened-in porch at the back of Jen’s house. When they got outside, he filled Shane in on Patrick’s Hail Mary attempt to get the court-martial thrown out. As he spoke, Shane’s expression hardened.
“That’s a screwed up thing to do,” he said quietly.
“I didn’t ask her to do it,” Trent said.
“But you’re not going to stop her.” There was judgment in Shane’s tone, harsh and unforgiving.
Trent ground his teeth, yanking back his temper. “I don’t want to raise my kids from jail.”
“But you were fine with attempting to raise them from Iraq and Afghanistan.” Shane crossed his arms over his chest, bracing his feet wide like a fighter.
“That’s not fair.”
“No, what’s not fair is letting Laura do this. What’s it going to do to the kids? Did you think about them?”
He had, but not how Shane had implied. He’d thought about going home and being in the house with them. About putting them to bed at night. Shane’s words hit him like a tank: If he did this—if he granted Laura the divorce—he would be lying to them as well as to the world. And they were too little to understand.
They would hate him.
He shoved his glasses to the top of his head in frustration and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I want my family back. And I don’t know how to make that happen.”
Shane was quiet for a long moment. He shifted against the support beam then folded his arms over his chest. The massive black tattoos that covered his arms writhed with his movement.
“When I was hurt, Laura came to see me in the hospital.” Shane stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the wall. “It was right after she’d found out you’d been volunteering to go on all these missions. She was wrecked. She asked me why you stayed away. Why you’d volunteered for combat time and time again. Why you told her you loved her and still volunteered to leave your family. I told her I didn’t know. I still don’t know. You love her. You love your kids. You,” and Shane pointed a finger at Trent, “came home. That’s a gift. And you’re wasting that gift, brother.” He sighed hard. “I don’t like this idea.”
“I don’t either. It’s another lie,” Trent said. Added to the ones he’d already told his wife. To the ones he’d told himself when he fell asleep at his desk instead of double-checking the threat assessment from the knucklehead intelligence officer. Or personally checking on the maintenance of the weapons systems. He hadn’t pushed hard enough. He could have done more to stop his boys from dying.
Instead he’d been laid out on a gurney while his boys continued the fight in Sadr City. He should have been out there when Mack and Pete had gotten blown up, when Story had taken their boys back into the fight because Trent had been on his ass. The docs hadn’t believed him when he’d said he was fine; he needed to go.
Because he hadn’t been fine. But he’d been determined to get back into the fight.
But Mack and Pete were already gone. And the war had gone on without him.
He cleared his throat, yanking himself out of the bitter memory.
“You’re right; it would be. It would be using your wife for a chance to gain your freedom. And that’s wrong no matter how bullshit the charges against you are. You should fight this court-martial with everything you have.” He cleared his throat. “Except Laura.”
“I know that,” Trent said quietly.
But damn his soul to hell, he wasn’t going to stop her. He wanted to go home where officers weren’t trying to stab each other in the back to make sure their report card was the best. Where the roads weren’t hiding bombs in dead things and debris. Where he could hear all the noise and chaos that the kids made and not worry that a bomb would go off, destroying innocence and lives. It was a façade, a grasping chance at a dream he could never enjoy. It might be a façade but it was still a chance. A chance to be around his wife and his kids without letting the dirt and the grime and the hatred of war into their lives. He could do this, right? Without polluting them with the evil t
hat war made good men do? Here was a chance to prove to himself that he could do this, that he could be more than just a soldier. That he could be a husband and a father.
It was the only chance he had.
* * *
“You don’t have to help clean up,” Jen said, folding a towel in the handle on the stove.
“Of course I do. You’ve been babysitting my spawn for the last five hours. And you even fixed them a snack.” Laura wiped the center island with a paper towel. “Now show me the dress you want to order.”
A hesitant smile crept across Jen’s lips as she turned over a magazine she’d dog-eared, pulling it open to the marked page. “This is the one.”
“Oh honey, I love it,” Laura whispered. The gown was a classic A-line, delicate lace over chiffon. Pearls shimmered over the bust. Laura smiled as she imagined her friend in the beautiful gown. “You’ll look amazing in this.” She glanced up at Jen and was surprised by her wistful expression. “What?”
Jen shrugged her shoulder. “I had to have them alter it. I can’t wear a strapless dress.”
Laura’s throat closed off at the sadness in her friend’s voice. Jen had never expected to have the problem of finding a wedding gown. After the surgery that had removed her breast to save her life, she’d been convinced that no man would want her.
She’d never guessed that buying a wedding dress would be in her future.
Laura covered Jen’s hand with her own, refusing to allow her friend to sink into sadness. “Do you honestly think Shane is going to care what you’re wearing on the day you marry him?” she asked softly.
Jen’s smile brightened. “He told me he’d marry me naked if that’s what it took to get me down the aisle.”
“Sounds like something Carponti would say, not Shane,” Laura said.
“They’ve spent a lot of time together this past year.”
Laura grinned. “Carponti’s sense of humor hasn’t failed him yet.”
“Tell that to Shane,” Jen said softly. “And while you’re at it, tell Carponti there is nothing wrong with red velvet cake.”
“Red velvet cake? Seriously? Do you even like red velvet cake?”
Jen smiled. “Shane does, apparently. Carponti insists it was made by the devil.”
“Shane does not strike me as the kind of man who has a preference for any kind of cake,” Laura said dryly. She glanced over her shoulder at Trent and Shane, who were standing in the screened-in back porch, talking in low voices. She and Trent had had yellow cake with buttercream frosting at their wedding. It had been small but perfect. Just close friends and family. Trent had worn his Dress Green uniform and she remembered how handsome he’d looked. She’d never in a million years have thought that day would lead to this one: the day she’d made a bargain to end her marriage.
“Where’d you go just then?” Jen asked quietly.
“Thinking about the day I married Trent.” Laura sighed and leaned on the center island, cupping her chin in her palm. “Trent has a chance to beat the charges against him.”
“Oh?”
Laura explained what Patrick had asked her to do. She avoided Jen’s eyes while she spoke, unable to face the judgment she was sure to find there.
“Are you going to do it?” Something in Jen’s voice made her look up.
Laura nodded slowly. “Yeah, I am.”
Jen said nothing and turned to put dishes away. “Can I ask why?” she said after a long moment.
“Because Trent may have done a lot of things wrong, but I don’t think I believe…” she stopped and sucked in a deep breath. The rumors might have been something she couldn’t ignore but in her heart, she’d never wanted to believe them. And if Patrick thought they were bullshit—maybe—well maybe they were. “I don’t want to take the kids to visit daddy in prison on the weekends.” A convenient lie. Maybe if she repeated it often enough, she would start to believe it.
“A valid reason but this isn’t about the kids. At least not entirely,” Jen said quietly. “What about you? This isn’t going to be easy.”
“I know.” Laura looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together in the towel to keep them from trembling. The empty space on her finger felt heavy. “But it’s not about me anymore. Trent and I are over. We’re going to put on a happy face for the trial, and whether he beats it or not, he’s promised to grant me a divorce.”
She looked up to find Jen studying her.
“That’s a far cry from the woman who wept the last time he deployed.” Jen’s voice was a whisper. Laura was sure she hadn’t meant the words as judgment; Jen didn’t have a mean bone in her body, but Laura felt judged and found lacking anyway.
“Yeah, it is. But I just don’t know how to do it anymore. I don’t know how to be the dutiful wife to a husband who is never really coming home.” Her voice cracked and she blinked rapidly, refusing to cry over him again.
Jen leaned across the island, squeezing Laura’s hands. “If he hadn’t lied, if he hadn’t been volunteering for all those tours, would you still have waited for him?”
Laura’s throat closed off and she blinked rapidly. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
Jen shifted then and pulled her into a hug. “Then do this cautiously, because I don’t want to see you hurt any more than you already have been.” She paused. “And I’d hate to have to have Shane kick his ass. It might do some damage to their friendship.”
Laura gave a strangled laugh and she broke their embrace, swiping at the moisture in her eyes that had nearly leaked out. “Not funny.”
“Who’s joking?” Jen’s smile was wicked. She squeezed Laura’s shoulders. “I’m here, okay? Vent, scream, whatever. I’m here for you.”
Laura hugged her again. “Thank you.” She knew Jen would be there for her but it was still nice to hear. “So let’s change the subject to something less depressing. Are we still doing lunch with Nicole tomorrow to figure out the colors and stuff?”
“Oh, yes. You cannot plan a wedding without the queen of makeup in this little club. Nicole is the only reason I will have any cosmetics whatsoever for this little event.”
“Oh, come on. Makeup shopping will be fun. And she will ensure you look fabulous for your special day. Add in the bonus of getting to see your dress this weekend.” Nicole knew every tip and trick to hide a blemish or make you look like you’d had a full eight hours of sleep after being up all night with a sick child. And she made it all look so effortless. Which was why she was in charge of cosmetics for this wedding.
Jen smiled but Laura didn’t miss her nervousness. She’d healed so much from being with Shane but she would always be a little self-conscious when it came to makeup. “We’re going to drag the menfolk along this weekend, too. They need to try on their tuxes, and Nicole wants to get Carponti to look at some new furniture at some ridiculously expensive store in Austin.”
“That ought to be a blast,” Laura said dryly. Any time Carponti was involved there was no telling what would happen, but he would go a long way to filling the awkwardness of Trent and Laura’s difficulties. “Explain to me again why the guys aren’t just wearing their dress blues?”
Jen smiled. “Because Shane has some strange notions about doing this wedding ‘right.’ ”
“O-kay,” Laura said.
She glanced outside where Trent and Shane continued their conversation in the fading Texas light. She was bringing her husband back to the house she’d made into a home without him. Back to the family she’d raised without him. She was terrified about being alone with him. Terrified of the memories that he stroked to life.
She wanted their marriage to be over. She wanted to move on with her life.
Somehow, that goal seemed further out of reach than it had ever been.
And that scared the hell out of her.
* * *
The kids were racing around upstairs, their feet pounding across the floor like a herd of baby elephants. He could hear them clearly even though he stood on the porch ou
tside. He rubbed the scar over his chest, fighting the urge to go upstairs and tell them to just sit still. For just a minute. That’s all he needed. Just a minute of quiet to pull everything back inside.
But that wasn’t happening. Laura seemed immune to the noise. She was talking quietly with Jen, leaning over a magazine. He stopped near the door, still on the patio and hidden in the shadows. Her hair spilled over one cheek, her expression soft and smiling. God but he wanted to see that smile turned toward him. Just once.
The tightness in his chest squeezed tighter and tighter until he couldn’t breathe. He turned away, facing out over the field behind Jen’s house. Watching the stars twinkle in the black carpet of the night sky. It was safe. There would be no red flares filling the sky tonight. No explosions to jerk him out of sleep. No big voice on the loudspeaker warning about an incoming rocket attack.
He heard the stampede overhead and he just needed it to stop. He didn’t trust himself. Laura was letting them run so it had to be okay, right?
“Hey, are you okay?”
Laura had slipped onto the back porch and he had been so consumed by the panic clutching at his chest, the pounding need for silence, that he hadn’t heard her. He looked down at her, her face cast in shadows. There was worry in her eyes, concern in that simple, loaded question.
“I can’t come home tonight.”
He couldn’t. There was too much twisted and raw inside him, too much that he was afraid to let Laura see. He could go home tomorrow night.
He’d have a better handle on things then.
“Were you going to talk to me about that or just make the decision all by yourself?” Just like that the softness was gone, leaving the familiar disappointment in her eyes.
Would he always let her down?
“I… I just figured you could prepare the kids for it tonight and tomorrow would be better. Less crazy?”
When he was ready to face his home and his family and was better prepared. Because everything was rioting inside him and he felt his temper snapping at the leash. He’d done better at keeping it under control but not enough. He couldn’t let her see.
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