“I heard Emma go into his room a little bit ago. They’re remarkably good at not holding grudges.”
Trent glanced toward Ethan’s bedroom, a deep unease twisting in his guts. He wasn’t sure he could handle another tantrum. The last one had crawled up his spine and attempted to stab him in the brain. “Really?”
She walked over to him and patted him on the shoulder. Funny, how she never tried to touch his chest. He’d done that to her. He’d made a part of himself off limits to her touch. He was such an idiot. He thought he was protecting her from the ugliness of the war. Instead, he’d only managed to cut one more piece of her out of his life.
“He’s six. He doesn’t bite. Go. Get your children.”
A few minutes later, Trent found himself in the middle of an argument over who got to sit on Daddy’s lap.
“I want to!” Emma said, standing with her fists on her hips and glaring up at her brother.
“I called it first!” Ethan said.
Trent had no idea how to mediate this one. Who did he pick? How did he stop this fight?
Laura stepped in to save him. “Neither of you will sit on Daddy’s lap because Daddy needs to eat, too. Each of you pick a side and eat.”
Trent glanced over at Laura, who was focused almost entirely on getting dinner on the table. How had she managed to diffuse that one so easily? Everything felt strange, unfamiliar. He didn’t have a battle rhythm for the kids, not like Laura obviously did. But the night was young. Maybe if he kept trying he could get through this. And maybe tomorrow, it would be a little bit easier.
* * *
Except for the tense set of his jaw, Trent was doing his best to make them laugh and let them be the center of his world.
He was trying. She had to give him credit for that. But that didn’t stop her heart from aching as she watched him carefully divide his attention between the kids. He laughed and talked with them and she had to keep reminding herself that he wasn’t going to stay. That this was just a temporary fix until the court-martial was over and he could run off happily back to the war.
Part of her was so angry with him for leaving her to raise them on her own and not giving her a choice. She knew army spouses would argue all day long that she needed to suck it up because they were at war and this was what she’d agreed to when she said “I do” to a military man.
And the sad part was there was another piece of her that was so incredibly, stupidly happy to have him home. When Laura looked at him, she wished she saw the man she’d loved enough to have two children with. The man she would have waited for as the years came and went, until the war was over.
In that man’s place sat a father who did not know his children. A husband who was a stranger to his wife.
Sadness ached behind her eyes at everything they’d lost. She got up and walked to the sink, needing something to do with her hands. They weren’t going to stay a family, so longing for the past wasn’t going to do her a damn bit of good.
If he beat the charges against him, he would leave again. She harbored no illusions that this brief interlude spent at home would end his relentless need for deployments. She knew without a doubt that Trent would deploy again, and she would have to deal with Ethan crying his eyes out because he wanted his daddy. Or with Emma crying just because Ethan was.
She was doing this for them. Maybe, just maybe, Ethan and Emma would remember this one moment of happiness before Trent left again. She got up and mechanically started putting away the leftovers and finished packing the kids’ lunches for the next day.
A chair scraped against the floor and then he was there behind her. He leaned against her to place his plate in the sink, his body hard and lean against hers.
Months of eating crappy chow at the National Training Center had eliminated any shred of softness he had ever had. Months of lonely nights sliced away at any hint of rational thought.
She froze at the first brush of his body against hers. It was a simple embrace. Nothing the kids would have noticed. Before, the space between them had been filled with awkward silence. Now it snapped and hissed like a live wire.
His breath stirred her hair and sent a chill down her spine.
Laura couldn’t have moved if she’d tried. A long-ignored need settled between her thighs and tingled over her skin. In all the years she’d spent alone, she’d never once thought of another man. Never looked at anyone else the way she looked at her husband. Never felt the desire to assuage the deep, abiding longing she carried inside her for him with someone else.
Sex between them had always been good. He’d always made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. And damn him, he had no right to do this to her now.
She shifted and pulled free from the embrace a moment before Emma shrieked. The mood disintegrated like a puff of baby powder.
She paused, avoiding his gaze.
“Laura—”
“Don’t, Trent.” She held up her hand, forcing space between them. “Don’t try to make me feel something that isn’t there.” She swallowed the hard lump of emotion in her throat. “We’re going to get through this hearing and then you’re going to walk away.” Just like always. “We’re over, Trent. We’re just playing the happy family. We’ll never be one again.”
The sooner he accepted that, the better off they would be.
He gripped the edge of the sink and hung his head like he was in pain. She was sorry for that, really she was.
But all the sex in the world couldn’t fix what ailed them.
* * *
Trent’s body was so tight it hurt. He held his head under the steaming water, willing his cock to soften. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt the heat of her body against his. Frustration clawed at his insides.
He didn’t know what had made him lean close enough to feel the warmth of her skin. The soft flesh of her neck had been within reach. A faint wisp of her skin had wrapped around him, urging him closer, and he’d surrendered to the impulse to touch her. Just feeling her body against his had nearly undone him. She’d been soft and warm against him. He’d almost wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, just so he could feel her breathing.
But she’d moved before his lips could touch the gentle swell of her ear. And he was paying for it now.
Could a man die from a constant erection? It was one thing to dream about his wife while he was deployed and thousands of miles away from her. But being near her and not being able to touch her? It was hell.
Screw Viagra. Back-to-back deployments were enough to fix erectile dysfunction.
He was so hard he thought he’d tear out of his skin. He could solve that problem easily but he wanted it to be Laura’s hand stroking him, not his own. He grasped the nozzle and turned the water from hot to ice.
His flesh puckered, and his dick finally cooperated, a little too well. His balls retreated and tried to climb back inside him. Good. Maybe he could think about something other than laying his wife down on their bed and sinking between her thighs.
He was home. For however long it took the army to finally decide whether or not he would face charges, he was home. Really home, beneath the roof he and Laura had bought together years ago. He just needed to figure out how to make this something more than just a roof over his head.
Toweling off, he walked into the bedroom and pulled out a pair of sweatpants from his duffel bag. He wasn’t sure how much of his clothing she’d left out, if any. He wasn’t really willing to dive in and ask, either—he was afraid of the answer. He didn’t like the idea of her boxing his things up.
He closed his eyes and instantly, the weight was there, pressing against his lungs, refusing to let him get enough air. He pinched the bridge of his nose and focused on breathing. Slowly, the disquiet in his soul eased back as his breathing evened out and he padded over to his duffel bag, pulling out the small orange bottle.
He didn’t feel a damn thing as he tossed back the tiny round pill, chasing it with water from the bathroom sink. The
anxiety medication would be a little stronger tonight since he was mixing it with alcohol. But maybe it would help him get through the evening relaxed. Maybe he could read a story to his kids without feeling like he couldn’t breathe.
He closed his eyes and reminded himself that he was home. He was safe. He was going to wake up tomorrow and have a nice, normal breakfast with his family. And do it all again the next day. And the day after that.
If he kept repeating it, it would be true.
“Hey?”
He turned suddenly, feeling like he’d been caught with his pants down.
“Are you okay?” She nodded toward the bottle in his hand.
Trent swallowed and looked around for his glasses, buying some time while he searched for the right words. She looked at him with cautious expectation in her eyes. No judgment, just curiosity.
He cleared his throat. He watched her, searching for any sign that she was freaked out. There was no movement on her face beyond a single glance at the orange pill bottle. “I don’t have PTSD or anything,” he said when he could speak. “They’re just… Doc said my normal is a little jacked up.”
“You’ve been back in the States for more than a year since your last deployment,” Laura said quietly.
“I know.” He looked down at his hands, shame twisting inside of him. “I can function okay enough at work and all. I’m used to that stress and everything. I just, ah, have a hard time with anything else.” Like being a husband. Or a father.
She looked away, biting her lip and pushing her hair off her forehead. But she didn’t speak and her silence hung around them like a heavy, wet blanket. “Oh,” she said finally.
“Laura.” He felt vulnerable, exposed. Embarrassed that she’d discovered what he hadn’t even realized that he’d hidden out of shame. He didn’t want her to think he couldn’t be around his family without medicating himself into a false state of calm, no matter how close to the truth it skirted. “I just need time to get used to everything back here.”
“Okay.” He wished he didn’t see disappointment shimmer in her eyes a moment before she turned away. “I’m glad you’re talking to someone, Trent.”
He heard what she did not say. That he wasn’t talking to her. That once more, he was cutting her out of some vital part of his life, pushing her to the periphery.
For a brief moment, she’d looked at him with expectation in her eyes, like she’d been waiting for him to open up and start pouring out his fears and nightmares. But it didn’t work that way. He didn’t want her to see the man who woke in the cold sweat on the off times that he did sleep. Didn’t want her to know about the fear that he hadn’t done enough, that he could always be doing more.
That no matter what he did, nothing would ever be enough to bring his boys back.
He didn’t want her to see that.
But she had.
And he didn’t know what to do next.
Chapter Nine
“Good night, sweetheart.” Laura leaned down and kissed her daughter on the forehead. Her hair was already starting to poof out all over her head but she smelled clean and warm. Laura paused for a moment and just rested there, her cheek against Emma’s head, soaking in the feel of her breath on her neck. Her little girl was growing up so fast.
“Mommy?”
She leaned up as Emma yawned. “Yeah, baby?”
“Is Daddy going to be here in the morning?”
Laura swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “Yeah, baby, Daddy will be here in the morning.”
A pleased smile spread across Emma’s face as she snuggled down in her blankets, clutching her stuffed bunny close to her chest. She made a happy little sound as Laura stood and left the room.
Laura closed Emma’s bedroom door quietly, relieved that there had been no more major tantrums from either child. She heard movement in the kitchen and found Trent washing the dishes by hand because she still hadn’t managed to fix the dishwasher. Maybe she’d get to it that weekend.
She paused in the archway of the kitchen and watched him move. She’d always joked with her married friends that the sexiest thing their husbands could do was take out the trash. He wore a pair of sweatpants and an old grey college t-shirt that stretched tight across his shoulders.
She did not miss how it hugged the muscles in his back or how he moved with ease and grace. She supposed it must be different, being home and not wearing his body armor all the time. Still, it did something to her insides to watch him—a man who had been the center of her fantasies for all of her adult life—do something as sexy as doing the dishes.
He reached up to put away a plate and caught her standing there. He’d taken his glasses off. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he offered a hesitant smile. “What?” he asked.
She curled her lips in response. “Nothing.” She didn’t want to admit she’d been caught staring.
“Kids asleep?” he asked, drying the plate in his hand.
“Yeah. They were whipped,” she said.
“Do they sleep through the night and everything?” he asked.
The attempt at small talk was awkward at best but he was making the effort. It was something small but something she appreciated. Maybe they needed the small talk.
It was better than the silence that had stretched between them for far too long.
She walked over to the sink, taking over drying duties while he finished washing. They fell into the rhythm easily. He washed then handed her the clean dish. She rinsed.
And they both tried to pretend that this was something normal that they did every night as opposed to an act performed by people who felt like strangers.
“Yeah, they sleep through the night. They’re not babies anymore,” she said.
He handed her the last plate. His fingers brushed hers. A gentle, not accidental, caress. A sweep of soapy fingers across her knuckles.
A simple touch. Nothing more than his fingers capturing hers and lingering over the empty space on her ring finger. One of his fingers slipped down the length of hers, a warm, soapy caress that made her insides twist.
She watched their hands for a moment, mesmerized by the movement of soap and skin. Her blood warmed as he tightened his grip, giving her ideas about impossible things. Things she shouldn’t want anymore. Not with him.
But she did. And that wouldn’t help anyone.
She slipped her fingers from his, rinsing the soap from her hands. She wished she didn’t miss the fluid strength in his arms as he moved, or the patchwork of scars that crisscrossed his hands from too much time at war.
He turned back and she wasn’t quick enough to avoid being caught again. He moved, just a little, and he was in her space. His hands were still wet. The water dribbled down her neck as he reached up to cup her cheeks. His thumb was slick as he stroked her skin gently. “I miss you,” he whispered.
* * *
He hesitated, giving her a chance to pull away. Giving her a chance to break this contact before it happened. But everything was twisting and alive inside him, feelings rushing in where none had treaded in far too long.
He wanted to kiss her. Wanted to feel her mouth move beneath his. Wanted to close his eyes and taste her so that just for one moment, he could remember that once, things had been good between them.
Her breath was a huff against his mouth. A gentle puff of air that brushed against his lips. Her hands rose, colliding with his chest, her palm resting over the scar on his heart. But for once, he didn’t care.
He kissed her. That first gentle nudge of lips, that whisper of shared breath. His tongue slid against hers, learning the taste of her all over again. And when her fingers curled into the scar over his heart, he was lost.
* * *
This was a mistake. Her brain knew it but her body shut down any protests and leaned in closer to the feel of this man. Her hands tightened, trying to hold on to this fleeting taste of him. It would end, all too soon; it would end and she wanted to savor the feel and touch and taste of him. Her
blood hummed through her veins, pounding in her ears until the only thing she could hear was the sound of their breathing over the beating of her heart.
If it was a mistake, it was a good one. One that felt more right than anything she’d done recently. She slid her hands over his powerful chest, threading her fingers through the short hair on the back of his head, and leaned into him. Telling him with her mouth, her lips, her body everything that she could not say.
It was Trent who eased away, nibbling gently on her lips with light, teasing nips. She looked up at him, lost in his beautiful dark eyes, filled tonight with desire, not torment. It would be so easy to take him into the bedroom. To close and lock the door and strip away the hurt and the pain and the loneliness until they were all that was left.
But it would be a mistake. A mistake that would break her heart once more.
His thumb brushed over her cheek. “Do you watch TV or anything?” he asked after an impossible silence.
“Not normally,” she said. Her voice sounded off to her own ears. Husky and filled with want.
“Would you tonight?” he asked. She wished she didn’t hear the odd note of hope in his words.
Standing there with him this close and for the first time in recent memory, well within reach, she decided to take a chance. Because her heart was going to break anyway, why not take a few moments of pleasure before it did?
“What did you have in mind?”
* * *
If Trent was hoping for a second miracle that night, he didn’t get one. He’d wanted her to sit close like they used to, hoped she would lean against him and just be. It didn’t happen but he couldn’t shake the sense of victory that wound through his insides.
She sat at the other end of the couch, her feet buried in the pillows near his hip. Not quite touching but not eagerly seeking distance between them, either. A tentative gesture. One that he would gladly accept.
He was conscious of her warmth, her presence. He wanted to lean closer, to pull her across that space and devour her mouth, kissing her for hours until they both forgot the barriers between them. Instead, he flipped through the channels, trying to find something for them to watch. He didn’t want to admit that he had no clue what was currently popular or worse, what Laura would want to see.
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