Back to You

by Jessica Scott

  She was still his. Her heart knew it. Her body knew it.

  She shifted again, slipping her slick, wet heat against his erection, caressing him, teasing him. His eyes shot open the moment she nudged him closer, until his cock was poised at the opening of her sex.

  He clung desperately to the ability to think as she twisted her hips on the tip of his cock.

  His breath lodged in his throat as she slid the barest fraction of a movement, sucking the tip inside her, teasing him with the warmest, wettest heat. He clenched his fingers into her hips and her answering gasp rocked his world.

  Another movement and she slid slowly, fully onto him, taking everything deep, deep inside her.

  This was more than just sex. This was more than arousal or a quick screw.

  This was coming home. This was coming back to the place where he belonged. His wife’s loving embrace. His wife’s beautiful pleasure as she lifted her hips from his before sliding down his length once more.

  He let her control the pace. Let her take her own pleasure from him. Because watching desire paint her features and slick over her skin was its own reward. Her nails dug into his chest as she rode him, her gasps coming quick and fast and matching her pace.

  He gripped her hips as she rocked against him, drawing out the sweetest pleasure, the harshest pain. He opened his mouth to speak but no words could break past the powerful lump lodged in his throat.

  He rode the wave of loving her as long as he could, until she trembled and exploded and vibrated in his arms once more.

  He rolled them over, lifting her legs around his hips and sinking so, so deep inside her. Her hair spread out on the pillow, framing her in a soft, golden halo. Her body vibrated beneath his, the wave of her orgasm riding over his cock as he surrendered to the darkest need and drove home.

  Afterward, he rested his forehead against hers and the damp sting of tears coated his cheek. He would never know if they’d been his or hers.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Somebody got lucky last night.” Nicole looked up from where she was cracking open eggs.

  Laura’s face heated as she herded the kids into Jen’s living room, armed with snacks, games, and crayons. Somehow she doubted they were going to be satisfied with anything less than power tools but she was still hoping they’d opt for a safer distraction.

  Ethan was convinced he was helping Daddy build the deck, as he called it.

  The kids raced to the back porch where Trent was already powwowing with Carponti. Jen busied herself near the stove, flipping pancakes to add to the already massive stack on the center island.

  “None of your business,” Laura said with a smile.

  Jen walked into the kitchen and Laura knew instantly that something was wrong. “Whoa. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just didn’t sleep well last night,” she said, more sharply than usual.

  Laura glanced at Nicole, who shrugged. Walking over to stand next to Jen, Laura put a hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”

  Jen’s movements were jerky as she flipped the next pancake on the griddle. There were dark circles under her eyes, and they were so prominent that concealer wasn’t doing much to hide them.

  Silence fell over the kitchen like a shroud. And Laura felt a tiny curdle of panic take hold in her belly.

  “Jen?” She dared to reach for her friend, her hand gentle on her shoulder. Fear clutched at her, twisting in her belly like a toxic, living thing. “Are… are you sick again?”

  The last pancake came off the griddle and Jen set the spatula down, her eyes fixed on the black cooktop of the stove.

  Her bottom lip trembled and the dam broke.

  * * *

  “Where the hell is the gimp?” Carponti asked, standing on the back porch, holding a stainless steel coffee mug.

  “Haven’t seen him yet,” Trent said, eyeing the cup of coffee enviously.

  “You look like you had a hell of a night,” Carponti said. “Your wife finally take your dick off the no-contact order?”

  Trent laughed. “Something like that.” He cleared his throat. “Things are going good.” Too good. A goodness that he feared would slip through his fingers no matter how tightly he held on to it.

  Nicole stepped onto the back porch, her expression somber. “Shane’s upstairs. Go talk to him.”

  “What’s wrong?” Carponti asked.

  “Just go. He needs you both right now. And no smart-ass remarks.”

  Trent was up the stairs in an instant, Carponti right behind him.

  They found Shane sitting on the edge of his bed. He was bent forward, his elbows on his knees.

  Never in all the years he’d known the man had Trent seen him look so bleak, so drained of hope. His mouth was pressed flat, his eyes damp.

  “Oh shit,” Carponti whispered, for once serious.

  Fear slithered in, dragging the c-word back with it. Jen was a survivor. She was young.

  She’d sacrificed one breast to beat the cancer that had ravaged her body. It couldn’t be back. Not now. Not so soon after she and Shane had found each other.

  They stood in simple, heavy silence. It was a long moment before Shane shifted, dragging his hand over his mouth. The words, when he spoke, came from a voice ravaged and raw.

  “Jen’s pregnant.”

  The air shifted around them. The news wasn’t so dark after all. But based on Shane’s reaction, it was clearly still terrifying.

  Trent searched for anything to say that would ease the ragged grief in his friend’s voice.

  “So,” Carponti said slowly, “your sperm are experts at escape and evasion, huh?”

  Shane’s expression broke, and he gave a sharp laugh that sounded suspiciously like a sob. Trent shook his head and elbowed Carponti in the ribs.

  “Ow!” he rubbed his side. “What the hell was that for? It’s true, isn’t it? How the hell else do you explain how they made it past the vasectomy?”

  Shane scrubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know.” His voice was pained.

  But the tension had snapped, broken a little beneath the irreverence of Carponti’s joke. Trent stepped into the room, leaning on the high dresser.

  “This is not a good thing, is it?” He had no idea if getting pregnant after breast cancer was advisable. Judging by Shane’s expression and obvious distress, it was not.

  “No, it’s not a fucking good thing,” Shane snapped, rubbing his hand roughly over the back of his neck. “I’m freaked the hell out about her cancer coming back and she’s busy flipping through baby books.” Shane scrubbed his hands over his face.

  “Wait. She wanted this?” Carponti said, stepping in and leaning against the open doorway.

  “Yeah. She was really upset with me about the vasectomy. I thought we’d taken care of everything. I—fuck.”

  “Guess your dick overruled you, huh?” Carponti said.

  “Not funny.”

  “It’s a little funny. You can picture your sperm in full body armor, trying to batter their little way through the gap to capture the flag—er, egg.” Carponti frowned. “I am going to have to go look up exactly how a vasectomy fails now. Call it my morbid curiosity.” He turned his attention back to Shane, his expression suddenly sober. “Jen’s a nurse. She wouldn’t do this if she thought it would make her sick, would she?”

  Shane’s expression darkened again. “I love that woman so much it terrifies me. And I refuse to risk her life to have a baby. Pregnancy could kill her. The cancer could come back and she wouldn’t be able to have chemo or anything.” His voice thickened and he cleared his throat roughly.

  His voice broke and he covered his face in his hands, scrubbing roughly.

  Trent had never faced a burden like this one. Laura’s pregnancies had been healthy and normal, except for the first one. The first time she had gotten pregnant, she miscarried. He still remembered finding her sobbing on the bathroom floor after they’d come home from the doctor’s office.

  He’d picked h
er up and carried her to their bed, then he’d held her until the pain medicine kicked in and she fell asleep. He’d held her until the pain had stopped. Until she’d accepted that this baby wasn’t meant to be. That they could try again. Soon after, she had wanted to try again, even though she knew he was leaving for war and she would need to go through the pregnancy alone.

  He’d loved her strength. He’d loved her determination to shove the grief of that first pregnancy behind her. He remembered lying there that first night in their new home, her fingers dancing over his where he’d rested his palm on her belly.

  But never had he worried that one of his wife’s pregnancies might kill her.

  “Shane?”

  Everyone turned at Jen’s quiet voice. She’d snuck upstairs, padding quietly up the steps without anyone hearing her.

  Shane said nothing. He simply straightened and opened his arms. Jen walked into his embrace, and he wrapped his arms tight around her waist, resting his head against her belly.

  “I’m afraid,” he whispered as Carponti and Trent left the room.

  “Me, too.”

  Trent walked downstairs, followed by an unusually silent Carponti. Laura looked up from where she stood near the island. He said nothing, merely went to her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. He’d come so damn close to losing her. He had her back. For this moment and hopefully a hundred thousand more, he had her back. He kissed her forehead and pulled her close, unable to think of ever letting her go.

  * * *

  “This is definitely not a death sentence,” Nicole said after a while.

  Laura was serving the kids breakfast on the back porch while the adults ate in the kitchen, where they could talk privately while keeping an eye on Ethan and Emma through the sliding glass door. Shane and Jen had not come downstairs yet. Almost an hour had passed and the house was eerily silent. Even the kids had picked up on the fact that something was wrong.

  “I take it you’ve been asking Dr. Google,” Carponti said, munching on a piece of scorched bacon.

  “Of course. Look.” Nicole held her phone out. “There have been huge advances in this field. And a recent clinical trial showed that there was no greater risk of cancer for pregnant women who have had it and those who haven’t.”

  “Then what is Shane afraid of?” Carponti asked.

  “The risk,” Trent said quietly. “The risk that he’s going to lose her.” He glanced at his wife out on the back porch, scooping yogurt onto the kids’ plates. “It’s nothing he can control.”

  Carponti smiled but it was a distant and unfocused expression. Finally he glanced at his wife, his expression suddenly serious. “You’re not allowed to get cancer, okay? And no dying, either.”

  Nicole offered a strangled laugh and kissed the top of his head in a quiet, intimate gesture. Nicole and Carponti were both so gruff and sarcastic, but they were deeply committed to each other. After everything Carponti had gone through, after surviving the war and his injuries, their bond remained strong.

  Strangely, he wasn’t jealous. Laura stepped back through the sliding glass door and put the yogurt back in the fridge.

  “They still haven’t come down?”

  Trent shook his head. “You don’t think they’re going to cancel the wedding?”

  Laura smiled sadly. “No. They’ll figure this out. Maybe we should go out there and get started before it warms up?”

  “That’s a good idea. Shane’s probably going to need therapy to get through this one. Maybe we should call the chaplain?” Carponti asked.

  “He’ll be fine,” Trent said. “Think you can wield a hammer today without hitting yourself?”

  “Ha ha fuck you ha ha.” Nicole elbowed her husband in the ribs. “What? The kids can’t hear me.”

  Shaking her head, she pulled him to his feet and led him onto the back porch and out to the building project. Trent turned to look at Laura, who was struggling to keep herself busy.

  “You okay?” he asked softly.

  She turned away, busying herself with the breakfast dishes. “Yeah.”

  “Hey?” He stepped in front of her, gently grasping her shoulders. She seemed so small and fragile. Damaged and wary. “Talk to me?”

  The weight of that single question bore down on him. He was asking her for something he’d been unable to give her. But he hoped that maybe, maybe she would trust him enough to lay her burdens on his shoulders for once. She’d been carrying all of his for so long.

  She looked up at him, her gaze filled with anxiety. She smiled tremulously and lifted one hand, sliding one finger over the edge of his glasses. “You were gone when she was sick,” she whispered. Her voice was thick. Heavy. “Ethan was just a baby and I was pregnant with Emma.” She blinked rapidly and he reached out, cradling her neck, offering his silent support. “I spent a lot of nights on her couch. Helping her to the bathroom when she was too sick to walk.” Her voice cracked a little beneath the memory. “She was not a good patient.”

  Trent urged her closer and she stepped into his embrace, resting her cheek against the scars on his. He cradled her face, felt the wetness on her cheeks and wished he could take the fear from her. Of all the things in life he feared, cancer had never been one of them. He had no idea what Laura had gone through with Jen.

  “I don’t want to lose her,” she whispered.

  Trent pressed his lips to the top of her head. “You won’t.” But his promise felt empty and hollow and beyond the scope of things he could control.

  * * *

  It was a long time before Jen stepped onto the back porch, followed closely by Shane.

  All work came to an abrupt, anxious halt. Shane stood behind his fiancé, his hands framing her shoulders, his expression tight. No, they hadn’t figured this out yet. Her eyes were no longer rimmed with red, her face was no longer swollen from crying, but she watched him worriedly as he moved toward Trent and Carponti.

  Laura hung the hammer she’d been using in her tool belt and waited as Jen descended the steps. Her friend put on a brave smile. “I’m not sick,” she said. “I’m pregnant.”

  Laura laughed and pulled her into a hug. “I hope you don’t have morning sickness as bad as I did with Emma. It was awful.”

  Nicole wrapped her arms around them both, joining the group hug. “Guess this means the next shower we do is a baby shower.”

  Jen laughed with her friends as Shane moved around them to join Trent and Carponti, who were standing with a plank propped between them.

  “At least we don’t have to get you a different dress,” Laura said. “Your boobs won’t swell that much in two weeks.”

  “Boob. Singular.”

  Nicole laughed. “Guess we’re going to have to get you a pregnancy prosthetic. Do they make ones for that?”

  Jen offered a horrified laugh. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

  “When do you go to the doctor’s?”

  “I have to see someone who specializes in cancer in pregnant women.”

  “But you’re in remission,” Nicole said.

  “And I have been given a direct order to stay that way,” she said, glancing at Shane. A warm smile played over her lips. “But we’re going to take it cautious and slow.”

  “Is the big guy ready to start drinking?”

  Jen smiled softly at Laura’s question. “He’s thought about it.”

  Laura pulled her gloves back on. “Okay then, we have a construction project to finish because I need to go to the store to find draperies for this thing. I swear, if I end up having to sew curtains…”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Ethan, put the hamster away.”

  “Dad-dy!”

  “Ethan, your mother told you to get in the tub.”

  “But Daddy, we haven’t gotten to play with the hamsters all day!”

  Trent crouched down to his son’s level, fully aware that he was being glared at by both a six-year-old human and a hamster that was surely one of the four horsemen
of the Apocalypse. “Ethan, I’m not even going to argue about this,” he said, fighting the urge to threaten to donate the hamster to Goodwill. “Put the hamster away and get in the tub.”

  Trent was tired and every bone in his body ached from the day’s work. It hadn’t been nearly as backbreaking as patrolling on foot in full body armor in the middle of Baghdad in August, but his body was used to those things. It wasn’t so used to climbing and hammering.

  Ethan sighed dramatically and stomped off. Trent stretched and walked into the kitchen, scanning the fridge and trying to decide what to prepare for an evening snack.

  They’d barbecued at Shane and Jen’s house, so the kids wouldn’t need to eat again before they were tucked into bed. Judging from the sounds coming from the bathroom, that might be a while. His son seemed to be trying to set a new record for tantrums.

  He gathered a few stray dishes and then started up the dishwasher, listening to the distant sounds of his wife preparing to bathe his children. He pulled out lunch meat for sandwiches, figuring they would be an easy dinner before everyone collapsed from exhaustion. It was a good exhaustion.

  Suddenly a naked little boy streaked out of the bathroom and ran down the hallway, ducking into one of the bedrooms.

  “Ethan?” Laura called out to him. “Trent, can you grab him for me? He still needs to take his bath!” Her voice was tired but not stressed.

  Following Ethan’s giggles, Trent went off in search of his son.

  His son.

  His heart tightened. There were other sons whose daddies weren’t coming home. And some of them weren’t coming home because of decisions Trent had made. He’d made his choice when he’d pledged to become a soldier. He’d never imagined the weight of the ghosts that would one day haunt him.

  He walked into Ethan’s room and the stone in his chest softened a little more. He loved how Laura had made it into a classic little boy’s room—midnight blue with red furniture. She’d given their son his own space. Room to be a little boy, instead of being taken over by his baby sister.