A Broken Christmas

by Claire Ashgrove

  But supposed to be didn’t play a part in reality. What he needed from Aimee, he didn’t dare seek—he knew all too well just how fragile she really was. He couldn’t tolerate the idea of putting her through the kind of emotional turmoil she’d suffered last spring. His duty was to protect her, not bury her in a quagmire of pain like he was rapidly doing.

  He didn’t want to hurt her, but no matter how he tried, he inflicted injuries each time he turned around.

  Dropping his head into his hands, he let out a heavy sigh. Images of the way she’d held on to him in the hall, how she urged him to give in to the enormous tidal wave rolling through him, flashed behind his closed eyelids. He’d been almost brutal, and she had somehow found pleasure in that. How?

  Why?

  His head snapped up as the front door opened. Aimee burst in, the rustle of plastic shopping sacks a fierce reminder Christmas was right around the corner. Who was she shopping for? Walsh? Mom Walsh? Dear God, don’t let it be him. If he had his way, he’d spend the entire day in bed and let the holiday cruise by without participating.

  One glance at her bright smile and the sparkling snowman in her hands warned him she wouldn’t let that happen. He eyed her warily as she bustled past and set the twelve-inch tall figurine on top of the television beside the unopened gold star.

  Why the hell did she look happy after the way he’d treated her?

  She picked up the packages once more and started for the stairs.

  “Aimee.”

  “Yes?” One foot on the bottom tread, she looked over her shoulder.

  “We really need to talk about what happened earlier.”

  Slowly she set the bags down. “What about it?”

  Confusion pulled at Kyle’s mind. She wasn’t upset. In fact, she acted like nothing had happened at all. Like the encounter in the hall was just another one of the many times they’d spontaneously made love.

  It wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

  “I…” He faltered. He what—didn’t mean anything by it? Hell, even if that were true, he couldn’t tell her. Swallowing he tried again. “Are you okay?”

  Brief surprised crossed her delicate face before she gave him a heart-stopping smile. “I’m good.” With a casual shrug, she bent to grab the sacks once more. “Things happen, right?”

  The fist around his innards let loose at her casual remark. She wasn’t blowing it out of proportion—in typical Aimee fashion, she understood.

  He nodded, and found a relieved smile. “Yeah. They do. I guess we don’t need to discuss anything like ramifications?”

  Her dainty dark eyebrows bunched. “Ramifications?”

  “I mean, we don’t have to have the ‘I didn’t use a condom’ talk. You had the IUD put in and all. No dark clouds looming over our heads.”

  “Oh, that.” She chuckled. “Right. No dark clouds.” Shifting the packages, she adjusted the weight in her arms. “I’m taking these upstairs. Want pizza for dinner?”

  Her casual attitude erased the last of his doubts, and he reached for his cane.

  Levering himself out of the couch, he answered, “I think I can manage to do that.”

  Chapter Eight

  Aimee dropped the bags on the floor then used her toe to shove them under the bed. No longer in the mood to wrap the meager things she’d picked up, she sat down on the edge of the mattress and gazed out the open bedroom door. For the first time since Kyle walked into her field medical station, she had lied to him.

  Truthfully, she hadn’t even considered the IUD she had removed the month after he deployed. Until the miscarriage, she’d never used one, and the eight months following had passed in a blur. After removal, life returned to the way she had always known things. Not once, in the last year—two and a half, if she counted their deliberate attempts to start a family—had she given preventing pregnancy thought.

  Well, not beyond the fact of how very ready she was to have the child they’d lost.

  Kyle’s offhand remark, however, brought everything front and center. What stood out most was his obvious relief she was still protected. Given that she wasn’t, the robust round of sex in the hall took a drastically different turn. She had exposed herself to a risk she was more than willing to accept—with Kyle, or without him.

  Why shouldn’t she be? She had a good job lined up. Her VA Benefits were outstanding. She was thirty years old, not a naïve twenty-something, and if she wanted to have a child, she could make that decision.

  Still, not giving Kyle the opportunity to decide whether he wanted to be a father didn’t feel right. Out of sheer respect, she ought to tell him she’d had her IUD removed. At the same time, she already knew how he would react. Beyond the fact he wasn’t in a mental state to embrace parenthood, he would flip his lid over the fact they weren’t married. He might have had more than his fair share of women, but he held deep, core fundamental values. One of which—children came after marriage, no exceptions, and until they’d taken their vows, he’d gone out of his way to insure pregnancy wouldn’t become an issue.

  Sure as shooting, if she went downstairs and spilled the truth, all the breakthroughs that she’d made—however insignificant they might be—would amount to nothing. He would stack more bricks around himself and pull even further away.

  Damn.

  “Aimee? Pizza’s ready.”

  She drew in a deep breath and straightened her slumped shoulders. She had time to deal with this. Nothing could be done about it now. If she got pregnant, they’d just have to tackle that obstacle when it became necessary. With no guarantee she was, she didn’t need to add to Kyle’s stress. He had enough to deal with presently, and the most immediate argument she couldn’t escape was the matter of Conner and Mom Walsh’s desire to spend Christmas with them.

  Meanwhile, she needed to broach the subject of Major Renfield’s offer and steer Kyle that direction. Once he had something working to his advantage, he would be far more receptive to the possibility they might yet have the child they had tried for.

  She pushed herself to her feet. Dinner first. Then Conner and his mother. After that, if Kyle was still speaking to her, she’d see if she could convince him to put the star on the tree. Christmas wouldn’t wait forever. They could pass on the wine, on the romantic fire. She refused to have another Christmas go by without a complete tree.

  Aimee quickly combed her fingers through her hair, straightened her lopsided hoodie, and bounded down the stairs into the kitchen. Kyle stood at the stove, cutting board placed over the burners, carving the pizza into meticulously sized slices. He didn’t cook often, but when he did, she could bank on the fact each spice had been measured precisely. Another fascinating Kyle-ism—he didn’t improvise off the field of duty. Even then, what she knew of his decisions involved careful calculation of odds, assessment of risk, and fiercely rational logic.

  The perfect soldier.

  “That smells wonderful,” she murmured as she approached. Setting her hand in the small of his back, Aimee leaned around Kyle and picked up a plate.

  “I sampled it. It is wonderful.” He gave her a quick grin. “I think I dreamed in Technicolor about chicken alfredo pizza while I was in the hospital.”

  Aimee stilled. For the first time, he referenced his extended stay in Germany without being prompted. “You did?”

  He set two pieces on her plate, loaded his with three. “Yep. I’m dying for a slice.”

  Progress. Keep him talking. “What did they feed you over there?” Nice and easy, Aims.

  Kyle chuckled as he hobbled to the table and took a seat. “You should know. Standard hospital fare. It’s no better there than it is here.”

  “Ew.”

  His laughter warmed her from the inside out. She sat across from him, returning his smile, amazed by the sudden change in his behavior. Maybe this morning did him more good than she had anticipated. He certainly seemed to be a bit more like the old Kyle.

  She bit into her pizza, chewed. “It’s good to hear you laugh,
Kyle.”

  His smile faltered, the hint of tension creeping into the corners of his mouth. But then, the tightening lines smoothed, and he nodded as he tore off a bite. Quietly, he answered, “Feels good, too.”

  ****

  It did feel good to laugh, Kyle couldn’t deny. If he could just convince the part of him that said he had no right to amusement to shut up, it would feel even better.

  Aimee reached across the table and laid her palm over the back of his right hand. His gaze dropped to her long fingers, the short manicured nails she never painted. The weight of her touch inched up his arm, and though he couldn’t feel the warmth of her skin, his memory conjured the familiar, comfortable heat. Her hands were always so soft. Like satin.

  He loved those hands, almost as much as he loved the woman they belonged to.

  He tucked his thumb over hers and willed his fingers to give a gentle squeeze. Lapsing into silence, Kyle savored the serenity of sitting with her over a simple dinner. Moments like this, he missed most of all. Before her breakdown, they’d shared so many unspoken conversations. Her hands, her body, hell, her eyes, conveyed thoughts like she possessed the ability to tap into his head and share the wanderings of his mind. Like now, when all he wanted to do was tell her how sorry he was for this morning, yet he already read understanding in her tender gaze.

  “Do you think…” she began, then glanced sideways at the living room.

  He followed her gaze to the corner where the unlit Christmas tree stood. “Think what?”

  Aimee swallowed as she dragged her ale-brown eyes back to him. “Do you think you might put up that star?”

  Kyle’s chest inched together like someone had fastened a belt around his ribs. Engage in tradition, when they were so far removed from the habits they’d started? He didn’t want to give her the wrong impression. Didn’t want to create a sense that things had changed between them. They couldn’t go back to where they were, no matter how Aimee might want to.

  But as he held her uneasy stare, he realized he didn’t want to fight with her more. None of this was her fault, and she’d been beyond patient with him. If she’d divorced him without a word of explanation, he’d have probably strangled her. He certainly wouldn’t be sitting down for dinner and doing all he could to keep the peace.

  “Yeah,” he murmured. “I can put up the star.”

  Merely saying the words spread a pleasant burn through his veins. He resisted the sensation, adamant it wouldn’t go to his head and make him second-guess the decisions he’d made. Tradition held comfort. Putting the star on the tree didn’t mean he wanted to put his marriage back together again.

  Aimee’s slow smile made that enticing burn flare white-hot. Oh, hell, who was he kidding? He wanted his wife. He just refused to drag her back into emotional hell, and he couldn’t survive an eternity of keeping himself closed off from the one person he loved more than life itself. They couldn’t go back. They weren’t the same people. Death had changed them too much.

  “I ran into Betty Renfield today.”

  Kyle’s spine stiffened. “Oh?”

  “She told me Wilson offered you a position.”

  The curious glint in her eyes eased Kyle’s apprehension. This wasn’t entirely about Afghanistan. The ramifications maybe, but not the things that kept him awake at night. He could do this. He could talk about simple work.

  “It’s a desk job. You know I hate them.”

  “It would be better than filing papers, right? Or sitting at home knitting?” A grin pulled at one corner of her mouth.

  “Knitting.” Kyle bit back a bark of laughter. “Yeah, right.” He bounced the fingers under her hand. “I’ll get right on that. This new dexterity is kick-ass.”

  “I don’t know.” The teasing uplift to her full lips curved into coyness. “I think it works quite well for you.”

  Her insinuation kicked Kyle sideways. Briefly robbed of air, he blinked. Visions of the rough way his fumbling fingers had squeezed her breast leapt to life in his mind. Her soft cry. The ragged fall of her breath after. She actually enjoyed his aggressive assault. Holy hell. How was that possible?

  He shifted his weight in his chair, the sudden press of her fingertips against the deadened back of his hand, intolerably enticing. “You didn’t…”

  Dark eyebrows quirked. Her coquettish smile deepened. “Didn’t what?”

  “Like…” Damn. What was the matter with him? He had never found discussing sex awkward. Why now? Annoyed, he spit out the first words that surfaced. “You got off on that?”

  Aimee’s laugh was low and husky. “I’d be happy to show you again.”

  All the pleasant warmth simmering in his veins transformed into a blistering boil. Images of Aimee spread out beneath him, his body driving into hers, her soft cries filling his ears, flashed through his head. Beneath the loose cotton of his sweats, his cock stirred against his thigh. His pulse kicked up three notches, and down deep inside, that dangerous animal instinct he’d unleashed in the hallway awakened.

  To stop the instantaneous agreement that rose to the tip of his tongue, he tore off a bite of pizza and concentrated on chewing while he stared at his plate. Her twinkling eyes were dangerous. If he looked up, he’d cave. And oh, how he wanted to cave.

  Still concentrating on the bits of parmesan cheese on his plate, he changed the subject. “So tell me about this job?”

  The last thing he cared to hear about was an emergency room several states away that would take Aimee out of his life forever. But the subject was benign enough that the desire stirring to life in his body might go back to sleep.

  “It’s just a job, Kyle. Though I will be taking over the lead position. Same thing I’ve done all my life—aid the doctors, handle minor injuries, triage. Four days a week. Only it’s in a children’s hospital.”

  That brought Kyle’s gaze level with hers. Pediatrics. Aimee would face the possibility of losing children day in and day out. Good God, what was she thinking? That would cripple her in no time.

  “Lead position in a children’s hospital,” he repeated, dumbfounded.

  “Yep.” Her smile returned, tenaciously. “While you were gone, I was at the park one afternoon when a little boy fell off the monkey bars and broke his arm. He looked up at me with these alligator tears, and all I wanted to do was make it better. I’ve never felt that kind of pull, and I’ve seen a lot worse.”

  Children’s hospital. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Aimee was willingly putting herself in a position that would bring her back to what she’d been through. He frowned. “Do you think that’s the…best idea?”

  A touch of sorrow passed over her eyes as she nodded. Sadness he had come to recognize too well, and that deepened his concern. He hadn’t thrown his marriage away to have her put herself in a more damaging position with work. She’d come a long way—they both had for that matter—to go back to the devastation that had refused to let her go.

  Kyle’s grip must have tightened on her hand, for she winced, and pulled at her fingers. He loosened his thumb, stopping her hasty retreat. “Honey—”

  “I’ll be fine,” she interrupted quietly.

  He’d like to believe she would be, but the suspicion she was walking straight into the pits of her own personal hell refused to ebb. Parts of the battle-hardened combat nurse he’d married were broken, and nothing could convince him that the first toddler coming in from a fatal car wreck wouldn’t rip her into irreparable pieces. Still, he could say little. He had set her free, and her decisions no longer involved him. They might be together for the moment, but beyond surface level, they lived separate lives.

  “If you need anything…” He trailed away, the rest of his sentiment left to six years of intimate knowledge of each other.

  Pizza finished, Aimee pushed her plate aside. “So. Christmas.”

  Damn. Not where he wanted this conversation to go. “What about it?”

  “Conner and Mom Walsh would really like to have a normal holiday.
You, me, them, here—like usual.”

  It took less than a heartbeat for anger to surface. “No.”

  “Why not? She’s the only family we’ve had in a long time. Are you so mad at Conner that you’ll punish her too?”

  “I don’t want Walsh in this house. I’m not in the mood for Christmas either.”

  “Kyle—”

  “You heard me, Aimee. No. It’s my house. You want to decorate it, I won’t stop you. But no guests. Certainly not Walsh.”

  He itched to pull his hand away from hers, to distance himself as much as possible from Aimee and this conversation. But he forced his hand to remain still. He didn’t want to fight. He’d said his piece. This didn’t need to turn into a battle. Instead, he concentrated on slowly closing his thumb to give her hand an affectionate squeeze, then eased to his feet. “If you’ll get the dishes, I’ll work on that star.”

  Chapter Nine

  The easy way tradition settled around Kyle, surprised him. Moments ago, he’d been wound up in the same knots that refused to unclench. But as he wrestled with straightening the star, remembrances of how many times this damn piece of tinsel and plastic had refused to sit any way but cockeyed, surfaced. One year, he’d almost thrown it across the room. Aimee rescued the poor star a nanosecond before it left his fingers and eased his frustration with a kiss so sweet, he questioned how ambrosia could be the nectar of the gods.

  They’d made love in front of the fireplace, and afterward, he hung the star the same crooked way he had each time before.

  What he really craved was the scent of pine. This fake tree just didn’t hold the same appeal.

  He stepped back and squinted at the uncooperative tree topper. One of these days, he was going to replace…

  The thought died as quickly as it surfaced. This would be the last time that star would push him to the limits of insanity. When Aimee left, there would be no more Christmas trees, no more hand-made stockings on the mantel, and no pine wreaths on the front door to tickle his nose when he walked inside.