Maybe he should wait until a better time.
No.
No more excuses.
“So what did you want to talk about?” Leah’s fingers fidgeted with a strand of her hair. Was she nervous? Did she sense what he wanted to ask her? Did she want him to?
Austin pushed the questions aside. First, he had to get past telling her about his leg.
He exhaled. Here went everything. “I wanted to apologize for the other night. I feel like I owe you―”
Leah waved a hand for him to stop, and he obeyed. “You don’t owe me anything. I get that it was probably weird for you to take your neighbor’s kid to a father-son thing. I shouldn’t have put that on you.” She blew on her tea and took a sip, not lifting her eyes to him.
“That’s just it.” Austin slid closer to her on the couch, so that their knees nearly touched. “It wasn’t weird at all. I was looking forward to it. I like spending time with Jackson.” He didn’t add that he liked spending time with her too. That would come soon enough, assuming this part went well.
Leah let her eyes meet his for a second, and he had to look away before he kissed her right here and now.
“What was it then? Did I give you the impression I expected more?” Her cheeks grew fiery, and he almost reached a hand to cool them. “You know,” she mumbled, “between us?”
Austin nearly laughed out loud. She had most definitely not sent that signal.
“It was hockey,” he said simply.
Her forehead creased. She was clearly waiting for more, but he couldn’t get the rest out.
“And you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself because you don’t skate?”
Austin shook his head. “I don’t mind making a fool of myself now and then.” His voice was hoarse, and he bent to grip the cuff of his pants. “I couldn’t skate because of this.” With a quick inhale, he pulled the hem up to his knee, exposing his entire prosthetic, from the black carbon fiber shell at the top to the titanium rod that disappeared into the semi-lifelike foot shell inside his shoe.
Leah’s hands jumped to cover her mouth, but he heard her gasp through them. Her eyes filled with tears, and his stomach sank.
He didn’t know what he’d hoped.
That she’d take one look at it, say, “That’s nice,” and move on with her night?
“I’m sorry.” He spoke past the knives at the back of his throat. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
But before he could comprehend what was happening, her arms went around his back. They were warm and soft, and he found himself sinking into them, his arms coming up to circle her. He inhaled her cinnamony scent, and his heart eased for the first time in a year.
“I’m sorry.” She pulled away after a minute, and Austin had to fight the urge to gather her back to him. “I didn’t mean to―”
He tried to convey that he hadn’t minded―far from it―with his smile, and she seemed to accept that.
“I had no idea. I mean you run and you climbed my ladder and . . .” She cut herself off. “But I shouldn’t have assumed you were blowing Jackson off about the skating. I’m sure when you tell him, he’ll understand.”
Austin’s stomach flipped. Telling Leah was one thing. But telling Jackson, who’d already seen so many awful things in his short life? That he couldn’t do, not yet.
Leah must have read it in his expression. “You don’t have to tell him yet. But I think you should. Soon.”
He nodded. He wasn’t making any promises. But he’d try.
“Do you mind if I ask how it happened?” Leah’s voice was tentative.
He longed to say that he didn’t mind. That he’d be happy to tell her everything. But he couldn’t talk about it. Not with her. Not with anyone. His last therapist had called it avoidance. He called it survival.
Still, he owed her something at least. “I was in Afghanistan.” Saying it felt like peeling off his own skin.
He looked at the ceiling, trying to come up with something else he could tell her without collapsing the careful walls he’d built up around that day.
Next to him, he could hear the quiet in and out of her breathing. Its softness calmed him.
Without meaning to, he found himself talking.
He tipped his head back to rest on the couch cushion and closed his eyes. “It was last Christmas.”
“Oh.” Her voice said that she finally understood why he didn’t like Christmas.
He could feel the muscles in his jaw working, but it took a minute to get the words out. “We were on a routine patrol, my buddy Tanner and I. I was supposed to be driving, but he wanted to. Said it would remind him of being home for Christmas and driving his wife and kids to visit family.” Already he had to stop and clear his throat. “He was driving, and we saw this kid we’d befriended playing along the side of the road.”
He opened one eye a crack and tipped his head toward her. She watched him, her expression a mixture of compassion and tension. “He was about Jackson’s age. Isaad.” He rubbed a hand over the rough scar on his jaw. That kid had been something special. “I told Tanner to pull over and pick Isaad up and we’d give him a ride, kind of as a Christmas present.”
His hands fisted and he pressed them into his eyelids. “We weren’t supposed to do that, and Tanner was a rule follower. But he was also a good guy.” He licked his lips. “He stopped, and Isaad got in. I was joking with him about giving him a lump of coal, and he was laughing.” Even now he couldn’t help smiling at the memory of the sound. “He had the best laugh, and I was watching him. I wasn’t scanning the road in front of us, the way I was supposed to be.” His voice cracked, and he sucked in several deep breaths.
A soft hand fell into his, and he squeezed it, unable to look at her. But now that he’d started talking, he couldn’t stop. Even though he knew he should. Leah shouldn’t have to carry this burden too.
“It all happened so fast. One minute Isaad was laughing, the next everything was chaos. It felt like the world had blown apart.” He exhaled. “Which I guess it had.”
Leah slid closer, pressing her other hand into his arm.
“It was an IED.” He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. “I mean, I had seen what they could do. I’d picked up bodies that had―” He cleared his throat again. She didn’t need that image in her head. “But I never knew what it was like to go through it. The funny thing is, some guys don’t remember it at all afterward. But I can’t forget.” He gripped the back of his neck.
He remembered what it felt like to fly through the air, his body completely out of his control. He remembered hitting the ground and having no idea where he was or what had happened to Tanner and Isaad. He remembered sitting up and seeing his leg completely mangled and knowing right in that moment that there was no way he’d be able to keep it.
“I prayed,” he whispered. “Before I looked for them. I prayed so hard that Isaad and Tanner had survived too.” But when he’d opened his eyes, the first thing he’d seen was Isaad, staring up at the sky with empty eyes. He’d clawed his way to the boy’s side, even though he knew it was too late. Then he’d crawled across the sand and rocks, pain screaming through his shattered leg, to find Tanner. Only he’d blacked out before he got to him. He didn’t find out Tanner was gone until he woke in the helicopter.
He pressed his lips together and closed his eyes again, but moisture rained down on his cheeks, and his breath was ragged. “Neither of them made it.”
“I’m so sorry.” Leah’s whispered words washed over him, and he dared to look at her. Tears glistened on her cheeks too, and he reached to wipe them away.
The feel of her soft skin under his fingertips reminded him of the reason he hadn’t wanted to tell her any of this in the first place.
He sat abruptly, pulling his hand away and scrubbing at his own cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to burden you with all of that.” He shifted to stand―he should go―but she grabbed his arm and held him in place.
“Thank you for telling me
.” Her voice was a balm, and he leaned closer to her.
Her eyes went to his jaw. “Is this from then too?” Her fingers lifted to touch the jagged scar that ran from his jaw up to his hairline, and he flinched involuntarily.
She lifted her hand. “Sorry, does it hurt?”
He shook his head. “No. It’s just kind of hideous.”
Her eyes locked onto his. “It’s not hideous. It’s beautiful. A reminder of what God brought you through.”
“Yeah. Right.” He wasn’t exactly sure it was God who had brought him through. More like sheer dumb luck. Otherwise, why hadn’t Tanner and Isaad made it too? They certainly deserved to survive more than he did.
“It is,” Leah insisted. “And God knows what it’s like to be scarred. Jesus had scars too. For us.”
Austin swallowed. It sounded like something Tanner would say. But he wasn’t in the mood for a conversation about Jesus.
Even so, he couldn’t make himself leave her side.
“I should get home,” he whispered. “Let you get some rest.”
She nodded, but neither of them moved.
Austin searched her eyes. There was something there that hadn’t been there before.
He bent his head a fraction closer. She didn’t move. He dared another fraction. And then another.
One more fraction, and their lips would meet. Austin inhaled and closed his eyes. He could already feel―
“Ned needs more food.” Jackson’s voice sent Leah rocketing to the far end of the couch.
Austin exhaled a long breath, watching the squirrel scurry from one of Jackson’s shoulders to the other.
The critter would be a lot cuter if he hadn’t just cost Austin the kiss he’d been dreaming of for days.
“I’ll put it on my list.” Leah’s voice was stilted, and Jackson gave each of them a weird look before retreating to his room.
Leah jumped to her feet, and Austin pushed himself off the couch more slowly, heading for the door. Ever since that first time he’d almost kissed her, she’d stopped seeing him out when he left. But this time he could feel her right behind him.
He turned to say goodnight, but before he could say anything, she lifted a hand to his scar again.
He closed his eyes as her fingers traced it.
She was making it nearly impossible to fight the urge to kiss her.
“Austin.” Her whisper drew him closer. He only had a second to grasp what was happening before her lips met his.
His gasp was buried in their kiss as his arms went around her back. Her lips were just what he’d imagined―warm and soft, with the slightest hint of cinnamon.
When she pulled away, a smile tickled her lips, but worry lines furrowed her brow.
“I’m―”
He lifted a hand and smoothed a palm over her cheek. “Don’t you dare apologize for that.”
Her giggle was slightly giddy, and the sound went right through him. He could not make himself stop grinning.
“I was planning to decorate the tree tomorrow.” Her smile was just as persistent as his. “If you wanted to come over and join us.”
Decorating a Christmas tree was the last thing he wanted to do.
But if it meant spending time with Leah . . .
“I’ll be there.”
Chapter 24
Joy hummed through Leah, and she did a twirl in her bedroom as she got dressed the next morning.
She should be absolutely freaked out. She should be trying to figure out a way to stuff Austin back into the friend zone he’d so deftly escaped.
But she didn’t want to. Not even a little bit.
She brushed a finger over her lips, swiping on a thin layer of gloss.
Hoping to attract Austin to your lips again?
Leah giggled to herself. She couldn’t deny that she’d very much enjoyed kissing him. She could still taste the faint peppermint of his lips on hers. Another giggle sneaked out, and she covered her mouth. Jackson was going to think she was crazy, laughing to herself in here.
Her eyes fell on the bouquet of silk flowers she’d caught at Dan and Jade’s wedding. Though, to be fair, she hadn’t so much caught it as Jade had chucked it right at her head.
Obviously, Leah didn’t put any stock in that old superstition. She’d only kept the bouquet as a fun memento of the wedding.
But as she considered the flowers now, she flashed back to all the times she’d prayed for a husband in the past. When God hadn’t seen fit to answer that prayer with a yes, she’d switched to praying for contentment with her single status. And God had more than given her that.
She was beyond content on her own.
Or, at least, she had been.
But now? Now everything was a mess. A big, confusing, delicious, kissing mess.
Should she start praying for a husband again?
With a sigh, she sank onto the bed. Look at her. She was being foolish. One kiss and here she was, picturing herself walking down the aisle.
Help me to know your will in this, Lord. She ducked her chin as she sank into the familiar intimacy of prayer. Guide Austin and I in our relationship, whether that’s as friends or as . . . more.
The thought sent a thrill through her, but she ignored it. She had to wait on God’s will.
A knock echoed through the house, and Leah jumped, pressing a hand to her middle as an unexpected case of the flutters hit her. How was she going to greet him? Would he try to kiss her? Did she want him to kiss her?
She couldn’t decide if it was fortunate or unfortunate that she’d never find out, since Jackson was already on his way to answer the door, Ned balanced on his outstretched arm.
“Don’t let him get outside,” Leah called down the hallway. The squirrel had grown a lot, but after it had been hand-raised, Leah didn’t want to contemplate what would happen if it got outside.
“Duh,” Jackson shot over his shoulder as he pulled the door open, then snatched the squirrel’s tail just in time to keep it from jumping.
Leah’s eyes went from the squirrel to the doorway. Maybe it was the morning light, or maybe it was his soft smile, but Austin looked different today. Happy.
“Good morning.” His voice reached for her, and she stepped closer.
“Morning.” She couldn’t make herself speak louder than a whisper.
“How did you sleep?” Austin’s eyes held a gentle light.
Jackson thrust the squirrel at Austin before she could answer. “Ned wants to say hi.”
Austin turned to the boy as the squirrel scampered up his arm. “He’s gotten big. You must be taking good care of him.”
Leah let out a slow breath. She had to get her feelings in check. She could be in the same room with Austin without needing to kiss him the entire time.
Or even one time.
Anyway, they had a Christmas tree to decorate.
Two hours later, as she placed the last ornament on a branch, Leah had to wonder. Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe she and Austin were best off as friends.
Jackson had ducked out of decorating almost immediately, leaving her to work side-by-side with Austin. Alone.
And yet Austin hadn’t made a single attempt to kiss her again. Or to hold her hand. Or to touch her in any way.
If anything, he seemed to be doing everything he could to keep his distance.
They’d talked. Laughed. The same way they had dozens of times before.
As friends.
Which was . . . fine.
Like she’d said, she’d wait for God’s will on this one. And if his will was for them to remain nothing more than friends, she could live with that.
Scratch that. She could more than live with it. She preferred it.
“There.” She stepped back from the tree. “Perfect.”
“Mmm hmm.” But Austin’s eyes were on her, and she felt suddenly self-conscious.
“How about some hot cocoa?”
Austin nodded, but he seemed to be deep in thought. As she retreated to the kitche
n and got out the mugs, she worked to convince herself that she was content. That they could pretend last night had never happened and move on with their friendship intact.
By the time the cocoa was ready, she had a plan. She knew exactly what she was going to say.
She wouldn’t apologize for the kiss, exactly, since he’d asked her not to. But she’d make it clear it wouldn’t happen again.
Confident that it was the right decision, she picked up the mugs and carried them to the living room. But the moment Austin’s eyes landed on her, she nearly lost her resolve.
He strode across the room, took the mugs from her, and set them on the table, then caught both of her hands in his.
“Austin, wait.” She had to get this out. “I think we need to talk about last night.”
He shook his head. “I told you not to apologize for that.”
“I’m not.” She had to look away, or she wouldn’t go through with this. “I’m just saying I didn’t mean for it to happen. And it won’t happen again.”
She tugged her hands out of his and moved toward the Christmas tree, her eyes falling on the heart ornament her dad had given her two years ago―his last Christmas on earth. He’d reminded her that there were many kinds of love in this world and that they were all wonderful. But the one love she always needed―the one love that would always be there for her―was the love of God. His agape, never-ending love.
“Why not?” Austin’s voice was soft, and she appreciated that he didn’t move closer.
She shrugged. “It’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?” he repeated, and Leah blinked back the sting behind her eyelids. She wanted so badly to say, never mind, they should absolutely kiss again.
But what happened when Austin realized that kissing had been a mistake? When he came to his senses and realized he only wanted to be friends with her after all―and maybe not even that?
She didn’t have only herself to think about. There was Jackson to consider too. If she and Austin dated and then broke up, what would that do to the boy?
She heard Austin come up behind her, but he didn’t touch her. “Peyton and Jade warned me that you’ve been hurt before.” His voice was so gentle.
Not Until Christmas Morning (Hope Springs Book 5) Page 15
