Long Road Home

by Marie Meyer

  Bad things happen when you drink, Ren. Knock it off.

  Yes. I need to stop while I can still feel my face.

  My hand is still in his and he tightens his grip, gives me gentle tug, bringing me to my feet. I wobble like one of those toddler toys with round bottoms and no feet, unsure if it’s the champagne or just him trying to sweep me off my feet.

  He puts his free hand on my shoulder to steady me. “Whoa. You okay?”

  Standing, I’m only a handful of inches shorter than him. I can see his face clearly. A strong square jawline shadowed with fine dark whiskers. He was probably clean shaven this morning. He wears a nice five o’clock shadow. My fingers itch to touch it; feel the prickle beneath my fingertips. His eyes reflect the shimmering disco lights, but it’s too dark to make out their color. He smiles softly, looking truly concerned for my well-being.

  “I’m good,” I whisper, as the fog clears from my brain. Yesterday’s events come speeding to the front of my thoughts. The lights in my rearview. The officer peering through my passenger window. The bright green eyes of Officer C. Sinclair staring back at me.

  “Your name starts with a ‘C,’” I say, finding my voice.

  He nods. “Yes ma’am, last time I checked.”

  Yep. That voice. It’s him. The cop that gave me a ticket yesterday.

  I stare, not sure if I’m supposed to be friendly and accept his invitation or be upset with him for costing me a hundred and eight dollars. The thin strap of my dress slides down my shoulder. Cayden lets go of my elbow and catches it, pushing it back into place. His fingertips skim along flushed skin, and I shiver.

  It’s not cold—the damn air conditioner hasn’t worked all night. Flashes of his muscular arms, straining against the sleeves of his blue trooper uniform, jog through my mind. I want to be mad at him, but he’s just too damn sexy to stay angry at. I give him a quick smile. “You gave me a speed—”

  “Speeding ticket,” he interrupts. Cocking his head, he grimaces and bites his bottom lip. “Sorry about that.”

  “Sorry?” I hadn’t been expecting an apology, but if he’s offering, I’ll take it.

  “I’m sort of up for a promotion and I need to prove to the higher-ups that I’m the best at what I do. I”—he puts his hand to his chest—“didn’t want to issue you the citation, but the law kind of said I had to.”

  “I see.” I like this groveling Cayden, as opposed to stickler-for-the-law Cayden.

  “Look, I’m sorry about the ticket. Can we start over?” He puts his hand out for me to shake, again. “Hi, I’m Cayden Sinclair, friend of Blake’s. Doing the wedding thing solo. Really need a dance partner.”

  My eyes lock on his. Of course I’m going to accept his offer—I’d be stupid not to—but I’m getting a kick out of watching him sweat, awaiting my answer.

  I put my hand in his and nod. “Ren Daniels, friend of the bride’s. Doing the solo thing too, and yes, I would love to dance.” I bite back a smile.

  With his hand securely wrapped around mine, he leads me to the dance floor. God, it’s been forever since I’ve danced with a guy. I feel like an awkward fourteen-year-old.

  Thankfully the song changes from a fast song to a slow song, I selfishly want to know what it’s like to have his muscular arms around me.

  Cayden smiles at me and hesitates. “Now that I’ve lead you out here under false pretenses, I should tell you…” He pauses, glancing around the crowded dance floor. Leaning in close, he puts his mouth to my ear: “I can’t dance.”

  His warm breath drifts over my skin and all of my nerve endings come to life. Goose bumps rise on my arms. Stepping back he gives me a goofy grin and shrugs.

  I swing our clasped hands to the rhythm of the music, unable to keep my snark in check. “If you can’t dance, Officer, then why did you ask me?”

  “Because it’s absolutely criminal that the most gorgeous woman at this wedding is sitting over there all by herself.” He lifts his chin in the direction of the wedding party’s table. “It’s my job to stop crime.”

  Like the bubbles rising in the champagne, laughter bubbles up from my core, bursting from my mouth. “Oh my gosh! Your pickup lines are the worst.”

  “Are you laughing at me, Renata?” he says, smirking.

  “I’m sorry.” I stifle a giggle. I feel bad, I shouldn’t laugh. But’s he’s so hot…and his voice…and the champagne…and his sexy arms…and…I’m in trouble.

  “Don’t apologize. I’d give you lines all night if it meant I’d get to hear your cute-as-hell laugh.” His thumb traces along the back of my hand making my belly clench. “And if I’m being honest, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since yesterday.”

  Whoa. Wait. What? He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about me? Okay, heart, slow down.

  “You see, it’s fate. You have to dance with me.”

  He shrugs again, charm in spades…and when he moves, his shoulders flex in the most captivating way, like artwork come to life. Artwork I want to touch.

  “Well then, let me give you a lesson, Officer Sinclair.” I position his hand at my shoulder and take his other hand in mine. “I’ll lead.”

  “I knew you were a woman in control.”

  I am now…but it took me a long time to get here, Officer.

  I put my right hand in his and my left on his shoulder. His hand against the bare skin of my shoulder blade radiates heat, searing me with his touch. My cheeks burn, and I’m thankful I can blame my heavy blush on the champagne.

  Holy hell! I thought he was hot when he pulled me over yesterday, but in real life he is scorching. And he smells so damn good, like walking in a woodsy pine forest with subtle notes of lavender in the air.

  Cayden firms his grip on my hand and pulls me out of my thoughts. With slight pressure in our clasped hands, I lead him to the right. Our eyes are locked on one another: a deep, penetrating stare.

  Every now and then, the shimmer of the disco ball catches his peridot eyes, putting me in a trance. I’ve never seen eyes like his.

  “You’re quite the dancer, Officer Sinclair,” I tease, changing directions, leading us in a graceful step-touch.

  “Cayden. Please,” he corrects. “I’m just me tonight. Not looking to pull anyone over.” He winks. “And thank you, I have the best teacher.”

  “Catch her next season on Dancing with the Stars.” I stand up straighter and toss my head, feigning an air of cockiness.

  A spray of blue and red lights fall on his face and I notice a scar that runs from the hairline at his temple to just below his right eye—a thick jagged line. My fingers tingle with the urge to touch it. Ever since I was a child, I’ve had a fascination with scars and the stories they tell. You can learn a lot about someone by the scars they bear. But, in my opinion, it’s the traumas that don’t leave physical reminders that are the most scarring.

  “Let’s see,” he says, and I snap my gaze back to his. “I know your height, weight, that you’re an organ donor, and your birth date. Tell me something I don’t know, Renata.”

  I square up my shoulders, bristling at my full name. Why my mother thought giving me her maiden name was a good idea, I’ll never know. “Only my mother calls me Renata, and it’s usually because I’ve said a dirty word in her presence.” I can hear Mom’s indignant voice in the back of my head, an exaggerated whine on the second syllable—Ren-AHH-ta.

  “Naughty girl.” He raises an eyebrow and the corner of his lips pull up in a sinful smirk. “I’ll stick with Ren, then.”

  Please do. When it rolls off his tongue, it’s like his voice is gift wrapped in the most lush, rich velvet.

  My heart thumps against my chest, double the rhythm of the song we’re dancing to.

  “So, if I wanted to spin you, or dip you, Ren, how would I go about doing that?”

  “I’m not sure you’re skills are up to that level yet.”

  He drops his stubbled jaw to my ear. “Are you doubting my game, sweetheart?”

  Tingl
es head southward, my lady parts coming to life. Ohh. I breathe, caught off guard. My feet do their best to keep me upright and I tighten my grasp on his hand like it’s the last chocolate bar in the world and I’m PMSing.

  “I bet you have serious game,” I mutter under my breath, imagining his bedroom game.

  “Let’s give it a try.”

  “What?” I squeak, surprised.

  He extends his hand, guides me in a slow twirl, and tugs me back in, only this time he puts his hands at my waist, draws me close, and takes the lead. There is nowhere for my arms to go…except around his neck.

  Oh. Realization dawns. Give the spin a try. For a second, I thought I’d said something about his bedroom skills out loud, and he wanted to give that a go.

  “How was that?” Our faces inches apart now, he looks down at me, a confident smile on his face. “Still doubting my skills?”

  No. Not ever.

  With our close proximity, it’s hard to concentrate on words. The fine stubble on his jaw and his arresting green eyes have stolen the words right out of my mouth.

  The music swells and he pulls me even closer, dipping me slightly.

  I am lost in the feel of his solid body enveloping mine, and I can’t fight the fantasy that comes to mind…his naked body pressed close. Does he have any other scars…more chapters to his book? I want to read more.

  I shake my head, trying to give my brain a kick start. “You’re a fast learner.”

  “Only when I have a hot teacher.” He winks. “School me, Ren. Give me the rundown on you.”

  “I help deliver babies,” I blurt out, brain still malfunctioning. Well, I just managed to suck all the sexy out of this moment. Way to go, Ren.

  Cayden’s grin never leaves his face, though. “Babies?” Our bodies as one, not missing a beat.

  “Yeah,” I sigh, wishing I hadn’t opened this can of worms. From past experience, the thought of babies and the gory details of my job don’t make for pleasant “You’re really hot and I want to get to know you better” conversation.

  “I’m a labor and delivery nurse.”

  He squints his eyes. Fine creases gather at the outer corners. “Ever deliver one?” By the tone of his voice, he actually sounds interested. Huh.

  I nod. “A few times, when the doctor didn’t make it to the hospital in time. But, most often, I just assist.”

  “Me too.” His voice dips low and there’s a glint in his eye.

  “You’ve delivered a baby?”

  He nods. “There was a traffic accident. I was the first officer on the scene. The couple involved in the crash was on their way to the hospital when the driver lost control of his vehicle. When I got there, the woman was in active labor. There was no time to wait for the ambulance, the baby was already crowning.”

  My mouth hangs open, caught on his every word. “Was everyone all right?”

  Cayden nods. “Bringing that baby into the world was an incredible experience.”

  Is this guy for real? I’ve never met a guy that wasn’t completely grossed out and turned off by the thought of babies and childbirth.

  His gaze burns, but I can’t look away. “Yeah, it really is,” I mumble.

  Cayden slides his hands up the smooth silk of my dress, and along my arms. Stepping back a fraction of an inch, he repositions our arms. I’m Baby to his Johnny Castle. Patrick Swayze’s voice coaches me: Lock your frame. Lock it.

  With a flourish, Cayden dips again and my legs turn to wet noodles.

  He draws me back up and our bellies are flush. With each sway, my boobs rub against his chest, sending lightning bolts of pleasure right between my legs. My breath comes quicker and my shoulders heave. If he lets go, I fear I might collapse in a heap of Holy shit this hot!

  And then, Justin Timberlake floods the dance hall, bringing sexy back.

  * * *

  “Who is that delicious piece of military man you’ve been dancing with all night, chouchou?” Dylen raises an eyebrow and steps out of her dress.

  I smile at my nickname: chouchou. She has called me that term of endearment since our freshman year of college; says it’s a term of endearment in France, meaning “pet.” I’ve always loved the way it rolls off her tongue, so perfectly accented.

  Sighing, I bend over and pick up her insanely expensive French couture wedding gown off the sticky reception hall bathroom floor.

  “Well?” She turns on me, propping her hands on her hips.

  “Cayden Sinclair. He’s a friend of Blake’s. Do you know him? Is he in the military? I know he’s a cop.”

  Dylen’s thoughtful for a moment, trying to recall whether or not she’s met Cayden at some point in her and Blake’s long relationship—they’ve been together for five years.

  “I may have met him before, who knows. But, no, I don’t know him. He’s not one of Blake’s close friends. The haircut and all, he looks like the military type.”

  I shrug, hanging Dylen’s dress on a hanger. “Cayden said he and Blake grew up together.” I hand Dylen her getaway outfit—a white, athletic warm-up suit that has “bride” printed down the side of one pant leg, and her new last name spelled out on the back of the shirt. It’s Dylen to a tee; she’s a CrossFit queen and hates dresses. I’m actually surprised she didn’t get married in the tracksuit.

  Slipping the shirt over her head, she says, “I’ll ask Blake for you, do some vetting.” Her head pops through the neck hole. “He’s all kinds of yummy, though. Très délicieux!” She wags her eyebrows and licks her lips.

  “Oh my God, are you three?” I swat at her.

  “Not three, but wasted? Yeah. And horny as hell.” She nods. “I haven’t been this drunk in a long time. I’m ready to go find Blake, blow this shindig, and have sex…with my husband!” She giggles and almost falls over as she puts one leg into her pants. Catching herself on the basin, she regains her balance. “Husband…that sounds so weird! I have a friggin’ husband, Ren!”

  “Am I going to help deliver my godchild in nine months?” A twinge of jealousy pulls at my heartstrings. In the last few years, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I may never have children—I thank my rapist for that—but the thought of Dylen getting to experience the joy of motherhood, if not right now, at some point, still hurts. I’ve overcome so much pain after the rape, and not knowing my attacker made it all the more difficult, but the knowledge of being robbed of having children because of him, hurts more than anything.

  Dylen wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Hell no. I’m on the pill, and I happen to know I am not ovulating right now.” She picks her phone up off the counter and waves it around. “I’ve been tracking for this very reason, just to be sure.”

  “Those apps aren’t one hundred percent accur—”

  “Shoosh. Shoosh. Shoosh.” Dylen shakes her head and presses her index finger to my lips. “Shhhhhh. No, no. Don’t want to hear it. Don’t burst my innocent little bubble.”

  I give her two thumbs-up. “Have fun!” I mumble, her finger still on my lips.

  “That’s the Ren I know!” Removing her finger from my face, she claps her hand down onto my shoulder and yanks me into a tight hug. “Thank you for today.”

  “You bet, sœur. You’re like a sister to me. I’d do anything for you.”

  “I know, chouchou.”

  Tears get stuck in my throat. My best friend is married. It hits me hard. I’m truly alone. She has Blake now, she doesn’t need me in the same way any more…and it’s time to let her go. “Come on now. Your husband’s waiting.”

  Dylen squeals in my ear, “Husband!” She pulls back and bounces on her heels. Marriage suits my hyperactive friend. “Let’s go.” She grabs my hand and yanks me through the door.

  Across the room, I see Cayden talking to a little white-haired lady. She reaches up and pats his cheek and he bends down and gives her a hug.

  “Listen up!” the DJ shouts into his microphone. “Dylen and Blake are about to embark upon their first outing as a married couple.” Th
e crowd cheers and claps. “Let’s give them a proper send-off, shall we? I need everyone out on the dance floor.”

  I look to Dylen and she shrugs. “Probably one of Wedding Coordinator Barbie’s ideas.”

  As we walk to the center of the reception hall, the screech of chairs floods the room. Dylen and Blake’s family and friends move onto the floor and wait for more instructions.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, I need you to stand in the center of the dance floor. Guests, make a circle around the happy couple,” the DJ instructs.

  Dylen squeezes my hand and lets go, skipping to the center of the circle. She throws her arms around Blake and he draws her close, kissing her as the rest of us spread out around them.

  The DJ makes his way onto the dance floor, microphone in hand. “Dylen and Blake are going to make their way around the circle and say their goodbyes.”

  Justin Bieber is piped through the speakers and the crowd claps as Dylen and Blake dole out hugs and thank-yous. I scan the circle for Cayden, but can’t find him. Where did he go? Maybe he bailed, so we wouldn’t be forced to deal with an awkward goodbye. Snippets of our conversations from the evening flip through my mind. Had I made an ass of myself? My Magic 8 Ball response: It is certain.

  “Good Lord.”

  Startled, I whirl to my left. Cayden is right behind me, leaning into the circle, his face nearly resting on my shoulder.

  “I thought Aunt Sunny would never let me go. Here, slide over.” He puts his hands on my waist, shifting me to the right, butting into the tight circle.

  Tilting my head upward just a little, I touch his cheek, tracing hot pink lips. “Aunt Sunny?”

  He rolls his lovely green eyes. “I believe she thinks I’m still seven.”

  “Was there cheek pinching involved?” I smirk, pulling my hand away.

  Cayden rubs his right hand over the lipstick, smearing it as he winces. “It still hurts.”

  I laugh. A genuine, honest-to-goodness laugh. Cayden has made me laugh more times tonight than I have in the last three months, especially since my brother’s motorcycle accident. “Poor baby,” I coo.