by Naima Simone
He trailed off, and she didn’t need to see his eyes to tell Wolf had traveled back into the past. That even though he stared out his window, in his mind’s eye, he was seeing his best friend again. Seeing that time when they’d been young and innocent. Invincible.
“Carol, Raylon’s mother, didn’t want him to go. He was all she had—his father had died when he was three. But I promised her I’d watch out for him as I’d been doing since we met on the playground and Bobby Lutrell tried to steal Raylon’s Batman Pez dispenser.” His faint chuckle quickly faded, and his grip on her hands tightened. “I swore I’d protect her son and bring him home to her. I didn’t keep that promise.”
Tension coiled so tight in him she could imagine his muscles turning like cogs in a machine, grinding, pulling. She curled her body around him, willing the strength that he’d offered her so many times into him. Something bad was coming. Something that had left that hollow note in his voice. That brokenness in his spirit. That memorial tattoo over his heart.
Never mind, part of her silently begged him. I should’ve minded my own business. You don’t have to do this.
But the other half, which understood the nature of wounds and their care, remained quiet and let him continue. Let him purge this festering sore that she suspected he hadn’t shared with many people—if anyone.
Flipping their hands, she covered one of his with both of hers, clasping it, telling him without words that she had him.
He didn’t glance down, didn’t remove his gaze from that window. But he did clutch her hands.
“We were both sent to Iraq and stationed together in Karbala. I enjoyed serving. It gave me purpose, direction, what I didn’t have at home. And I met some of the best men and women, who became brothers and sisters to me. Plus, I had my best friend beside me. Four years. Four years we were together. Then, one day, my unit was in a convoy moving from FOB Spiker to FOB Duke. As we traveled through one of the smaller villages, we were pinned down by insurgents. Because we were in the first Humvee, we were hit along with the last one. I’ll never forget the sound of bullets hitting the metal frame. We couldn’t move. We couldn’t...move. The firefight lasted for...hours,” he rasped. “That’s how long it seemed, but in truth, it was only about fifteen minutes. But a fight that takes the life of three of my friends—my brothers—including Raylon, should’ve lasted hours. It should’ve been so much goddamned longer than fucking minutes to snatch their laughter, their dreams, their futures, away.”
He dragged in a serrated breath that hurt her own throat. Shaking his other hand loose, he flattened that palm against the window, too, leaning all his weight onto his arms. Head bowed, his big body trembled, but he didn’t utter a sound.
But that jagged inhalation and the tremors shaking his frame told their own tales.
“We immediately sent out chatter about being pinned down, but because of how far away we were from the FOB, it took a couple of hours for air and then ground support to reach us. The parajumper medics carried me and the other injured away, but ground support retrieved the...” He swallowed, cleared his throat. But when he spoke again, his voice was just as hoarse. Maybe more so. “The dead—Raylon. For the first time since we’d enlisted, we weren’t together. And we’d never be again.”
Nessa gasped, shifting away from him, her gaze running over him in a frantic search. Carried me and the other injured away... With only his jeans on, most of him was revealed to her. But she saw no scars, no raised skin, no lighter or shiny patches.
“You were hurt?” She circled him, slipping between him and the glass. “Where? What happened?”
Terror spiked within her as if the injury had happened eight hours ago instead of years. The thought of him lying there, in pain, bleeding. Dying... Not this vibrant, larger-than-life man. She couldn’t imagine a world where he wasn’t in it. She patted his shoulders, sliding her palms down his chest, his torso, gripping his waist.
He emitted a harsh, almost ugly chuckle, slowly straightening and lowering his arms to his sides. “I was shot in the knee. A bullet can go through metal like butter and the shrapnel is a bitch.” He shook his head, the caustic tone like sandpaper over her skin. But he didn’t shift away from her touch. No, he leaned into it, into her. “I had to get a knee replacement and then I was shipped home. Without an army career. And without my best friend.”
“I’m so sorry, Wolf. Jesus, I’m so sorry.”
“But just as bad as losing Raylon,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Just as bad was facing Carol Brandt, looking her in the eye and telling her that I’d failed. I’d failed to protect her son. I’d failed to keep my promise. I’d failed both her and Raylon.”
“That’s not true.” She grasped the waistband of his jeans, jerked it. “That’s just not true, Wolf. And no one would ever believe that or blame you.”
“See, now that’s not true.” A faint, mocking smile curved his mouth. “Carol told me herself after I returned home that it was my fault that her son died out there in that desert, for not bringing him home to her. And even though I’ve been giving her every one of my combat disability checks for the last six years, trying to make up for what I took from her, it’ll never be enough. I’ll never be enough.”
“Grief and pain,” Nessa said, letting go of him and wrapping an arm around her waist. “She lashed out because of grief and pain, and you can’t place any stock in anything she said in that time. And you also can’t hold that against her.”
She stumbled back a step, her back hitting the window.
“Nessa,” he murmured, reaching for her, but she shook her head, holding up a hand.
“No, people say mean, ugly things when they’re hurt. When Mom told me about Isaac not being my real father, I—I accused her of being selfish, a liar, of not loving me. I threw a fucking temper tantrum and hurled some very hurtful words at her, a dying woman who had given me everything, sacrificed everything. But in that moment, all I could think about was my pain, my confusion, my grief over her news combined with losing her to cancer. I left her hospital room with that hanging between us. When I returned a couple of hours later, she was gone.”
“Baby,” Wolf breathed.
“We say things...” Her breath shoved in and out of her chest in sharp pants. “We say things we don’t mean when we’re hurt,” she reiterated. “And you can’t hold it against us.”
“No one holds it against you,” he whispered.
“Because I didn’t mean it.”
“I know you didn’t, baby.”
Nessa blinked. “We’re not talking about me.”
Wolf closed in on her and cupped her face. She cuffed his wrists with her fingers but didn’t push him away. No, she hung on.
“No, we’re talking about me,” he softly agreed.
“Yes, and I’m telling you, Carol didn’t mean it when she blamed you. You need to forgive her, and most importantly, you have to forgive yourself. War is...hell. On the men and women who serve and put their lives on the line for us, for our country. On their families, who sacrifice and have to wait at home not knowing if they will ever see their husbands, wives, daughters, sons, mothers or fathers again. They’re heroes, too, and it’s unfair that those soldiers are sometimes the martyrs, as well.”
She shook her head despite his hold on her, her grip on him tightening.
“But the truth is, just as you knew there was a chance you might die, so did Raylon. It’s the horrible nature of war, and there was nothing you could’ve done to prevent it. You’re not God, Wolf. You’re not all-knowing, all-powerful. And since you’re not, there’s no way you could’ve divined the future to throw yourself in front of that bullet for Raylon. Although I believe without any doubt that if you could’ve, you would’ve.”
She turned her head into his palm. Kissed it. And released one of his wrists to place her hand over his tattoo, over his heart.
“You said the best gift I could give myself this Christmas would be forgiveness. I think the best gift you could give Carol Brandt—and yourself—this Christmas would be releasing her from those rash, grief-stricken words. And releasing yourself from the burden of them.” She lightly traced the dog tag and the name of the man who’d been Wolf’s best friend. And whose death was the source of such great guilt and pain. “I’ll try if you try. Deal?”
“Deal.”
He tilted her head farther back, his emerald gaze dark with shadows but warm. So warm she could trick herself into imagining something more than affection swam there. She lowered her lashes, not willing to trick herself. He stroked his thumbs over her cheekbones, the slightly abraded skin sending a shiver through her.
“Look at me, Nessie.” The order, though gentle, carried a thin vein of steel underneath it, and she met his eyes again. “She knew you loved her.”
He skimmed his lips over tears she hadn’t realized had tracked down her face. Brushed a kiss that tasted of those tears over her mouth.
“Just like Raylon knew you loved him.”
He didn’t say anything. But he nodded.
For now, it was a start.
For both of them.
She parted her lips under his, accepting the slow, tender thrust of his tongue. Giving her own in return. This kiss, unlike their others, was a quiet storm. Furious but gentle. Carnal but warm. Rising on her tiptoes, she opened wider for him. Angled her head and took him deeper. Surrendered to him even as she demanded he do the same for her.
And he did.
He tangled with her, plunging over and over. But then acquiescing to her questing flicks and sucks. His hands roamed over her. Touched everywhere. Her hair. Her neck and shoulders. Her breasts. Her hips. Her ass and thighs.
In between her thighs.
Oh God. Her head tipped back, breaking that lush kiss. She whimpered as those blunt-tipped fingers dipped and stroked. Rubbed and circled. Pressed and penetrated.
Gripping his arms, she dug her fingernails into his skin, holding on.
“Wolf, please.”
But he seemed to be past hearing her pleas. He fell to his knees before her, his hands grasping the front of his shirt, and with one twist, wrenched open the front. Buttons scattered, and excitement screamed through her. He hovered on the edge, their emotional conversation having shoved him there. He needed this outlet, this physical release.
And she would be that vessel for him.
In the mudroom, he’d offered her his body for her use.
Here, in his living room, with shadows and lust darkening his eyes, she’d offer him the same.
Tunneling her fingers through his hair, she hummed low in her throat at the sensation of all that thick, cool silk on her skin as she held him to her. His mouth skimmed between her breasts, pausing to draw on each nipple until she twisted against him. Harsh pants escaped her as he traced a damp path lower down her belly, over her hip until he tongued the crease where her thigh and torso met.
Fuck. She almost didn’t survive this the first time. She might pass over into glory and meet her ancestors this time. But oh God. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip as he nuzzled her soaked folds. She was willing to make the sacrifice.
Using his thumbs, Wolf parted her, exposed her. And then devoured her. Her back thumped against the wall, and she gave herself over to his lips, his tongue, his fingers. He held nothing back, and neither did she. For every lick, she gave him a whimper. For every suck, she offered up a cry. For every thrust of his fingers, she gifted him with a buck of her hips.
And for an orgasm, she gave him part of her soul. Or at least it felt like it.
Rising to his feet, Wolf grasped the back of her thighs and lifted her in his arms. The rest of his cabin flew by in a blur as he strode from the living room, down the hall and into a bedroom. In moments, he gently deposited her on his bed, grabbed a condom from a bedside drawer and shed his jeans.
He climbed onto the mattress and, with her as a rapt audience, quickly sheathed himself.
She held her arms out to him.
And he fell into them.
Burying his face into her neck, he slammed inside her, filling her, stretching her. God, branding her. Arms wound tight around him, she breathed deep, holding still, letting her body become accustomed to this delicious invasion all over again.
Fisting his thick hair, she pulled his head up. Eyes so dark with passion they appeared almost black, she waited until he focused on her, wanting his attention. Needing him to hear her. Understand her.
“Don’t hold back with me. Use me. Take what you need from me.” She leaned forward, kissed him. Hard. Nipped his bottom lip even harder. “I don’t want gentle.”
Something shifted in his expression, and a tingle of feminine apprehension flashed through her, followed quickly by lust so bright it rivaled the sun.
Dragging his head down, she whispered in his ear, “I can take it, Wolf.”
Maybe he needed that permission from her. Maybe he’d been waiting on it. Or maybe he’d already been on a tattered, crumbling edge. Didn’t matter. Because he let go. He let go all over her.
His hips drew back, torturing her with a slow, heavy glide over sensitive muscles. Then he snapped forward, plunging inside her and nearly nailing her into the mattress. Over and over, he rode her, his big hands cupping her ass, holding her aloft at the angle he deemed perfect. Which, God yes, was absolutely perfect.
Just as she’d promised him, she took it. Gladly. Willingly. He pounded into her, showing her body no mercy, and she didn’t want any. She craved this special brand of hurt. Of sensual torture. And when he reached between them and pinched her clit, sending her shattering, she held nothing back, embracing the pleasure. Embracing the dark.
Trusting him to soften her fall.
Promising she would do the same for him.
Even if only for now. Because that’s all they could be for each other.
Right now.
Seventeen
WOLF FROWNED DOWN into his cup of hot cider. He didn’t really care for hot cider.
But either they’d added something special this year—and by special he meant something with proof after it—or he was really thirsty, because this was actually good.
He sipped the drink again, turning around and surveying The Glen. Instead of multicolored Christmas lights, bulbs in the shape of candles adorned the posts and booths of the market. The switch in decoration created an almost ethereal effect of a world lit up by candlelight. Perfect for Rose Bend’s annual Candlelight Walk.
In honor of Christmases past when there were only candles to light houses and the town, Rose Bend’s citizens gathered together with lit candles and walked a mile from the top of Barrow Road to The Glen, the high school and middle school choirs leading the way, singing carols. Once the procession reached the field at the end of Main Street and Barrow Road, a Christmas market with booths selling everything from cider to stockings to ornaments and other crafts dotted the area. The aroma of roasting chestnuts and freshly baked cookies filled the air, along with laughter, chatter and more singing from carolers.
It was one of Wolf’s favorite Yulefest events.
“Do I want to know what you’re over here scowling about?” Cole snorted, strolling up to him, Patience cradled to his chest in her carrier.
Wolf smiled down at his niece, rubbing his knuckle over her soft, chubby cheek. She blinked her brown eyes, yawned, then went back to sucking her tiny fist. And it was adorable. Hell, everything his niece did was adorable.
“This cider. I swear it’s spiked. Otherwise, I see no reason for it to be this good.”
Cole laughed. “Wilma Long was in charge of it this year, so there’s no telling.”
Wilma Long, owner of the Book Nook, was one of the kindest women in town and had run the town’s bookstore for a
s long as Wolf could remember. She was also rumored to have the largest stash of moonshine in three counties.
“That explains a lot.” Wolf grinned, taking another long sip. “I might have to get another two or three cups to go.” He nodded at Patience. “You on baby duty tonight?”
“Yeah, Sydney’s hanging with Leo since she’s actually taking a night off from the inn. I think Moe threatened her with the spoon if she didn’t ‘get the hell out from under her feet.’ Her words, not mine. Not that I mind.”
Cole smiled down at the baby, a look of such love on his face, Wolf cleared his throat of the emotion suddenly clogging it. Patience might technically be Cole’s stepdaughter, but he didn’t treat her that way. He loved her as if he’d fathered her.
“Sydney mentioned that Daniel and his wife are arriving next week for Christmas,” Wolf said, cocking his head with a smirk. “Careful. Last time he was here I actually heard him compliment Rose Bend’s cleanliness.” Wolf snickered. Sydney’s ex-husband and Patience’s father, though a pretty good guy, had a bit of a stick up his ass. “He might fall for Rose Bend during Christmas and decide to move here.”
Cole grinned. “If that happens, I would be happy for Patience that her father is even closer to her. But I might have to join that yoga class Cher has been bugging me about to learn deep-breathing techniques. And meditation. And I might secretly take up day drinking.”
“C’mon, man.” Wolf clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m your brother. I’d never let you drink alone.”
They laughed, and as Patience let out a soft coo and Cole tended to her, Wolf surveyed The Glen once more.
“You did good, Cole,” he murmured. “Real good.”
Cole glanced up from his daughter, scanning the booths and crowd in the pseudocandlelight, a satisfied smile curling his mouth.
