Chapter 7
He’d asked if she’d go with him. To keep him from getting lost and dying in a snow bank on the side of the road.
She’d thought about saying no. About heading back to her mother’s house and finishing decorating the Christmas cookies with Natalie and her mom.
But Natalie was being strangely clingy with her grandmother, so Sam let her be when she’d told her mom she was going to go talk to Patrick.
“Good,” she’d said simply. “Natalie and I will stay out of trouble. Promise.”
She’d frowned. “What does that mean, Mom?”
“It means that she’ll wear a helmet if we go out on Thomas’s snowmobile later today.”
Sam had glanced at her watch. “It’s already one. It’ll be dark soon.”
Darkness came early up in the great north woods. It had taken her a day to remember that when she’d gone into the grocery store in broad daylight and come out in pitch darkness. At four p.m.
“Snowmobiles have headlights.”
So her mother was making cookies, her daughter was being exceptionally cooperative, and Sam was shopping for clothes with a man she was leaving. She’d sent her mom a text to let her know she was going to be late.
She’d gotten no response, which meant that Natalie and her mom were probably passed out from sugar overdose.
Now, she meandered around the men’s department, looking at sweaters, turtlenecks, and other articles of clothing suitable for surviving the Maine winter.
“I can’t believe how much flannel is still being sold in this state.”
She turned to see him standing behind her. He wore a charcoal grey turtleneck beneath a red-checkered flannel shirt.
“You look like an L.L. Bean commercial.”
“I feel like an escapee from a Pearl Jam concert circa 1994.”
“Pearl Jam concert goers did not wear turtlenecks with their flannel, and they damn sure didn’t tuck them in.” She tipped her chin at him. For the first time since she’d come home, she smiled and it felt normal. “Flannel is an incredibly functional fabric, especially at ten below.”
“Yes, but it went out of style in the rest of the country somewhere around 1996.”
“So did mom jeans, but you still see those up here, too.”
He glanced around. “Really? There are pleated jeans for sale?”
“Why do you know that pleated jeans are mom jeans?” She held up one hand. “Never mind, don’t answer that.” She paused, taking in the entire selection of clothing he’d picked out. “If flannel is so nineties why are you wearing it?”
“Because this is the warmest thing I’ve tried on. Nerdy turtleneck included.”
She shot him a baleful look. “You realize that men are supposed to run hot. It’s the women folk who are supposed to be cold.”
“Are you calling me a woman? Because I might have to take offense to that.” He took a single step closer, blocking her from the view of the rest of the store. “I assure you, flannel or not”—he leaned closer, until his breath slid across her ear—“I’m all man, baby.”
The corniness of his line did nothing to undermine the heat of his touch. She closed her eyes as his lips barely brushed the outside of her ear. A sliver of pleasure shivered over her skin. Her breath caught in her throat as she waited for the sensation of his lips against her skin in the place he loved to touch her.
And then he was gone, his warmth replaced by the cool circulating air.
He untucked the shirt. “I’ll be in the changing room.” He plucked a blue and grey sweater from a table.
And left her there.
She stood for a moment, watching his retreating back before he disappeared behind the curtain.
She narrowed her eyes. He’d done that on purpose. He’d stepped too close, teased her with one of the things he knew drove her crazy.
And then he’d simply stopped.
She breathed deeply, wishing for a moment that things were normal. That the feelings he’d just sparked inside her weren’t fleeting.
That the flash of desire hadn’t already faded, dissipating into the darkness inside her.
She wanted to feel it again.
Because in that single instance, she’d felt real. She’d felt whole.
She’d felt like her again.
She stuffed her hands inside her jacket pockets and walked toward the dressing room.
“Hey, Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you come check something out for me?”
She paused. “Is this going to get us arrested?” Silence greeted her question. “Are you done trying things on?”
More silence.
“Patrick?”
Nothing.
She reached for the curtain.
At the same time he stepped out.
Wearing nothing but silkies—white ones that clung to his skin like some kind of superhero leotard, outlining every hard line and yes, every part of his body. He’d pulled them up high so the waist was up to his chest.
“What do you think?”
She covered her mouth and tried not to laugh. “That looks painful,” she said when she was sure she wouldn’t choke.
“Well, it’s not like I’ve got any future kids to worry about.”
The minute the words were out of his mouth, they both sobered. It was instant and simultaneous.
She hesitated, only a moment, turning his words over and inspecting them and coming up with no easy answers. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Never mind. It was a bad joke.”
He disappeared into the changing room, leaving her feeling completely alone. He was two feet away and he might as well have been on the other side of the world.
“Patrick?”
He didn’t answer. She didn’t expect him to.
She stood on the other side of the curtain. It would be so easy to step inside. To cross that threshold and wrap her arms around him and ask him to help her.
I’m sorry. But the words wouldn’t form in her throat.
Because there was so much for her to be sorry for, and she didn’t know where to start.
But she was tired. So tired of feeling like a dead thing going through the motions.
She stood there, on the other side of the curtain, unable to move, unwilling to leave.
Stuck. Just like always.
And she was so damn tired of being stuck.
He felt the air move across his bare back a moment before she stepped into the changing room.
His pants hung open. His shirt was in his hands.
Her coat was unzipped, revealing the red fleece vest she wore over god only knew how many layers of clothing.
“Sam.” Her name was a whisper. A plea.
A moment before he would have loved for her to step into this dressing room with him. Would have enjoyed standing a little too close. Running his lips down the edge of her ear the way he knew she liked.
But right then, he needed some space. He wasn’t ready to have the conversation she probably expected the moment she stepped into that changing room.
“I’m finished,” he said. “I’ll get dressed and we can go.”
Her eyes betrayed her. He saw the unasked question looking back at him.
It was his own fault. He shouldn’t have opened his damn mouth.
But he’d been teasing her, and she’d been responding. Slowly, like a flower first stretching in springtime, he’d seen her, really her, not the shadow that had been masquerading as her.
Then he’d slipped up.
He hadn’t meant to tell her he couldn’t have kids.
But there was no taking those words back now.
And she wasn’t about to let it go. “What did you mean?” A hushed question.
He closed his eyes. Dropped his hands to his sides. “Last deployment. There was a mortar attack.”
“You never told me.”
He swallowed hard. “Since we weren’t married, they didn’t notify you.” He looked away. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want you to worry.” He paused, searching for the words to explain what happened. It was hard, so damn hard to put something like that into words. “I got hit. Some things didn’t make it out okay.”
She said nothing for a long moment. “I never noticed.”
He smiled sadly. “It’s not like you spend a lot of time inspecting my bits and pieces these days.”
The truth. Not meant to be unkind. It was a painful truth. Then again, weren’t all truths painful? Things had started changing between them long before her deployment. After his last tour, he’d just been happy to be home.
He hadn’t noticed the distance growing between them. Not until she’d deployed two weeks after he’d come back.
They’d literally done a battle hand-off with Natalie’s schoolwork and contact information, and she’d been gone.
They’d spent almost two years apart between their two back-to-back deployments.
He swallowed. It was too much time lost, too many hours spent working and not nearly enough time tending to the thing that had drawn them together to begin with. They’d simply grown apart, and now? Now here they were, trying to figure out who these two strangers in a room were.
Strangers who shared the only daughter Patrick would ever have.
“You could have told me,” she said quietly.
He shrugged and the gesture felt empty. “It never really came up. Hard to fit ‘oh, by the way I got blown up and my balls got rewired’ with ‘where’s your spaghetti recipe,’ you know?”
Her response was not what he expected.
She laughed. She covered her mouth and laughed until she doubled over.
Patrick stood there, not sure what to do or what he’d said that was so damn funny.
“I guess my emergency neutering is funny. Okay then.”
She straightened, tears running down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. It’s not funny. It’s just the way you said it and…” She doubled over again, laughing until she slid down the wall and covered her face with both hands.
He watched her, amazed at the sound of her laughter. In that moment, he realized that she hadn’t really laughed in… He couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed like this. Slowly a matching smile spread over his lips, and he stood there and simply savored the moment.
It was something he’d forgotten. Something that had slipped away as the distance between them had grown wider and deeper.
He’d enjoyed making her laugh once upon a time. A thousand memories surfaced and tormented him with the pleasure of her laugh. God but he loved the way she used to smile.
She swiped at her eyes, looking up at him from the changing room floor. “I’m sorry.”
“For laughing at my neutering or my being neutered?” he asked lightly, holding his hand out to help her up.
“Both.” Her palm slid against his.
He gave a gentle tug and she was on her feet, close enough that he could see the moisture sparkling in her eyes. “It’s been so long since I heard you laugh,” he murmured.
Her mouth was a breath from his. Warm air brushed against his skin. He could almost taste the laugh on her lips.
She smiled ruefully. “There hasn’t been a lot to laugh about lately.”
Her hands came up, braced against his skin. Her palms were cool on his bare shoulders, sending a shiver through his veins. It had been so long since he’d touched her. Since she’d touched him. This. This was opportunity.
In a perfect world, he could kiss her then. Rock her world and remind her of all the things that had once been right between them.
But this wasn’t a perfect world. This was a flawed and damaged world.
But it wasn’t hopeless. No, he hadn’t given up hope yet.
He stood there for a moment, his eyes locked with hers. Her lips were parted, the slightest space. He wanted to nibble on her there, to suck gently until she sighed.
Instead he lifted his hand. Ran his thumb gently, so gently over her bottom lip. She was soft and smooth and warm. It was meant to tease them both. It was meant to control the situation, to keep himself from deviating from his game plan of trying to lure her out of the darkness and shadows where she’d been for too long.
Instead, Sam took over.
She’d never been a passive lover. Her tongue slid over the bottom of his thumb. A gentle rasp of heat on heat. It was warm and wet against the roughness of his skin.
So long. So fucking long since he’d touched her. That single gesture drove his resolve away, turning his plan on its head and sending him headlong into the abyss of sensation. She slipped her tongue around the tip, swirling a teasing pattern, her eyes never leaving his. She sucked him further into the warmth of her mouth and he gave himself over to the sensation.
This. This was always good between them. This was always right.
He backed her up against the wall, his thumb slipping out of her mouth with a soft pop. It was just them, alone in the bright lights of the changing room. Their breath mixing as they stood, his bare skin pressing against her clothed form.
He lowered his forehead to hers. Stroked her cheek gently with his thumb.
“I miss you.”