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  She lifted her fingers to trace the line on his jaw, her anger fading with the evidence of his pain. God, how it must have hurt. He stayed absolutely still as she traced the smooth, white skin, the edge of his stubble scraping the sides of her finger. He might as well have been made of polished granite. He loomed over her, larger than she remembered. He was leaner, his body hard, the lines on his face deeper.

  Alone with her husband in the solitude of her office, the urge to touch him drove her closer to him than she should have been. But she didn’t fight it.

  “This didn’t heal well,” she murmured.

  “I thought women liked scars.” His lips quirked at the edges.

  “I don’t like how much this must have hurt you,” she said, lowering her hand.

  He slipped his hands into his pockets. “It was a long way from my heart.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Her gaze dropped to his chest, covered now by the grey of his army uniform. She opened her mouth to speak but no words formed in her throat. She withdrew her touch, retreating away from her fragile hopes. What she wouldn’t give for a single space of normalcy, a single moment where she could forget the war, forget all that it had done to her husband, to her family. To her marriage.

  They could have all the coffee in the world but until he came home, well and truly came home, not this façade they were putting up to convince the world that their marriage was fine, she could never give him her heart again. She knew that. More than half a decade at war had taught her that. And no amount of wishing in the world could change that essential truth.

  * * *

  Trent watched his wife walk in front of him into the coffee shop in Copperas Cove. He’d deliberately driven them away from Fort Hood and Killeen, away from the Starbucks and the McDonalds to a place where they could get away from the uniforms and the crowds and the prying glances.

  He wanted time with her away from the office. Away from the constant demands on her attention. He had only just found the words he needed and they were stuck in his throat. And she was already wary around him, already tense whenever he managed to be near her.

  He didn’t blame her. He was struggling to find his bearings, struggling to find the strength to walk in through their front door for that first time. He wanted so badly to be a good dad, but it seemed like everything he did with his family came out twisted and wrong. So he kept avoiding it. Until he no longer could.

  He didn’t talk until they had ordered their drinks and were seated in a quiet corner, him on an overstuffed chair, her on an old couch that once upon a time had probably been fuzzy faux brown suede. Laura traced one finger around the lip of her mug, avoiding his gaze. The steel resolve he saw in the set of her jaw was nothing compared to the intense emotion he’d glimpsed in her deep golden eyes.

  There was a reason for her reticence. He didn’t deserve to be here with her right now. But he wanted so badly to fix things between them.

  Trent cleared his throat. “So, um, Patrick has me talking to one of the counselors,” he said quietly. “He’s trying to build an ‘I’m not one step away from a psychotic break’ case.” He swirled his coffee, unable to look at her. “And I was, ah, talking to her about stuff. About how I feel out of control around the kids.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth, taking her silence as a cue to continue. He pushed his glasses to the top of his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose, avoiding her gaze. And after his session with Emily, he felt a cautious optimism that he might actually be able to pull it off. He wasn’t happy about walking out of there with a prescription for Ambien and a low-dose anti-anxiety medication but Emily had given him her cell phone number and he was supposed to call if he had any questions or concerns.

  It was probably the best medical care he’d ever gotten from the army.

  But right then, all the doctors in the world didn’t have the answers he needed.

  “She said it’s normal.” He looked at her then, seeking any hint of compassion in her eyes. He didn’t deserve it but still, he dared to hope that maybe, just maybe she could forgive him. “But it doesn’t feel normal, Laura. Everything feels wrong.”

  Her lips parted just a hint. Her expression softened and he thought for a brief moment that he’d broken through the barriers between them. Then she looked down into her coffee.

  “I can’t fix your normal, Trent.” She lifted her gaze to meet his. “And I won’t let you keep doing this to the kids. They don’t understand what’s going on, why you’re back in Killeen but won’t come home.”

  Cold crawled across his skin like spiders with icepicks for feet. He leaned back, grinding his teeth. “I understand,” he said roughly.

  “I don’t think you do.” There was no acrimony in her soft words. “I don’t think you realize what you’re doing to them. Emma cried herself to sleep last night because she doesn’t think you love her.”

  “That’s horse shit. Of course I love her.”

  “Yes, I can hear the devotion in your voice,” she said dryly. “Emma is barely four years old. It hurts her when you ignore her. She misses you. They both miss you.”

  “I know that.” He gripped his coffee cup tightly. “I just don’t know what to do about it.”

  “And I don’t know how to help you,” she said, her words hard and filled with hurt. “Because you won’t let me.”

  Tension wound tight around his heart, squeezing the air from his lungs. “You don’t understand,” he whispered.

  “You’re right. I don’t. Because every time I try to get close to you, you run off to another war. Another training exercise, another deployment. I don’t understand what you’ve been through because you won’t talk to me about it. You never have.”

  “Maybe I don’t like talking about it,” he spat. “Talking about it doesn’t fix anything.”

  She looked at him with patience and understanding and unbreakable resolve. He’d meant to try and talk to her about things, to try and open up and even that was turning into an epic clusterfuck.

  “And maybe not talking about it is what’s causing half the damn problems between us,” she said quietly.

  “No, the divorce is what’s causing the problems between us.” His words lashed out at her and she flinched.

  “That’s not fair and you know it.”

  “You’re right, it’s not.” Trent set his mug down, scrubbing both hands over his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  Silence greeted his admission and it was a long moment before he moved his hands to peer at his wife. Tears had filled her eyes and she blinked rapidly, turning her face toward the door, away from him. “Shit, Laura, don’t cry,” he whispered.

  “I’m so tired of crying over you,” she said and her voice broke.

  Trent didn’t think before he moved. A piece of the tight knot around his heart loosened. He didn’t consider whether or not his wife would pull away. He simply moved, sliding onto the small couch to pull her against him. He didn’t know what he expected her to do but what she did shocked the hell out of him.

  She stiffened the moment his arm slid around her shoulder. But he simply held her. One moment. Then another. And then he felt something he’d been longing for since forever.

  She relaxed against him.

  For a moment, nothing more, until something, some fleeting sensation unfurled in the dead space inside him. She trembled, then, a violent shudder and he realized she was crying. Deep, silent sobs that threatened to break them both.

  He sat there and held her, hating himself for hurting her so badly. Hating the war and the illusions that he’d told himself to justify being gone. Hated the fear that made him hide from his family instead of being there for them.

  He held her. Because it was the only thing he could do.

  * * *

  His uniform scraped the edge of her cheek. His body was a solid wall beneath her skin and for a brief moment, she simply let him hold her. His strength wrapped around her, his scent pulled her close, reminding her that somewhere inside t
his man was the man she’d married. The man she’d loved.

  She hadn’t meant to cry in front of him. Not again. But the truth had simply slipped free of the chains she’d attempted to bind it with, breaking her resolve until it emptied out of her, tearing free and leaving her drained.

  It was a long time until the tears stopped. Her eyes felt swollen.

  Now, she rested against Trent and closed her eyes. She simply stopped. Stopped fighting. Stopped arguing. Stopped resisting her stubborn heart that still loved this man no matter how many times he hurt her or lashed out.

  His leaving, his anger: He wasn’t in control of those things. Not like she’d convinced herself he was in those dark days when the rumors and innuendos had been breeding like a live thing in the silence between them. But there was more at work here than her husband simply walking out on her.

  He’d made a huge step by talking to the counselor. And he hadn’t needed to tell her about their conversation, but he had. Laura leaned back, refusing to believe the insidious voice in her head that said he was just telling her this out of sheer selfishness.

  She lifted her gaze, looking deep into his eyes. She started to shift and pull away but Trent moved first, cradling her face with his palms. Gently, his thumbs caressed her cheeks, wiping away the tears.

  “I’m so tired of screwing everything up, Laura,” he whispered. “I want to fix this. Not for the trial. For us.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Yes, it is.” His voice was urgent and harsh. “I can’t fix what I’ve done. And I damn sure don’t deserve your forgiveness.” He lowered his forehead to hers, his palms warm and solid against her skin. “But I’m asking you to help me. Help me reset my normal. Help me learn how to be a dad again. A husband.” He blinked rapidly.

  She pressed her lips together, biting back fresh tears. “And what happens when you leave again?” she whispered. “What do I do then?” She sniffed quietly. “You keep breaking my heart.” Her voice cracked.

  His fingers crooked around her jaw. “I want to stop.”

  They were tucked away in a quiet corner of the coffee shop. The couch was blocked by a high booth. No one could see them. Laura kept her eyes locked on his. Finally he’d laid his fears, his hopes, his dreams in her lap.

  She could crush him so easily. A stronger woman might have walked away, doing to him what he’d done so many times to her. But she was not that woman. She wanted to end the pain between them, not prolong it.

  She’d thought divorce was the right answer. Ending the sham their marriage had become, protecting their children from more pain. The kids were her life now and she would not apologize for that. For all intents and purposes, she’d been a single parent for years and that was okay because she knew how to do that. Now fear latched on to her heart. Fear that he would leave her again. That he would once again shatter her into a thousand pieces.

  But he was here. At this moment, it was all she had. Without giving herself time to think about the consequences, she leaned closer and brushed her lips gently against his.

  She pulled away before he could deepen the kiss. Fear and awareness and arousal skittered through her veins, making her off balance, like a needful, sensual thing. She’d grown accustomed to the hugs of her children, their wet kisses and enthusiastic embraces.

  What she craved now was something darker. The faintest brush of lips against lips had sparked something primitive inside her. Something deeper and richer. A long-forgotten need to be touched by a man. But not just any man—by this man. His hands, roughened by combat, sliding up her thighs. The coarse pads of his fingertips caressing her skin.

  Memories bombarded her as she attempted to lean away and salvage the remnants of her pride.

  But Trent was not operating under the get-some-space battle plan. He reached for her, his eyes rich with dark emotion. His palms scraped against her cheeks, his fingers strong as his lips claimed hers.

  His breath was a gasp against her tongue and for a moment, Laura was stunned into stillness, unable to move beneath the assault on her senses. But then her body remembered his taste, her tongue remembered his touch, and a warmth awakened inside her. She opened for him, stroking his tongue with hers, her body folding into his like it was meant for him.

  Her every nerve came alive. A cascade of long-denied arousal mixed with bittersweet memories of other homecomings, other farewells. It crashed into them both, driving them under a torrent of emotion.

  This was the man she had married. A man who could make her body purr just thinking about him inside her. A man who knew exactly how to kiss her to drive her wild.

  This was the man she’d been waiting for. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into his lap and have that urgent, passion-filled sex of first homecoming.

  It was a long moment before the arousal faded and she became aware of the tender, sucking kisses he placed on her lips.

  Another moment before he rested his forehead against hers.

  An eternity passed before the words she’d never thought she’d ever say again slid past her lips. “I miss you,” she whispered.

  And for once, he did not pull away.

  Chapter Seven

  Trent looked out the window of the backseat as Shane and Carponti bickered about the radio station. He grinned and felt a little piece of normal that he hadn’t known he’d been missing slip back into place. Funny how being around the guys at work always felt… right. He wanted that rightness with Laura. With the kids.

  “We’re meeting the womenfolk for lunch, huh?” Carponti drove them off post toward the restaurant later that day. It was no longer strange seeing Carponti driving. Funny how the missing piece of his arm was a side note rather than a major descriptor. He was just Carponti, Trent thought. Not his amputee friend.

  Just his friend.

  Sometimes it was the little things that struck him. He remembered clearly sitting in his office the night Carponti had been evac’d out of theater. He and First Sarn’t Story had simply sat, smoking cigars and remembering all the stupid shit Garrison and Carponti—mostly Carponti—had done. Goddamn but he’d almost broken after those two had gotten hurt.

  He’d gone through the motions for weeks and the situation with LT Randall had devolved further and further until Trent had been called into his battalion commander’s office and told he was being sent home.

  Stripped of command. Disgraced. A failure.

  “You okay back there?” Shane asked.

  “Yeah,” Trent said. “Just thinking.”

  “About what?” Carponti asked.

  “Just glad you guys made it home, that’s all.”

  Silence hung in the truck for a long moment. Finally Carponti sniffed and swiped his finger beneath his eye. “Damn it, you made me all misty-eyed.”

  Trent grinned. “Cute.”

  “So changing the subject to something less depressing, have you been keeping up with the drama back in the company?” Carponti asked.

  “No. It’s bad form for a commander to go back after he leaves,” Trent said. “Or in my case, got fired.”

  “Yeah, well, screw bad form. Marshall is a raging asshole. I thought guys like him were a myth but apparently, Assholicus Officerus is alive and well and has been sighted in the wild.”

  Trent laughed quietly. “Really? Assholicus Officerus?”

  “What?”

  Shane shook his head. “Nah, Marshall is just being an asshole to anyone on a medical profile. He gave me a massive ration of shit about being on restricted duty after I got my vasectomy.”

  “So how’s that working out for you?” Carponti grinned. “You firing blanks yet?”

  “None of your business,” Shane growled.

  “Is Jen still upset with you about that?” Trent asked. A few months ago, Shane had gone and gotten all of the information about the vasectomy before he’d found the courage to talk to Jen about it. She’d found the paperwork and they’d had a huge fight.

  Somehow, when he’d explain
ed that he was afraid of having to choose between her and a baby if her cancer came back, it had convinced her to agree to his decision. He closed his eyes, remembering the first time Laura had gotten pregnant. They hadn’t been planning on it. He remembered walking into the bathroom. She’d been sitting on the toilet seat, holding one of those little stick thingys.

  She’d looked up at him with pure terror in her eyes. “Um, I’m a little bit pregnant.”

  “How are you a little bit pregnant? Either you are or you aren’t.”

  She’d pressed her lips together and he’d seen tears fill her eyes. He’d knelt down in front of her. “Hey. It’s going to be okay.”

  “I’m going to get fat and you’re going to leave me.”

  He’d cupped her face. “You’re going to get big boobs and I’m going to love you regardless of how big your butt gets.”

  She’d laughed and kissed him and when they’d made love, he’d marveled that there was a little life growing inside her. Neither of them had expected the miscarriage that had come three weeks later. Somehow he’d said exactly the right thing at a time when she’d been scared half to death. Why couldn’t he manage that anymore?

  Why couldn’t he tell her the things that scared him?

  Carponti patted Shane’s shoulder as they pulled into the restaurant parking lot. “You must be in love if you were willing to get your balls rewired on a whim.”

  “It wasn’t a whim,” Shane said.

  Trent rubbed the scar over his heart. Listening to Shane talk about his future wife was… it was good. It was something simple. Something… yeah, something good.

  He wanted that goodness back with his wife. If the fucking pills in his pocket and therapy was a way to get back there, then he was going all in. Because he had a long way to go if he ever wanted a hint of the normal that Shane and Carponti had with Jen and Nicole.